5 minute read.
I wanted to share a speech with you today that I did recently at my speaking club, just to show you how to inject a little humor into your speech and have fun doing it. We’re going to visit the topic of storytelling in a speech, but with a humorous twist. So, take my hand and come with me. It’ll be fun, I promise.
Now, if you are struggling with trying to even get a speech out of your mouth because you are so ridiculously anxious about giving speeches, humor may help you break the ice and bridge that gap to your audience connection. That’s the whole point–to make a connection with the audience.
Before I continue though, I want to be upfront and let you know that I had a little help with this speech from a dear friend of mine who also happens to be a very funny lady and runs a comedy troupe in my local area. You can see the article and hear the podcast about her right here.
This speech is about lightening the mood and getting the audience and you to ease up a bit. Since this is not a heavy or serious kind of speech, it may work out great for you. Just try out something like this, but in your own voice and your own story, and see how you do. I’m sure you’ll do great.
Here’s my speech:
It’s an early Saturday morning. Ahh… the weekend is here, and I don’t have to be anywhere today. I tried to squeeze in a little extra sleep, but I could hear my 7 year old daughter banging cupboard doors and scooting kitchen chairs around downstairs. I’m sure she’ll be fine. After all she’s a semi self-sufficient 7 year old. What could go wrong?
Then I hear a light crash. Ooookay… so much for wishful thing. Time to check out which one of my wife’s precious heirlooms just bit the dust. So I (GENTLY) jab my wife on the shoulder and let her know that she’d better go check things out. That WAS the right thing to do…right?? (pause and do a silly grin or shrug for effect)
I was quickly scolded by my wife as she informed me–in one rapid fire Machine Gun Kelly run on sentence that almost never ended and made her face turn kinda bluish—that she was up really late last night taking care of a sick baby.
When she rolled over and I was now looking at the back of her head, it was like a big human punctuation mark on the end of a long sleep-deprived rant. Period. And that means “Don’t say another word!”
So, I grab my ratty gray robe, slip on my dog-chewed slippers and head down to the kitchen. Wait…we don’t even HAVE a dog. I’m at the point in my life where in this type of situation–having to check on my daughter–I find elation in the fact that so far I don’t hear crying… or sirens.
I get to the kitchen where my daughter has a chair pulled up to the counter, and she is trying to reach ingredients from the baking cupboard. I see that my favorite Mickey Mouse coffee cup is now minus a handle and lying broken in the kitchen sink. Oh Mickey, you were so fine. You were so fine, you kinda blew my mind. But you ain’t so fine no mo.
I give my daughter that fatherly “What did you do?” look and a big sigh. I ask her if we should make some breakfast together in the most exasperated tone. She turns to me, hair hanging in her face, and says “That all depends on if you want to admit that you just made me a little bit sad.”
I bite my lip to keep from grinning at this mini version of my lovely bride who still gets to sleep in this morning and seems to have lost her sense of humor. I ask her what sounds good for two chefs to whip up. She replies “Can you make some pancakes? Or… what is it that some people call them? Flap sticks?” She then adds “None of that French toast though. Something that Americans like you know how to make.”
I offer that an American ‘like me’ would be happy to make some pancakes, and I’ll even cut up some strawberries too! At that moment, she stared into space with a deep thoughtful look, then crinkled her nose and said, “Who named strawberries anyway? They don’t look anything like a straw and, you can’t even suck anything through them like a straw!” I didn’t answer as I was in Top Chef mode, getting bowls and pans out, and thinking about my next move.
My daughter then tugged at my robe and said “Daddy why are you not listening to me? It’s like you are on a mental break, or breakdown or… melt down. Ya, one of those.”
Oh my. Princess Freud needs nourishment. A few minutes later we had a hot fresh breakfast ready for her royal highness–pancakes with berries and orange juice all waiting on the table. But now, I don’t see my daughter anywhere and wonder when she slipped out of the kitchen.
I then find her in the living room, watching her favorite show. It seems they were discussing a lesson on Sesame Street and she was absorbing every squeaky sounding word.
I announce, “Breakfast awaits, m’lady!” She holds up her hand to pause me–you know, like in “Talk to the hand” style–eyes still fixed on the show, and says “In a little bit Daddy. I’m having a moment here.”
I head back to the kitchen, and realize I am wide awake and alone at the kitchen table. No coffee is not made yet, as I was busy meeting the demands of little Miss Talk-to-the-Hand. As I reach for some strawberries and “flap sticks,” I mentally apologize to my daughter’s future husband.
Cover Photo Credit: www.kizlarsoruyor.com
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Keep leaping forward my friends!