The Sound Of Silence
February 26, 2020 at 4:47 a.m.
The Sound Of Silence
By Roger Grossman-
I was broadcasting last weekend, and I experienced something that had not happened for several years — I “locked up.”
In the middle of a play during the junior varsity basketball game against Plymouth, my mouth and my brain just became disconnected. I tried to push the words out and nothing would come out.
The silence was deafening.
You may or may not know, or may have forgotten, that I grew up with speech impediments. I stuttered occasionally and had spoken with a significant lisp.
Through kindergarten and the first few weeks of first grade, it was a struggle. I knew what was happening and I did everything to try to steer myself away from situations that got me into trouble.
From first grade through sixth grade, I spent about an hour with Mrs. (Suzanne) Belcher in a little storage space-turned speech room working on the mechanics of making “sea shells” sound like I was saying it and not Daffy Duck. It was a long process and even though, as I look back on it, I really was much better by the time I hit fourth grade, I still begged my teachers to not make me do things like read out loud in class. I wasn’t “ready.”
I see now that it was a lot more about confidence and less about which gap in my teeth the “S”, “F” or “TH” sounds were going to come out. It was more about the 6-inches between my left ear and my right than it was about pinching my cheeks together to plug those side holes so the air all came out the front.
My teachers, of course, made me read out loud in class and answer questions anyway because they knew that I had to. I had to be able to try and succeed, or try and fail, in order to chart my progress and build the confidence needed to achieve my dream of broadcasting games on the radio.
It still pops up now and again, and when it does it is both discouraging and distracting and it takes me a little while to get back on track again — my confidence gets shaken and I have to wrestle to get it back.
I am sorry it still happens, but I guess it always will and so I ask for your grace and patience in those moments.
But my message to you goes deeper than just that.
When I was a kid, they asked me in class what I wanted to be when I grew up. The kids snickered because there was no way someone who talked like me could ever make it in radio announcing. I totally understood, and they weren’t wrong
But those friends of mine didn’t factor in two things that mattered most: my God was, and is, bigger than my speech problems, and I was determined to make every person in the radio business tell me “no.”
Now, at 52, with over 2,500 game broadcasts behind me, I have bigger missions in front of me.
One of those missions is to help encourage kids who are dealing with the same speech impediments I experienced. I have no doubt that there are kids in schools in Kosciusko County and beyond that struggle like I did (and still do, obviously). I want them to know that, like most other things, if they want to conquer this, they can.
I am living proof of it.
Back then, my family was supportive, but even they had to be pessimistic. Who could blame them? How in the world could the son of a tractor mechanic and a stay-at-home mom/babysitter from a small school that didn’t have its own radio station ever be anything in radio?
I don’t want kids in our schools to feel like they are out there on their own. They need a cheerleader, and maybe that could be me.
So if you work at a school or you have a young person in your life who struggles in this area, I am offering to come speak to them and give them a pep talk. This is not a death sentence. It does not have to be for forever. If they are willing to work at it, they can overcome this and be what they were meant to be.
I am not a speech therapist, and I am not claiming to “treat people” who struggle with their speech. But, if I can help one kid see that it’s worth it to work at it … what’s the value in that?
For me, it’s worth the weight of the muffled giggles from 45 years ago.
By the way, those giggles turned into a standing ovation when I returned to Argos during my first season broadcasting with WRSW. It’s a moment I will never, ever forget.
If my legacy is that some young person looked at my life and said “he can do it, I can do it,” I can’t think of a better way to be remembered.
If you think I could be an encouragement to someone in this area, email me at [email protected].
I was broadcasting last weekend, and I experienced something that had not happened for several years — I “locked up.”
In the middle of a play during the junior varsity basketball game against Plymouth, my mouth and my brain just became disconnected. I tried to push the words out and nothing would come out.
The silence was deafening.
You may or may not know, or may have forgotten, that I grew up with speech impediments. I stuttered occasionally and had spoken with a significant lisp.
Through kindergarten and the first few weeks of first grade, it was a struggle. I knew what was happening and I did everything to try to steer myself away from situations that got me into trouble.
From first grade through sixth grade, I spent about an hour with Mrs. (Suzanne) Belcher in a little storage space-turned speech room working on the mechanics of making “sea shells” sound like I was saying it and not Daffy Duck. It was a long process and even though, as I look back on it, I really was much better by the time I hit fourth grade, I still begged my teachers to not make me do things like read out loud in class. I wasn’t “ready.”
I see now that it was a lot more about confidence and less about which gap in my teeth the “S”, “F” or “TH” sounds were going to come out. It was more about the 6-inches between my left ear and my right than it was about pinching my cheeks together to plug those side holes so the air all came out the front.
My teachers, of course, made me read out loud in class and answer questions anyway because they knew that I had to. I had to be able to try and succeed, or try and fail, in order to chart my progress and build the confidence needed to achieve my dream of broadcasting games on the radio.
It still pops up now and again, and when it does it is both discouraging and distracting and it takes me a little while to get back on track again — my confidence gets shaken and I have to wrestle to get it back.
I am sorry it still happens, but I guess it always will and so I ask for your grace and patience in those moments.
But my message to you goes deeper than just that.
When I was a kid, they asked me in class what I wanted to be when I grew up. The kids snickered because there was no way someone who talked like me could ever make it in radio announcing. I totally understood, and they weren’t wrong
But those friends of mine didn’t factor in two things that mattered most: my God was, and is, bigger than my speech problems, and I was determined to make every person in the radio business tell me “no.”
Now, at 52, with over 2,500 game broadcasts behind me, I have bigger missions in front of me.
One of those missions is to help encourage kids who are dealing with the same speech impediments I experienced. I have no doubt that there are kids in schools in Kosciusko County and beyond that struggle like I did (and still do, obviously). I want them to know that, like most other things, if they want to conquer this, they can.
I am living proof of it.
Back then, my family was supportive, but even they had to be pessimistic. Who could blame them? How in the world could the son of a tractor mechanic and a stay-at-home mom/babysitter from a small school that didn’t have its own radio station ever be anything in radio?
I don’t want kids in our schools to feel like they are out there on their own. They need a cheerleader, and maybe that could be me.
So if you work at a school or you have a young person in your life who struggles in this area, I am offering to come speak to them and give them a pep talk. This is not a death sentence. It does not have to be for forever. If they are willing to work at it, they can overcome this and be what they were meant to be.
I am not a speech therapist, and I am not claiming to “treat people” who struggle with their speech. But, if I can help one kid see that it’s worth it to work at it … what’s the value in that?
For me, it’s worth the weight of the muffled giggles from 45 years ago.
By the way, those giggles turned into a standing ovation when I returned to Argos during my first season broadcasting with WRSW. It’s a moment I will never, ever forget.
If my legacy is that some young person looked at my life and said “he can do it, I can do it,” I can’t think of a better way to be remembered.
If you think I could be an encouragement to someone in this area, email me at [email protected].
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