The Teacher, the Toy Microphone, and the Drama Director

Three Things That May Have Saved My Life

When I was a kid, three things changed the direction of my life: Mrs. Harmon, Mr. Microphone, and Mr. Varner. That may sound like the beginning of a strange joke, but each one saved me in a different way.

I was extremely introverted as a child and struggled with serious bouts of depression from a very young age. I was awkward, painfully shy, and constantly felt as though I didn’t quite fit anywhere. I didn’t know where I belonged, and for a long time, I wasn’t even sure I had a place to go.

During the first several months of kindergarten, I barely spoke. My teacher, Mrs. Harmon, decided to try something different. She pulled out an old Fisher-Price toy telephone and began playing the telephone game with me. She would speak into one end and encourage me to answer on the other. It didn’t work immediately. She had to try several times, but she didn’t give up on me. Eventually, I spoke—and I apparently haven’t shut up since.

Mrs. Harmon found a creative way to reach a quiet, frightened little kid who didn’t know how to communicate with the world. She didn’t embarrass me or force me to speak before I was ready. She simply met me where I was and gave me a safe way to use my voice. That small plastic telephone opened a door.

Then there was Mr. Microphone.

For those who don’t remember it, Mr. Microphone was a wireless toy microphone that allowed you to broadcast your voice through a nearby radio. To me, it was magic. I could talk, sing, pretend to be a radio announcer, create characters, and perform without having to stand in front of a room full of people.

Mr. Microphone gave me a way to experiment with my voice and personality from the safety of my own home. Behind that microphone, I didn’t have to be the awkward, depressed kid who felt out of place. I could become anybody. I could be louder, funnier, bolder, and more confident. Mrs. Harmon helped me find my voice. Mr. Microphone helped me enjoy using it.

But Mr. Varner may have actually saved my life.

Who the heck was Mr. Varner? He was the drama director at my junior high school. One day, I somehow mustered enough courage to audition for a series of one-act plays. I was scared to death. To make matters worse, we weren’t given scripts. We had to invent a character and improvise in front of everyone. No script. No safety net. No idea what I was doing. It was quite an introduction to theater for a kid with absolutely no self-esteem.

Everyone around me seemed talented, funny, and confident. Watching them only made me feel worse. The longer the auditions continued, the more convinced I became that I had made a terrible mistake.

Halfway through, I quietly stood up and tiptoed toward the door. My plan was to leave, call my mother, and ask her to pick me up early. I had my hand on the doorknob when the room suddenly became completely silent. You could have heard a pin drop.

Then I heard Mr. Varner’s voice.

“If you walk out that door, you’re going to regret it for years to come.”

That one sentence changed my life. I slowly took my hand off the doorknob and walked back to the circle.

“Well, no better time than right now,” Mr. Varner said.

Great. Now I had to perform. I had no idea what the hell I was going to do. How could I make this funny? What if nobody laughed? Even worse, what if they laughed because I was terrible? I stood there for a moment, completely frozen. Then something happened. In a flash, I went to a place I didn’t know existed inside me. I decided this shy, awkward kid was going to become a rock star.

I moved through that classroom like David Lee Roth. I don’t remember exactly what I said or did, but people laughed. Even Mr. Varner laughed. What a relief. For those few minutes, I stopped worrying about how I looked. I stopped wondering whether I belonged. I broke out of my shell and simply went for it.

Two days later, I walked over to the bulletin board to see whether my name was on the cast list. I got the part. It instantly made my entire year.

From that point forward, performance became a permanent part of my life. Theater led to music. Music and performance eventually led to voiceover. Voiceover became a career that has lasted more than three decades. It also gave me the opportunity to coach, produce, teach, and help other people find confidence in their own voices.

All of it can be traced back to three people and three moments.

Mrs. Harmon patiently encouraged me to speak. Mr. Microphone allowed me to play, experiment, and discover the joy of performing. Mr. Varner stopped me from walking out the door.

I honestly believe that without those three influences, I might not be here today. Is that dramatic? Perhaps. But perhaps not.

When you are a lonely, depressed kid who feels as though you don’t belong anywhere, finding one thing that makes you feel alive can mean everything. Sometimes it’s a teacher who refuses to give up on you. Sometimes it’s a silly toy microphone. Sometimes it’s one sentence spoken at exactly the right moment.

You may be reading this while still searching for the thing that gives your life meaning. Maybe you haven’t found your stage, your microphone, your art, your community, or the person who sees something in you that you cannot yet see in yourself.

Please keep looking. Try the class. Pick up the instrument. Audition for the play. Write the story. Join the group. Speak into the microphone.

And when your hand is on the doorknob and every part of you wants to escape, pause for a moment. You may be one brave decision away from finding the thing that changes your life.