I remember my leg, bouncing up and down rapidly. I remember my hands, palms sweaty in my lap. I was sitting in the front row at the 8th grade veterans day ceremony. A  stage was in front of me, with a large American flag behind it. In the center, was a brown wooden podium, awaiting my arrival. I gulped. The gym appeared crowded, every chair and bleacher seat was taken. 

“Hey, you got this,” whispers my friend Molly. 

I take a breath.I hear my name from the microphone: that's all I hear. I get up and walk my way up the stairs, my heart pounding with each step I take. I stand up to the podium and flip through the manilla folder to find my speech. There, it sits. Weeks of hard work and competition created this opportunity. I place it on top of the folder and take a glance at the crowd. Thousands of people stare back, I feel their eyes piercing my words before they even come out of my throat. I look back down, and begin to read. My own voice scares me, but I continue. The fear is worth getting my words off the paper, expressing the value of veterans to the audience. I was not, am not, and will never be a great public speaker, but I wanted to for my grandma. As the words kept relaying from paper to voice, it became easier. The sound traveled out of my mouth like a creak on smooth rocks. The speech was over as quickly as it started. 

“Thank you,” I concluded, and took another glance at the crowd. I found my grandma in the crowd, and with the look in her eyes I instantly knew that she was proud of me, and grandpa would be too. I was here, not because I was a great public speaker but because I needed to express my words. Not just any ‘thank you’ to the veterans but my ‘thank you’. And with the eruption of applause the the glitter in the audiences eye I knew I succeeded.