"Mr. Williams?" asked the voice on the phone.

"Yes." I answered with hesitation. I've learned over the years that when anyone calls me Mr. they usually want to sell me something.

"This is Mrs. Brown over at the local elementary school. I've heard that you're a photographer and do slide shows about wildlife. Would you consider doing a show for the kids? They really love animals. I also hear your photographs are absolutely beautiful."

Her last sentence hooked me. She must have heard I was a sucker for compliments. My fragile ego had taken a devastating blow at my previous presentation for the Sunnyside Nursing Home. I had lost half my audience who fell asleep ten minutes after the lights went out, others couldn't comprehend that the photos were taken in Africa and not Disney World, and one sweet little old lady named Nellie kept hollering that she wanted to go back to her room. I desperately need a confidence builder.

"How many kids and how old are they?" I tentatively asked.

"Oh, it will probably be just my class, maybe a few others. They're around 10 to 11 years old."

"Ten to eleven," I think. Not old enough to be critical of a few exposures that are only slightly off or less than dramatic compositions, yet not so young as to not comprehend and appreciate a nice close-up of a critter. I flashed back to the April PhotoMigrations article by Colin Smith giving helpful tips on how to do a slide show. With guidance from Colin and a little preparation, what could possibly go wrong?

"OK, I'll do it."

A date was set and I began to pull slides from files. I decided the theme would be Our National Wildlife Refuges. I had plenty of stock to pick from and I could feature five or six refuges with a couple right here in Oklahoma for a local flavor. Let's see. What kind of animals would kids identify with? Deer for sure, kids see deer all the time. What else? Birds naturally, woodpeckers, hawks. Maybe an armadillo, and prairie dogs, don't forget the baby prairie dogs. Oh, and a snake, a rattlesnake, just to shake them up a bit. This was gonna be easy.

I sent out some images to be converted to title slides and began rehearsing my commentary. I considered the style of the late Mr. Rogers.

"Children, I took this photo on a wonderful day at the neighborhood prairie. Now this is a bison also know as a buffalo. Can you say buffalo?"

No, not Mr. Rogers, how about that Australian Crocodile Hunter guy on TV?

"Kids, look at the size of that snike. Why, if he was to boight you, your fingers would rot roight off."

No, not him either, better just to keep it natural.

Showtime! I lug my trays and projector into the designated room and experience my first tiny bit of apprehension. I find it is not a theatre or an auditorium, but a gym, a basketball gym. No chairs not even bleachers, just a hardwood floor. Can I possibly hold the attention of 10-11 year olds while they sit for 45 minutes on rock hard wood? This might be a problem. I hoped for a small class.

At this time, Mrs. Brown and the principal come in to greet me. "Thank you for coming," they say, "And by the way, we've decided to bring in a few more kids for your show."

"More? How many more?"

"Pretty much the whole school".

"THE WHOLE SCHOOL?"

"Well, there are only about 250 kids. That's okay isn't it?"

I quickly looked for the nearest exit but saw that each door was alarmed. All windows were tightly latched. The little urchins started pouring through the entrance like lemmings over a cliff—I was trapped.

My panic was somewhat abated when I realized I was not going to be trampled by a mob of rug rats but instead saw an order and discipline to the way the little monsters were being seated. Each teacher led their class to a space on the floor, lined them up, and sat them down. There was no yelling, screaming, pushing, or fighting. More importantly, they didn't seem to be carrying anything to throw at me. When the din of conversation began to rise, the teacher raised one arm straight in the air and the little people actually quieted down—amazing. When the entire group had taken their place, a young man from the faculty stepped to the front and began a series of arm exercises. First straight out, then sideways, then up. They all mimicked his movement with grins and giggles. I suspected this was to relieve a little nervous energy that kids that age abound with. Maybe this was going to work after all.

The first slide hit the screen, the cutest little fawn you ever saw. "OOOOOHHH!" went 250 darling little voices. An eagle was next. "WOOOOWWWW!" was the sound of 250 beautiful children. Obviously, this was a group of above average intelligence. And so it went. Slide after slide was met with a crescendo of approval. In fact, it got loud, a little too loud. I started looking for the man who led the arm exercises. But on the average, it all went well. The bulb didn't burn out, no one knocked the projection stand over, and not one person asked to go back to their room. A hearty round of applause at the conclusion restored my faith in youth to someday lead this country. The ego soared.

The principal takes the mike. "Are there any questions?"

"Why didn't you have more snake pictures?"

"I suppose it's because I really don't like snakes that much." (I thought kids were afraid of snakes)

"Why didn't you show a picture of a Peregrine falcon?"

"Well, if you must know, I haven't been skillful enough to get one." (Little smart Alec.)

"How about a Harris hawk?"

"No, I don't have one of those either." (Where did they learn of such birds?)

I was praying for the bell to ring when a lad in the back raised his hand. I wondered if it was Little Johnny, that boy we hear so much about.

"Are you a professional?" he asked ever so innocently. (I swear I saw a sneer flicker across his lips.)

"Uh, well…. no, not really." I stammered.

They had me! Exposed for the fraud that I am in less than 2 minutes by 10 year olds.

The ego remains on the critical list.

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