It was an honest question

I always enjoyed when my elementary and junior high classes had guest speakers.

A guest speaker was always better than the alternative, which was classwork or a test. Some of the speakers were funny - like the garbage collector who started telling stories of his dog encounters and never got around to telling us anything about the garbage collecting business.

In seventh grade health, we were visited by a chiropractor from a neighboring town.

My family didn't use a chiropractor, and so I didn't fully understand what they did. Our teacher knew this particular guest speaker, but she had not really shared a lot of information about chiropractors. She explained that our speaker wasn't a medical doctor, but he was in the healthcare business, which didn't really matter to a bunch of seventh-graders. We were just glad for a guest speaker. A guest speaker was one notch better than a film strip or a television show on Georgia Public Television.

Between the garbage collector and the chiropractor, my classes had been visited by a florist. It was an interesting program, but when it came time for questions we all sat there in awkward silence. Our teacher filled the time by asking a few questions on our behalf. She was embarrassed by our silent spectator-ship, which led to a stern lecture before the chiropractor's visit.

"As you listen, I want you to write down one question," she said. "I'm going to call on some of you to ask your questions. After class, I will collect the questions and you will get a grade on your question."

From the get-go, I realized the chiropractor visiting our class had something very much in common with me: Neither one of us wanted to be there. Had he been a sheriff's deputy, or a funeral director, or a garbage collector, or even a florist, I could have listened and enjoyed it. But, he was talking about spinal columns and vertebrae and adjustments. He became visibly agitated that no one was paying attention - not even those who enjoyed Science seemed to understand the depth of his lecture. He had far out-punted his coverage.

When it came time for questions, I honestly didn't have one. I had no idea what this good man had just said over 25 minutes of our time. I was just amazed he could talk so long about something so complicated. I was terrified that our teacher was going to call on me to ask a question.

That's when I realized my arm was asleep.

I guess for 25 minutes I had propped my head in my right palm while my elbow rested on my desk. Moving my arm at the end of his presentation I realized that I had no feeling from my hand to my elbow. It was dead in that pinched-nerve kind of way.

All of a sudden I did have a question. Thank you, Lord. I wasn't waiting on the teacher.

I raised my left hand.

"Why is my arm asleep?" I asked. It was an honest question and I thought as a health care professional the chiropractor was the perfect person to ask. Right? Right?

I will never forget the stare - no the glare - that man gave me. I thought he was going to charge me, and I was going to be pretty defenseless trapped in a school desk with only one good arm.

He was aggravated but answered my question about nerve pressure pinching blood flow. I could tell he wasn't happy about it. My teacher didn't really appreciate my question either even as I fiercely shook my arm to wake it.

I woke up this morning and my arm was asleep. For some reason I thought about that day in seventh grade and laughed out loud.

www.scottdvaughan.com

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