Speaking to large groups of teenagers and college students aren't too big of a problem for me. That's because, if they're bored, they continue to sit there quietly, only with glazed eyes and a sudden fascination with the cotton twill on their sleeve. But kids are different. Bored kids don't exactly voice their displeasure through crafty and subtle means because, as we all know, kids don't operate under any social protocol whatsoever.
Somehow, I was once invited to be a guest speaker at a Toronto church's children service. (Many people are still trying to figure out how this happened.) Children are generally apathetic when I say something. The moment I open my mouth, they want to know if I can juggle or make horsey sounds. I always refuse because I can't throw something in the air and catch it, nor could I neigh like a horse. Upon admitting this, the kids would immediately neigh for me at 100 decibels, because neighing actually gives you popular sway when you're four.
The children's service went fairly well, actually -- especially after I decided to water down everything I had to say in terms of 'good' and 'bad', 'big' and 'little', etc. A child asked me about Eminem and whether I liked him. I started, "I simply cannot condone his perspective on life, his overall message, and his presbyopic inability to center himself in anything deeper than his own defensive self-indulgences; however, his sheer technical facility and lyrical prowess are unequaled in 'the game', per se, and when I say 'the game', I mean it to be analogous to the mass commercial conglomerate that has become 'hip hop' as a whole. Even in the underground, however, Eminem's ability is respected and, in evaluating only the techniques within the art, his foibles rest only on his annoyingly nasal voice and his knack for extending a multi-syllabic scheme far too long so that the rhythm becomes more incessant than the beat itself."
It was when I drew myself to the exciting finish of my gramatically feasible run-on sentence that a boy in the first row drooled all over his shirt. Which is why, for the rest of the service, I pretty much spoke like Tarzan. I cleared my throat. "Eminem good. But Eminem bad."
All I have to say is I'm glad that I had Epidemic with me at this children's service. He helped me a ton by standing there simpering nervously, and when I say simpering, I mean self-consciously smiling like an idiot. But I don't blame him. He had no idea where I was going with the thing anyway. I just kind of showed up at his church with the vague notion that I was going to speak and freestyle. So we decided to cut the insightful chit-chat and just freestyle.
I don't know if I'm making this up, or if Ep and I actually had a pretty good day that day. For instance, if I recall correctly, when one of the kids said 'school', Ep dextrously turned the whole topic into a rhymed lecture on quantum physics and mathematical logarithms. Normally, this would have gotten crowds at hard-core hip hop clubs riled up and throwing their hands in the air, I assure you. Uh, not really. But even less so for a team of four-to-eight year olds.
To tell you the truth, it was only when someone said 'cat' that we got the right idea. First of all, I have literally nothing to say about cats. I don't really like them because they strike me as selfish and totally, well, catty. So, having nothing really good to say about them, I said:
"Yo, cats make a sound, and I'm going to show you how..
Cats sometimes purr, but most of the time they meow.."
The kids.. went.. nuts. I wish all our shows were this easy. And pretty soon, the whole thing broke down with us making animal noises for them over the 50 Cent instrumental "In Da Club". It was like the song 'Old McDonald', complete with the "woof woof there, everywhere a woof woof". But with a twist, like: "Yo, when I say HEY! You say MEOW! HEY… (MEOW!) HEY.. (MEOW!)"
Once I learn how to neigh, I'll go on tour with this thing.
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