Of all the experiences of my young life, none shines brighter in my memory than the day my school won the state debating championship, and I would give anything to live it again.
It happened in my final year. Our school had never before reached the grand finale, and expectations were low. I had been chosen as the chief speaker of our team, and for weeks we practised, argued and polished our points late into the night. The topic for the final was a difficult one, and our opponents, a proud school from the state capital, were the reigning champions.
The great day arrived. The hall was packed to the rafters, and my heart pounded like a drum as I climbed the podium. For a moment my mind went blank; then, taking a deep breath, I began. To my own amazement, the words flowed. I marshalled my arguments, answered every challenge, and felt the audience warming to my side. When I made my final point, the hall erupted in thunderous applause.
The wait for the result was agonising. At last the chief judge rose, cleared his throat, and announced our school as the winner. The hall exploded. My teammates lifted me shoulder high; our teachers wept for joy; and our principal, usually so stern, danced like a schoolboy. As I clutched the gleaming trophy, cameras flashed and my name was called again and again.
I would love to relive that experience for many reasons. It was the sweet reward of hard work and teamwork; it filled my parents with pride; and, above all, it taught me that with courage and preparation, even the underdog can conquer. That single afternoon changed how I see myself forever, and if the clock could be turned back, I would walk up to that podium and do it all over again.