having said thank you…

It’s Danielle, here — finally entering into our blog. We’ve delivered our Style Statement book to our publisher (pub date: Spring 2008!) We’ve just returned from NYC where we lit some fires to get our own TV show rolling. And now, we’re creating more space to do what we love the most: communicate and make beautiful things. So I’ll be here more, trying to do just that.

When we composed this week’s Friday Focus, “Thank You Speech”, I had my high school English teacher in mind. Mrs. Kathleen Mulvey. St. Anne’s High. She was a petit, strawberry blonde who did not suffer fools. She gave us To Kill a Mockingbird (still one of my favourites,) and Shakespeare and Orwell. But more importantly for me, she gave me a subtle and certain praise. Her kudos for me were without fanfare, I wasn’t centered out and no one was made to feel less-than. More than once, as the bell rang and we stampeded into the halls, she would quietly – and very intently say, “Danielle, that essay was very, very good.” No extra sugar, no gross favoritism. She could have been giving directions to the ladies room.

In final year they handed out awards for scholastic achievement at a banquet ceremony. The English award would go to the student with the highest grade – which was not me. My grammar was imperfect, sometimes my essays were late. But when the English award winner was announced, she quietly — and very intently leaned over to me and said, “I wanted to give that to you. You have the passion.” We both acted like she didn’t say it and fumbled with our dinner rolls. She had jumped out of character for a second, and gave me a gift that would stew in me for years.

I never went beyond high school. University held no appeal for me whatsoever. I found crazy jobs and I worked my way up and out and into my own gig. For much of my career, I worked alongside PhD’s and published authors. And I stretched, I jumped through hoops, I studied on my own. But I knew that for the most part, passion would get me where I wanted to go.

About twelve years out of high school, I wrote Mrs. Mulvey a letter, chancing that she’d still be teaching in the same school system. I thanked her profusely for acknowledging me. She wrote back. “I recognized your handwriting on the envelope,” she said. And again, very subtly, she let me know that I had been seen and heard.