I don’t remember who said it to me first.

“Never say ‘thank you’ in a thank-you note.”

Maybe it was one of my grandmothers shortly after a birthday…

It certainly could have been my mom back when we didn’t live close to relatives.

I don’t remember who said it, but I’ve never forgotten the advice.

It doesn’t even seem like good advice when you first say it to yourself. What do you mean I can’t say “thank you” in a thank-you note!? That’s crazy!

But when you stop to think about what you would say, the wisdom of it suddenly becomes clear. If you can’t just say thank you, you actually have to think about the gift and how you are going to use it and why you appreciate it. You might have to tell a story about this one time, before you had this gift, and the ridiculous, sad, scary things that happened… all because you didn’t have it yet.

The best thank-you notes leave you satisfied and a little smug. They let you know that the recipient of your gift didn’t just receive the gift, he or she “gets” it, understands that you worked to create or purchase something just for him or her. The words stay with you clear into the next day. And a month later, when you find that envelope still on your dresser, you can open it and feel good all over again.

That’s one of the best things about a hand-written, non-electronic, delivered-in-the-mail thank-you note. You can keep it, carry it around with you, read it again on a bad day or maybe take a quick peek at it in a coffee shop.

I really appreciate a good thank you note. My oldest daughter Erika… she gets it. When she got married last summer, she wrote the best thank-you notes. I was worried that maybe she wouldn’t like the gifts we chose for her… I mean, they weren’t on her bridal registry or anything. They were just pieces that I thought would look great in her amazing dining room. And then I showed them to my mom… and my brother… and my other brother… and they each picked out a piece that coordinated with the three pieces I had already purchased. They got several silvery, modernistic serving pieces that should look terrific in her dining room. But I mean, really! What had I started? What if neither she nor her new husband liked them? It was going to take the entire backseat of her SUV to return all of that stuff!

The note didn’t come right away. There was the honeymoon and lots of gifts to open. And lots of thank yous to write. But when it arrived, it was perfect. And in her perfect thank-you note, she let me know that the serving pieces were perfect in her dining room and that she knew that I was behind the shower of silvery, modernistic serving pieces and that they would always make her think of me.

Perfect.

But that sets the bar pretty high. Even by my standards.

I have a note of my own that I need to write. One that I have been putting off. Not because I am unappreciative or ungrateful, but because this note has to be perfect.

Because the gift was perfect.

Dear C.J.,

I can’t even start this note without tearing up. Your note about me and your experiences in my classroom sent me flying back in time. I read it during yearbook class. I had to turn and face the wall so that my students wouldn’t see my tears. But they weren’t tears of sadness.

From your first story in Beginning Journalism, I have loved to read your words. You use them so carefully. Rewriting and rethinking until the words flow together in a silken sentence that creates a vivid image. You choose words that set the tone of the moment, that force the reader into the scene or the situation. If the reader, like me, lived that moment from a different angle, the words have a physical impact… they leave you breathless or wistful or teary… or all of the above.

But to read about myself… to see me through your eyes… was scary and wonderful. Your senior year was a tough time… for you, for the newspaper and for me. Talking to you in my office after you didn’t get the editorship that you thought you owned was one of the toughest “chats” of my career. I thought the world of you and was shocked when your first interview was so… nonchalant and unimpressive. I thought that perhaps you were sick. Surely you would do better if we just gave you another chance. So we interviewed you again… and again. And then I saw your face in the days that followed that announcement. Well, I guess that’s not true. I didn’t see your face. You wouldn’t even look at me. I remember our talk in my office clearly. I think it was almost as tough for me as it was for you. I have cringed over the years at the memory of it.

To read your entry last month lifted a burden that I have carried with me since that day in my office. I don’t know if you realize how important those words were to me.

I have been so blessed in my career to work with many talented students like you… several of whom, like you, write for This Ordinary Day and rank way up there among the students I remember most vividly. You, Becka, Sam and Jacky all taught me lessons about life, about journalism and about people that I carry with me today.

I am not sure that I really deserved all of the kind words, all of the kudos, that you expressed, but I was touched by them and I will keep them.

I printed your words out.

I keep them in my jewelry box next to the brooches and earrings I inherited from my grandmothers.

And every time I open the drawer, I know that I can open the envelope and read your words again… even though I already know most of it by heart. Every time I read it, it’ll be like stepping into a time machine. I’ll get to travel back and revisit you, the quiet young man with the shy smile who grew up a great deal in my classroom. I’ll get see not only that young man, but myself, through your eyes.

And you need to stop by sometime so I can give you a hug and tell you how amazing it was to watch you lead from the back of the room, to see you remain true to yourself during a rough senior year and how privileged I feel to have played even a small role in your life’s successes.

As ever,
Cough

P.S. There’s a new C.J. in my Beginning Journalism class. He wants to be a sports writer when he grows up. I think you need to be his mentor.

Susan (Cough) sent this note to C.J. the old fashioned way before it ran here.

2 Responses to “Thank you”

1. Christiane Says:
   October 14th, 2008 at 3:02 am

   Thanks for sharing this. Everyone who’s had a great teacher - and maybe even those who haven’t - can relate to the deep respect and affection you have for each other. And it’s nice to learn about the why, where, how and when of the people writing here on TOD…

2. Ashley Johnson Agre Says:
   October 15th, 2008 at 10:52 am

   Cough, you are amazing as always!!! Thank you again for everything you have done!

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