I write about this every Christmas, but it is such a vivid memory for me that I have to do it again.

When I was six years old, my mom wanted me to be able to stand  up and speak in front of an audience, so she enrolled me in elocution.  (She probably thought I was going to be the next Shirley Temple.)  Once a week, I would go to a speech and drama teacher and learn poetry, songs, topical stories and such.  If I did well, I got a sticker.  I could have cared less about speaking in public, but I was a sucker for the stickers.  Bluebirds, fairies, fluffy dogs, sunbeams, ice-cream cones and such.  By Christmas, when I was in the first grade, I had learned a number of Christmas songs and poems: "Twas the Night Before Christmas," and "Santa Clause is Coming to Town," among others.

The principal in our building was an old maid named Miss Stanford.  She wore combat boots.  True fact.  And when she came down the hall, you could hear her every step.  It was scary.  One day, she started coming toward my room which was in the Southeast corner of the building.  Everyone got really quiet, because she only came to the class rooms when someone was in bad trouble.  Sure enough, she opened the door to our room and said, "I want Janie Swan." My heart stopped. Terrified.
She took my hand and led me to the other end of the building without saying a word to me.  When we reached the sixth grade rooms, she opened the door, picked me up and stood me on the teacher's desk and said, "Sing.  And quote a poem.  About Christmas."  I sang.  I quoted.  I shook.  But I got it done.  And when I finished, she proceeded to take me to all 18 rooms in the building and gave me the same instructions.  When we finally got back to my room and I finished singing to my own class, she took me down from the teacher's desk and said, "That was good."  That was it.  She left the room without another word.

A few years ago I was asked to speak at the North East Oklahoma Teacher's Association.  I told them that the most important thing they had to give to a child was validation.  Then I told the story about Miss Stanford marching me through 18 rooms and telling me to sing.  Then I said, "When I came in here to speak to you today, someone asked me if I was nervous about speaking to a group of educators and I answered them, "No, I'm never nervous when I speak.  I was validated at the age of six by a teacher who said, 'That was good.'"  Things like that stick with you and change your life.  It changed mine.