Mark' Story
He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's
School in Morris, Minn. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but
Mark Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in appearance, but had that
happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his occasional mischievousness, delightful.
Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that
talking without permission was not acceptable. What impressed me so much
though, was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for
misbehaving - "Thank you for correcting me, Sister!"
I didn't know what to make of it at first, but before long I became
accustomed to hearing it many times a day. One morning my patience
was growing thin when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a
novice teacher's mistake.
I looked at Mark and said, If you say one
more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!" It wasn't ten seconds
later when Chuck blurted out, "Mark is talking again."
I hadn't asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but since I had started the p p punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it. I remember the scene as if it
had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened my
drawer and took out a roll of masking tape. Without saying a word, I proceeded
to Mark's desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them
over his mouth. I then returned to the front of the room. As I glanced
at Mark to see how he was doing, he winked at me.
That did it!! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked back to Mark's desk,
removed the tape, and shrugged my shoulders. His first words were, "Thank you
for correcting me, Sister."
At the end of the year, I was asked to teach junior-high math. The
years flew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my classroom again.
He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen
carefully to my instruction in the "new math," he did not talk as much
in ninth grade as he had in third.
One Friday, things just didn't feel right. We had worked hard on a
new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning,
frustrated with themselves and edgy with one another. I had to stop
this crankiness before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the
names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving space
between each name.
Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and and write it down.
It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and
as the students left the room, each one handed me the papers.
Charlie smiled. Mark said, "Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good
weekend." That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a
separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that
individual. On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the
entire class was smiling.
Really?" I heard whispered. "I never knew that meant anything to
anyone!"
"I didn't know others liked me so much."
No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if
they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it did not
matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were
happy with themselves and one another again.
That group of students moved on. Several years later, after I
returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport. As we were
driving home,
Mother asked me the usual questions about the trip - the weather,
my experiences in general. There was a lull in the conversation.
Mother gave Dad a sideways glance and simply said, "Dad?".
My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something
important. "The Eklunds called last night," he began. "Really?" I
said.
"I haven't heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark is." Dad
responded quietly. "Mark was killed in Vietnam," he said. "The funeral is
tomorrow, and his parents would like it if you could attend."
To this day I can still point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad
told me about Mark.
I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark
looked so handsome, so mature. All I could think at that moment was, "Mark I
would give all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk
to me."
The church was packed with Mark's friends. Chuck's sister sang "The
Battle Hymn of the Republic." Why did it have to rain on the day of
the funeral? It was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said
the usual prayers, and the bugler played taps. One by one those who loved Mark
took a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water.
I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the
soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to me. "Were you Mark's math teacher?"
he asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin. "Mark talked
about you a lot," he said.
After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates headed to
Chuck's farmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother and father were there,
obviously waiting for me. "We want to show you something," his father said,
taking a wallet out of his pocket. "They found this on Mark when he
was killed. We thought you might recognize it."
Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of
notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded
many times.
I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had
listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about
him.
"Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's mother said. "As you can
see, Mark treasured it." Mark's classmates started to gather around us.
Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have mine. It's
in the top drawer of my desk at home." Chuck's wife said, "Chuck
asked me to put his in our wedding album."
"I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my diary." Then Vicki,
another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet
and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. I carry this with me
at all times," Vicki said without batting an eyelash. "I think we allsaved
our lists."
That's when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for
all his friends who would never see him again.
