He was in the first 3rd 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 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 stated the 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 by 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 the week, and
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 a space between each name. Then I told them to
think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their
classmates 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 didn't 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 side-ways
glance and simply says, "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 my list. 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 all saved 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.
THE END
Written by: Sister Helen P. Mrosla
The purpose of this letter is to encourage everyone to
compliment the people you love and care about. We often
tend to forget the importance of showing our affections
and love. Sometimes the smallest of things, could mean the
most to another. I am asking you, to please send this letter
around and spread the message and encouragement, to express
your love and caring by complimenting and being open with
communication.
The density of people in society is so thick that we forget
that life will end one day. And we don't know when that one
day will be. So please, I beg of you, to tell the people
you love and care for, that they are special and important.
Tell them, before it is too late.
(
geocities.com/stauffer_james)