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 mischieviousness 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 forcorrecting 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 him 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 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 instructions in the "new
math," he did not talk as much in ninth grade as
he had in the 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 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
the 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 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 light 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 had 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 Chucks 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
this 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. Mrosia

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.

I leave these messages with you and ask you to
continue to spread the message to everyone you know.