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 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 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. Marked 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 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 thoat like he always did before saying 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.