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 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 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 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 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 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 as 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 at 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. |