This brings a lot of thought with it..
ALL GOOD THINGS
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 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 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 sideways 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.
