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 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.