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. 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 said, "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 II 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 th is 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.
--Tad Mckeon <tad@mckeon-assoc.com>
Learning-org -- An Internet Dialog on Learning Organizations For info: <rkarash@karash.com> -or- <http://world.std.com/~lo/>