Subject: 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 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 how was 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 bomething 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 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. Please 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.
More details on the history of this at Snopes
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