HEART WARMING STORY
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 -
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 ften, and then I made a novice-teacher's mistake.
I looked at Mark and said,
It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out,
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,
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,
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.
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,
My father cleared his
throat as he usually did before something important.
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.
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.
Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of no! tebook 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.
Mark's classmates started to gather
around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said,
Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out
her
wallet and
showed her worn and frazzled list to the group.
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:
AN APPEAL TO EVERYONE:
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
thi
"Thank you for correcting me, Sister!"
"If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!"
"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.
"Than you for correcting me, Sister."
"Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend."
"I never knew that meant anything to anyone!"
"I didn't know others liked me so much."
"Dad?
"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."
"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.
"They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might
recognize it."
"As you can see, Mark treasured it."
"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."
"I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said without batting an
eyelash. "I think we all saved our lists."
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.