Posted by Phil on March 17, 1999 at 13:11:48:
----------
From: Jyl
Sent: Thursday, February 11, 1999 1:49 PM
To: JoAnn; Philip; M&MDir
Subject: FW:
Subject: This is long but DEFINITELY worth it!
References: <86256713.0062890A.00@mail.delmet.com
Forwarded by Netchie Lopez:
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.