All the 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 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. Charles 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.
The 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 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 at
the grave side. 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 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 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.’ Chucks 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.
Written by: Sister Helen P. Morsia
(Encourage someone today and let them know you love them)
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