READ
ABOUT PEOPLES' POSITIVE ATTITUDE TOWARDS LIFE AND LEARN THE
MAGIC OF NOT GIVING UP EVEN WHEN THE GOING GETS TOUGH.
All Good Things
This
is really a very sad story, hope you will enjoy it and do treasure every
single moment with your loved ones before it's too late for regret .
. . .
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 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 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.
All Good Things 
