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. 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, 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 sideways 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 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 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 of notebook papers 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 "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 all his friends who could
never see him again. 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, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special
and important. Tell them, before it is too late.
