IJMC - Warning, Repeat

If you were with the IJMC last year, December actually, you'll probably 
remember this story. I've received it twice again in the last day and I 
feel it's worth sending again. If it bores you, well, wait til tomorrow 
and there will be something new again. And Rebecca, you're gonna cry 
after this one...just so you know.                                -dave






"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 mischievous
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, "Than 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 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 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 a 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.  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, I
 beg of you, to tell the people you love and care for, that
 they are special and important.  Tell them, before it is
 too late.

      I leave these messages with you and ask you to
 continue to spread the message to everyone you know.