He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's School inMorris,
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. 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
a 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 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 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.