Beloved A@P read please all this beautiful true story.
>Written by: Sister Helen P. Mrosla > >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. 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 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 would 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 |