Mark Eklund.
He was in the first third grade class I
taught at Saint Mary’s School in Minneosota. 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, 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
the road 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. 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. I keep it 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.
