Inspirational Stories
Mark's Teacher
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 did not 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 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 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 isted 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 mine. 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.
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