I love sending sentimental greeting cards, especially to my mom. I love telling people how much I love them
and how much I appreciate the gift that they bring to my life just by being who they are.
I received the following story this morning from my friend, Skip. It reminded me of a course that I participated in years
ago. One of the exercises in the course was to do the very same thing that the Sister does in this story.
I remember how much of an impact it had on my life and how much it meant to get love in the form of feedback from people
who barely knew me but saw in me the very qualities that I longed to have recognized and appreciated. As with the students
in this story, I too still have that piece of paper.
I hope you enjoy the story. I have a suggestion which follows. Please use it as you will.
STORY THAT CAN HELP YOU
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 instructions 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 the 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 light lull in the conversation. Mother gave Dad a side-ways 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 had acted as pallbearer came up to me. "Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. I
nodded as I continue 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, 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 this 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 END
