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

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 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 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 farm
house 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 purpose of this letter is to encourage everyone to compliment the people
you love and care about. We often tend to forget the importance of showing our
affections and love. Sometimes the smallest of things, could mean the most to
another. I am asking you, to please send this letter around and spread the
message and encouragement, to express your love and caring by complimenting
and being open with communication. 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, I beg of you, to 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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