they are special and important

Heart of a Teacher
by Paula Fox*

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, he 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 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 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.