He was in the first third gradeclass 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 mischieviousness 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 him 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 the 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 he class period to finish the 
assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed
me the papers. Charlie smiled. Marked 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 
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 Chucks 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. 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.