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From: Donald Heiman< >
Subject: Short Story, "Good Things"
Date: Wed, 01 Oct 1997 07:32:38 -0700

I received this from a friend, so I thought I would share
with you.

All the Good Things:

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 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 the 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 II 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 grave side. 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.

THE END
written by: Sister Helen P. Mrosia

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.
Highlight the good things we have to share with each other and don't dwell
on negative's. The time we share, is but a bat of an eye
or a flicker of a smile. Share that smile with someone!

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