The Heart of a Teacher

[Guest guest]

The 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.

5:51 PM 9/8/2009