All Good Things

The Power of Appreciation

by Helen P. Mrosla

He was in the first third-grade class I taught at Saint Mary's School in Morris Minnesota, and Mark Ecklund was one in a million. All of my 34 third-grade students were dear to me, but Mark had a happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his occasional mischievousness delightful. 

Mark talked incessantly. I continually admonished him. What impressed me so much though was his sincere response whenever I correct him for misbehaving: “Thank you for correcting me, Sister!”

I didn't know what to make of it at first, but I became accustomed to hearing it. One morning I made a novice-teacher’s mistake. “If you say one more word, Mark, I am going to tape your mouth shut!” 

Ten seconds later, Chuck blurted, “Mark is talking again.”

So, now I had to act on it. I took out a roll of masking tape, tore off two pieces and made a big X with them over Mark’s mouth. But then he winked at me. That did it! I started laughing. The class cheered as I removed the tape and shrugged my shoulders. His first words were, “Thank you for correcting me, Sister.”

The years flew by, and before I knew it, Mark was in my math classroom again in junior high. One Friday, we had worked on a new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were edgy with one another. I had to stop this before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of all the other students in the room. 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. 

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 and whispering, “I didn’t know others liked me so much!”

No one ever mentioned those papers again. I never knew if they discussed them with their parents, but it didn’t matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with one another again. 

Years later, after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport. “The Eklunds called last night,” my father said. 

“Really?” I said. “I haven’t heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark is.”

Dad responded quietly: “Mark was killed in Vietnam. The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like you to attend.”

To this day, I can still point to the exact spot where Dad told me about Mark. 

I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All could think at that moment was: Mark, I would give all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me. It was raining at graveside. 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. 

One of the soldiers who had acted as pallbearer came up to me. “Mark talked a lot about you,” he said. 

I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin. 

After the funeral, most of Mark’s classmates headed to Chuck’s farmhouse for lunch. Mark’s mother and father were there, 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. Recognize it?”

He carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped and folded many times. I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the good things 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 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.”

I sat down and cried. 

Sometimes, the smallest of things, can mean the most to another. We forget that life will end one day. So please, tell the people you love and care for that they are special and important. I leave this message with you and ask you to continue to spread the message to everyone you know.

Sister Helen P. Mrosla

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