All the good things..
ALL THE GOOD THINGS
In the hurry to achieve all that we dreamt,we forge to cherish all those people who play a significant role in making life worthwhile.. we take the people that we love for granted..thinking that they obviously realise our love for them.hurt ur parents when actually teh anegr is directed towards urself.take out ur stress on ur frnds..well..here's a story to read..
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 tat 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 wearing 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’m 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 kids 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 happened this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a role 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-school math. The year flew by, and before I knew it, Mark was in my class once 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 didn’t talk as much as he did in third grade.
One Friday, things just didn’t feel right. We had worked on a new concept all week, and I sensed the students were 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 of them handed me the papers. 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 listed what other students had written about that individual. On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. “Really!” I heard them whisper. “I never knew that meant anything to anyone.” “I didn’t know others liked me so much.” No one ever mentioned those papers 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 sideways glance. My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something important. “The Eklunds called last night.” “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. I was the last to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who had acted as pallbearer came up tome. “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 parents were there, obviously waiting for me. “We want to show you something,” his father said, taking out a wallet from 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 read and re-read many a times. It was the exercise that I had given them in their math class.All of my former students started to gather around. 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 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 and without batting an eyelash, she continued: "I think we all saved our lists."
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 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.
In the hurry to achieve all that we dreamt,we forge to cherish all those people who play a significant role in making life worthwhile.. we take the people that we love for granted..thinking that they obviously realise our love for them.hurt ur parents when actually teh anegr is directed towards urself.take out ur stress on ur frnds..well..here's a story to read..
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 tat 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 wearing 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’m 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 kids 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 happened this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a role 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-school math. The year flew by, and before I knew it, Mark was in my class once 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 didn’t talk as much as he did in third grade.
One Friday, things just didn’t feel right. We had worked on a new concept all week, and I sensed the students were 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 of them handed me the papers. 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 listed what other students had written about that individual. On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. “Really!” I heard them whisper. “I never knew that meant anything to anyone.” “I didn’t know others liked me so much.” No one ever mentioned those papers 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 sideways glance. My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something important. “The Eklunds called last night.” “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. I was the last to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who had acted as pallbearer came up tome. “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 parents were there, obviously waiting for me. “We want to show you something,” his father said, taking out a wallet from 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 read and re-read many a times. It was the exercise that I had given them in their math class.All of my former students started to gather around. 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 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 and without batting an eyelash, she continued: "I think we all saved our lists."
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 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.
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