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In a message dated 97-10-10 04:35:38 EDT, msmckiny@juno.com (Mark S McKinney)
writes:

<< 
                          CHANGE A LIFE
               written by: Sister Helen P. Mrosia
  
  He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's School
  in Morris, MN.  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. 
  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, my 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.  
 
  THE END  
  
  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. I am asking you, to please send this letter
  around and spread the message and encouragement, to express your love
  and caring by complimenting and being open with communication. The
 density
  of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one
  day. We don't know when that one day will be. So please, I beg of you,
  to tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and
  important.  Tell them, before it is too late.  I leave these messages
  with you and ask you to continue to spread the message to everyone you
  know.
   
  >>

I hope this affects you folks the way it affected me.  Bro. Fitz
---------------------
Forwarded message:
From:	msmckiny@juno.com (Mark S McKinney)
To:	bryanaa@InfoAve.Net, bryanaa@hub.infoave.net, ballestero@juno.com,
twbass@mercury.net, awbuiejr@juno.com, dracomp@aol.com, Rdeckard@venus.net,
ENGsatx@aol.com, Fitzgerel@aol.com, RGeorge895@aol.com, MEGolder@aol.com,
Rhackler@holli.com, greyroad@bellsouth.net, mj500@aol.com, MKeller57@aol.com,
lambeth@pro.via-rs.com.br, stormi8@juno.com, stormi6@aol.com,
dmeadesr@juno.com, PDMOONEY@aol.com, buscon@juno.com, c.roberts1@juno.com,
d.roberts2@juno.com, Deeaise@aol.com, droberts2@juno.com,
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Date: 97-10-10 04:35:38 EDT


                         CHANGE A LIFE
              written by: Sister Helen P. Mrosia
 
 He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's School
 in Morris, MN.  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. 
 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, my 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.  

 THE END  
 
 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. I am asking you, to please send this letter
 around and spread the message and encouragement, to express your love
 and caring by complimenting and being open with communication. The
density
 of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one
 day. We don't know when that one day will be. So please, I beg of you,
 to tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and
 important.  Tell them, before it is too late.  I leave these messages
 with you and ask you to continue to spread the message to everyone you
 know.
  

 Bro Mac