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Devil Shat 1997 12 18
.ili. Devil Shat Sixteen .ili.
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All the Good Things ................ by Sister Helen P. Mrosia
This is Devil Shat Sixteen released on 12/18/97. Devil Shat is published
by Disobey and is protected under all copyright laws. All of the issues
are archived at the Disobey website: http://www.disobey.com/
Submissions, email, and news should be sent to morbus@disobey.com. Your
comments are welcome. What do you want us to write about? Send an email
and let us know.
Yes, yes, yes. I know what you are thinking. You subscribed to Devil
Shat, or are otherwise reading cos you like the sarcasm, the thought,
the humor, or whatever you do to get your kicks off. And now, we have
some stupid Christmas special. You're disgusted with us. Where is our
bickering of Christmas? Our bickering about how Christmas has been
dubbed the "day to be nice" (and why can't we be nice, and give every
day?). Or why Santa is a hero (why else would so many people dress up
like him and do stupid things?). Or why it doesn't mean anything more
than a day to remember our families? Well, simply, cos we're being nice
for the holidays.
We wouldn't want to get coal.
(And for those of you who thought our sarcasm last issue was a little
joke, and we would come out with a "Rip Santa and Xmas a new arse-hole"
issue, well... guess the jokes on you. Ha. Ha.)
And yes, we will be back to our normal selves next issue.
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.ili. All the Good Things .ili.
------------------------------- by Sister Helen P. Mrosia
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. 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 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.
[AFTERWORD: The purpose of this letter, is to encourage everyone to
compliment 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.]
[AFTERWORD 2: Christmas is supposed to be a time of caring, of love, and
of giving, and it still is. But it isn't from the heart. It is a
tradition that we do cos we grew up that way, cos our parents did it for
theirs and so on. "Compliment people you love and care about." Yes, do
that. And give all the time, don't make the act of giving important on
only one day.]
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