Hi fellow virians,
I think this one is a real meme on the loose -- especially note the fact
that it has at least *three* separate calls to spread it tacked on to the
end, of which two are clearly written by different authors. I suspect we
have a case of "survival of the fittest" at work.
Anyone up for a full scale dissection?
ERiC
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Subject: [Fwd: [Fwd: All good things]]
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Subject:
[Fwd: All good things]
Date:
Fri, 09 Oct 1998 18:58:05 -0400
From:
Elaine Lindberg <lindberg@csolve.net>
Organization:
Your Mouse or Mine
To:
Bill Sak <billsak@nh.ultranet.com>,
David Janelle <DJanelle@compuserve.com>,
Diane Greenfield <greenfie@barint.on.ca>,
Diane Greenfield <greenfie@baradv.on.ca>,
Glenn Campbell <gcampbel@bconnex.net>,
Hudson Leavens <wcamera@mail.transdata.ca>,
Jamie Hunter <hmchin@bconnex.net>,
Josh <countingcrow@hotmail.com>,
Marian Parrott <mgofc@bconnex.net>,
Michelle Pilon <mtpilon@mid.igs.net>,
Odette Reynolds <odette@webgate.net>,
Paul Dion <pauldion@csolve.net>
Subject:
All good things
Date:
Fri, 09 Oct 1998 16:51:01 +0000
From:
"Susan A. Janicki" <smartwoman@conknet.com>
Organization:
SmartWoman & co.
To:
Carole Sjolander <iafecnh@aol.com>,
Compass Travel <comtravel@sugar-river.net>,
Diane Dewberry <ddfoxey@aol.com>,
"Eileen O'Donohue" <eod@igalaxy.net>,
Elaine Lindberg <lindberg@csolve.net>,
Jeanne Circosta <a_circosta@conknet.com>,
Jeanne Morris <dooris@aol.com>,
Karen Sally <rocko1@aol.com>,
Lisa Gold <lgold@conknet.com>,
Marty & Sue Bunis <m_bunis@conknet.com>,
Mom <Jljanicki@aol.com>,
Patricia Bedford <Jpvc@aol.com>,
Peter Kimball <p_kimball@conknet.com>,
susan farber <sfarber@conknet.com>,
Tami Corbett <J_Corbett@conknet.com>,
Tundra Slosek <tundras@draconis.com>,
Anne Trachtenberg <tomhues@aol.com>
Hi: This was forwarded to me...a gentle reminder that
what goes around
comes around.
ALL GOOD THINGS
> 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 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 by
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, "Than 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 abou
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 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 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.
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
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
> Written by: Sister Helen P. Mrosla
> 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.
If you've received this it is because someone cares
for you and
> it means there is probably at least someone for whom
you care.
>
> If you're too busy to take the few minutes that
it would take
> right now to forward this to ten people, would it
be the first time
> you didn't do that little thing that would make a
difference in
> your relationships?
>
>
> The more people that you send this to, the
better luck you will
> have. And the better you'll get at reaching out to
those you care
> about.
>
> Here's the deal:
>
> Forward this letter to at least 10 different
people; within 1
> hour of receiving it. Do it, and reap what you sow:
luck in love,
> people who care for you, and that warm feeling that
comes from loving
> others.
> And we don't know when that one day will be.
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Date: Fri, 09 Oct 1998 18:58:05 -0400
From: Elaine Lindberg <lindberg@csolve.net>
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Organization: Your Mouse or Mine
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Subject: [Fwd: All good things]
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Date: Fri, 09 Oct 1998 16:51:01 +0000
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Organization: SmartWoman & co.
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To: Carole Sjolander <iafecnh@aol.com>,
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Diane Dewberry <ddfoxey@aol.com>, "Eileen O'Donohue" <eod@igalaxy.net>,
Elaine Lindberg <lindberg@csolve.net>,
Jeanne Circosta <a_circosta@conknet.com>,
Jeanne Morris <dooris@aol.com>, Karen Sally <rocko1@aol.com>,
Lisa Gold <lgold@conknet.com>, Marty & Sue Bunis <m_bunis@conknet.com>,
Mom <Jljanicki@aol.com>, Patricia Bedford <Jpvc@aol.com>,
Peter Kimball <p_kimball@conknet.com>,
susan farber <sfarber@conknet.com>,
Tami Corbett <J_Corbett@conknet.com>,
Tundra Slosek <tundras@draconis.com>,
Anne Trachtenberg <tomhues@aol.com>
Subject: All good things
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Hi: This was forwarded to me...a gentle reminder that what goes around
comes around.
ALL GOOD THINGS
> 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 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 by 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, "Than 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 abou 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 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 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. 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 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
> Written by: Sister Helen P. Mrosla
> 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.
If you've received this it is because someone cares for you and
> it means there is probably at least someone for whom you care.
>
> If you're too busy to take the few minutes that it would take
> right now to forward this to ten people, would it be the first time
> you didn't do that little thing that would make a difference in
> your relationships?
>
>
> The more people that you send this to, the better luck you will
> have. And the better you'll get at reaching out to those you care
> about.
>
> Here's the deal:
>
> Forward this letter to at least 10 different people; within 1
> hour of receiving it. Do it, and reap what you sow: luck in love,
> people who care for you, and that warm feeling that comes from loving
> others.
> And we don't know when that one day will be.
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--------------3C325C49532B4DCF965EDC48--