At the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story. My name is
Mildred Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music teacher from
Des Moines , Iowa .. I've always supplemented my income by teaching
piano lessons-something I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I
found that children have many levels of musical ability. I've never
had the pleasure of having a prodigy though I have taught some
talented students.
However I've also had my share of what I call "musically challenged"
pupils. One such student was Robby. Robby was 11 years old when his
mother (a single Mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I
prefer that students (especially boys!) begin at an earlier age, which
I explained to Robby.
But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him
play the piano. So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his
piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless
endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and
basic rhythm needed to excel But he dutifully reviewed his scales and
some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn.
Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and
tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always
say, "My mom's going to hear me play someday." But it seemed hopeless.
He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a
distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick
him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in.
Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons.
I thought about calling him but assumed because of his lack of
ability, that he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad
that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!
Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the
upcoming recital.. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked
me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for
current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not
qualify. He said that his mother had been sick and unable to take him
to piano lessons but he was still practicing "Miss Hondorf I've just
got to play!" he insisted.
I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it
was his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that
it would be all right. The night for the recital came. The high school
gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby
up last in the program before I was to come up and thank all the
students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he
would do would come at th e end of the program and I could always
salvage his poor performance through my "curtain closer."
Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been
practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on stage. His clothes
were wrinkled and his hair looked like he'd run an eggbeater through
it. "Why didn't he dress up like the other students?" I thought. "Why
didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special
night?"
Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he
announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in C Major. I was
not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the
keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo
to fortissimo. From allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that
Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so
well by people his age. After six and a half minutes he ended in a
grand crescendo and everyone was on their feet in wild applause.
Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby
in joy. "I've never heard you play like that Robby! How'd you do it? "
Through the microphone Robby explained: "Well Miss Hondorf Remember I
told you my Mom was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed
away this morning And well . . . She was born deaf so tonight was the
first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special."
There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from
Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster
care, noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to
myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil.
No, I've never had a prodigy but that night I became a prodigy. . ..
Of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil for it is he that
taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in
yourself and maybe even taking a chance in someone a nd you don't know
why.
Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah
Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995. And now, a
footnote to the story.
If you are thinking about forwarding this message, you are probably
thinking about which people on your address list aren't the
"appropriate" ones to receive this type of message. The person who
sent this to you believes that we can all make a difference. So many
seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a
choice: Do we act with compassion or do we pass up that opportunity
and leave the world a bit colder in the process?
The choice yours..
May God bless us all...javascript:void(0)
Posted by.
Raul Pelagio
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