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 protege 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 Mom 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 thinned 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 egg-beater 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 air 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 tovirtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart
demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by
someone 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,
I
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 protege but that night I became a protege...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 on someone and you don't know why.
This is especially meaningful to me since after serving in Desert Storm
Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal
Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995, where he was
reportedly....playing the piano. 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. We all have thousands of
opportunities a day to help realize God's plan. So many seemingly trivial
interactions between two people present us with a choice:
Do we pass
along
a spark of the Divine? Or do we pass up that opportunity, and leave the
world a bit colder in the process?