| Description | Please take the time to read this.......... if ever there was a touching
story, this is it.
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
DesMoines,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 the 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, 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 portage 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 in 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. Murray
Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995, where he was
reportedly....playing the piano.
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