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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 Mum) 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 mum'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 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 Mum
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 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 and
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.
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?
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