Robby's
Night
True Story Worth Reading !!!
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 advert isement 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 h e 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 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.
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?
You have two choices now:
1.
Delete this.
2. Forward it to the people you care
about.
You know the choice I made. Thank
you for reading this.
May God bless you today,
tomorrow and always.
*********
If
God didn't have a purpose for us, we wouldn't be here!
