Fw: Fw: Piano Lessons (A True Story)

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Piano Lessons. 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 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 or 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 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 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, 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?

--

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