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 some day." 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 alright.
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' 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 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 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. Murrah
Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995, where he was
reportedly....playing the piano.
|