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

DeMoines, 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

protégé 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 had 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 someone 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 protégé...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

[email][more stories]