Robby's night, True Story

[Guest guest]

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 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 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, 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

--- End forwarded message ---