A Good Student
Added on the 3rd of September, 2005
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 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'd 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
tovirtuoso. 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 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 on 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.