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From:
Subject: Who was the teacher?
Date: Wed, 27 Jun 2001 03:59:42 EDT

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 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' 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 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. This is specially 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.

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? 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....

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