> 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, 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 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: you can delete this or you can forward it to

> the people you care about.
>
> You know the choice I made. Thank you for reading.