ACCEPT MY LITTLE ANG POW PLEASE

 

IT IS NOTHING BIG

JUST A TRUE STORY!

 At the prodding of my friends I am writing this story. My
 name is Mildred Honor and I am a
 former elementary school music teacher from Des Moines ,
 Iowa . I have always supplemented my income by teaching
 piano lessons - something I have done for over 30
 years. 
  
 During those years I found that
 children have many levels of musical ability, and
 even though I have never had the
 pleasure of having a  prodigy, I have taught some
 very talented students. However, I have also had
 my share of what
 I call 'musically challenged' pupils -
 one such pupil being 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 his piano lessons and from
 the beginning I thought it was a hopeless
 endeavour. 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 piano 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 would always say 'My
 mom's going to hear me play someday'. But to me, 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 dropped in. 
  
 Then one day Robby stopped coming for his lessons..
 I thought about calling him, but assumed
 that because of his lack of ability he had decided
 to pursue something else. I was also glad that he
 had stopped coming - he was a bad avertisement
 for my teaching! 
  
 Several weeks later I mailed a flyer recital to
 the students' homes.To my surprise, Robby (who
 had received a flyer) asked me if he could be in
 the recital. I told him that the recital was
 for current pupils and that because he had dropped out,
 he really did not qualify. He told me that his
 mother had been sick and unable to take him to his
 piano lessons, but that he had been practicing.
 'Please Miss Honor, I've just got to play'
 he insisted. I don't know what led me to allow
 him to play in the recital - perhaps it was his
 insistence or maybe something inside of me saying that
 it would be all right. 
  
 The night of the recital came and the high school 
 gymnasium was packed with parents, relatives and
 friends. I put Robby last in the program, just before I was
 to come up and thank all the students and play a
 finishing piece. I thought
 that any damage he might 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 the
 stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked
 as though he had run an egg beater through it.
 'Why wasn't he dressed 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 I was surprised when he announced that he had
 chosen to play Mozart's Concerto No. 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 anyone 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 have never heard you
 play like that Robby, 
 how did you do it?' Through the microphone Robby
 explained: 'Well, Miss Honor .... remember I told
 you  that my mom was sick? Well, she actually had
 cancer and passed away this morning. And well ..... she
 was  born deaf, so tonight was the first time she had
 ever heard me play, and 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 in to foster care, I noticed that
 even their eyes were red and puffy. I thought to
 myself then how much richer my life had been for taking
 Robby as my pupil. No, I have never had a prodigy, but
 that night I became a prodigy .... of Robby. He was the
 teacher and I was the pupil, for he had taught me the
 meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself,
 and may be even taking a chance on someone and you
 didn't know why. 
  
 Robby was killed years later in the senseless
 bombing of the Alfred P.  Murray Federal Building
 in Oklahoma City in April,  1995. 
  

I'D LIKE TO DEDICATE THIS TO A SPECIAL COUPLE WHO WAS WITH US LAST YEAR BUT CANNOT THIS YEAR.