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 DesMoines, 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.
Re: However I've also had my sh are of what I call "musically
Re: 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.
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 notqualify. 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 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 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.
