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Today, I am sharing an emotional story sent to me by TheIWLA
member, Mary Metcalfe (Australia)…thanks Mary…this is a story that will
strike a chord in the heart of everyone who reads it…
My name is Mildred Honor and I am a former elementary
school music teacher from Des Moines , Iowa . At the prodding of my friends, I am
writing this story. It is a true
story and it will give you chills…it is a story of love and perseverance;
well worth the read….
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 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 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 advertisement 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 onstage
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 into
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.
And now, a footnote to the story. If you are thinking about forwarding this message, you are probably wondering 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 now have two choices: 1. Delete this; OR 2. Forward it to the people you care about. You know the choice I made.
Thank you for reading this.
May God Bless you today, tomorrow and always. If God didn't have a purpose for us,
we wouldn't be here!
--
Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply, Speak kindly. Leave the rest to God.
So, IS it just me, or do you, too, through this beautiful story see more
clearly that when your WHY is big enough, everything is possible.
Why, you ask? Why not!
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