Monday, January 21, 2013
INTRODUCTION
TALENT
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 some day."
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 alright. 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 especially 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? "Nobody
cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance." -Anonymous
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