BEAUTIFUL TRUE STORY

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 a lso 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 cresc! endo 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, 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.