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ROBBY'S NIGHT
By Mildred Hondorf |
| Every once in a while, we receive an
email that just has to be shared. The following story is one of those.
Although the emails get circulated around the globe, we wanted to share
this one here for anyone who did not receive it. It's truly a
heartwhelming 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 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 this 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 and 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 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 in
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 maybe even taking a chance in someone and you don't know why.
Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred
P. Murrah Federal building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995.
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It was
Margaret's birthday treat. Wally and I had been invited to join Margaret
and John for a meal at a public house (inn) called "The Hopping Frog" in
a small hamlet called Halsey in deepest Suffolk, England.
Setting off with Wally navigating (as he vaguely knew
the way), we proceeded to drive there. Dark clouds were billowing,
scudding across the sky as we turned off the main road upon seeing a
signpost saying, "Halsey". Suddenly, we found ourselves on the narrowest
of roads going deep into the countryside. Someone made a comment that
the clouds were so huge and black that they looked like mountains.
Now it seems very strange, but every time the four of
us go out for a meal, it rains. Sure enough, driving along this eerie
road with leaves falling everywhere, the rain decided to fall. Suddenly,
a baby rabbit came leaping out of the hedge and ran in front of the car!
Margaret shrieked, "Look out! Oh dear, have we hit him?" Luckily, the
little bunny lived to tell the tale as John slowed right down.
On and on we drove, further and further from
civilization until, finally, rounding a corner, we came upon some
cottages tucked back off the road. Of course we missed the turning to
Halsey as the signpost was there before we knew it. So, turning around
at the first available turning (that being someone's large drive), we
retraced the road till we saw the sign again. Now we really were on our
own, miles from a garage if we broke down and everyone making spook
jokes except John who was getting worried at the lack of civilization.
Suffolk county is steeped in history and, in the
daytime, can be beautiful, but at night it can become very different.
On and on we drove, further and further along a winding
road, leaves falling like confetti in the wind. I started talking like
"Long John Silver" and rolling my eyes at Margaret who sat next to me
getting more and more "spooked". Suddenly, after thinking the Inn
would never appear, I started making jokes about Brigadoon, saying that
the Inn only appeared once a year and maybe, hopefully, this was the
day. We, finally, came upon it. Very thankful and |
deciding to take a different route
home, we alighted from the car. We heard a very loud "creak, creak".
Looking toward the Inn, we realized it was the Inn sign swinging in the
wind! More jokes about Treasure Island and ooh aars coming from me, we
entered The Hopping Frog Inn.
Greeting us at the bar was the landlord with a rather
large "beer belly". He asked us what we would like to drink. After
making a choice, we sat down near a huge log fire and looked around us.
Oak beams were everywhere and, behind the bar, a young man of about 18
years was trying to dismantle a television set which was almost as big
as he was. We watched him with bated breath as he nearly dropped the set
on the floor.
A tape of "Queen" was being played and although not
Wally's taste or mine, John and Margaret's eyes lit up as it was one of
their favorite bands. Suddenly, the tape stuck and a most horrendous
noise issued from the tape recorder. It took the staff quite a time to
realize this and turn it off. By this time, we had had enough of
"Queen".
We had booked the table for seven o'clock and as no one
called us into the restaurant, we took our drinks through a creaky old
door into the other side of the Inn. We sat there for quite a while when
a young man came to our table and asked us if we were ready to order. We
informed him that we had not seen the menu yet. The Landlord came across
and said, "It's all on the blackboard in the other bar." So, we all
trooped back to the other bar to make our choice. I decided on Sirloin
steak with all the trimmings; Margaret and Wally chose a chicken dish
and John decided on pork.
Wally and John wanted a starter so they ordered soup.
We waited and waited for about 15 minutes when, hooray, the soup
arrived. No bread rolls were offered, so they picked up their soup
spoons and started on the soup. Wally made a face and so did John. It
was lukewarm. In fact, it was cold.
Continued on Page 6... |
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