Spiritual Forum

At the prodding of my friends I am writing this story. My name is  Mildred Honor and I am a former elementary school music teacher from Des Moines , Iowa .

 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 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 in to 
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.

Live simply. 

Love
generously.

Care deeply.

Speak kindly.

Leave the rest to God.