Subject: Spark of the Divine
From:
Amos
Date: 07 Jul 01 - 04:28 PM
I have no way to know whether this is a true story or not, but it rings true and it brings tears of recognition, and I offer it for what it may bring you:> > > Subject: A Spark of the Divine
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
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 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
andbecause 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 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 had 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 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
prodigy 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:
(Original truncated here). Regards, A
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sj
