----- Original Message -----
From: MARIE FULLER
To: Undisclosed-Recipient:;
Sent: Tuesday, February 03, 2009 6:57 PM
Subject: PLEASE DO NOT DELETE, RETURN IF YOU CAN'T FORWARD!
This is a true story and it will give you the chills.
This is a beautiful and touching story of love and
perseverance. Well worth the read.
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 endeavour. 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 piano 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 al
l 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 on stage 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
And now, a footnote to the story. If you are thinking about
forwarding this message, you are probably wondering 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! So many seemingly trivial
interactions between two people present us with a choice -Do
we act with compassion or do we pass up that opportunity and
leave the world a bit colder in the process?
You now have two choices:1. Delete this; OR 2. Forward it to the
people you care about.You know the choice I made. Thank you
for reading this.May God Bless you today, tomorrow and always.
for if God didn't have a purpose for us, we wouldn't be here!
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Ruth(ie)
Pruesgram
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7:08 AM
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