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.
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.
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 some day."
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 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 alright.
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' run an eggbeater
through it.
"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.
and put my arms around Robby in joy.
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.
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 protégé
but that night I became a protégé...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.
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.
