A Spark of Inspiration!

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 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 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 our life's plan. So many
seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice:

Do we pass along a spark of inspiration? Or do we pass up this opportunity,
and leave the world a bit colder in the process?

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Date: July 30, 2001
From: unknown