I got this as an email to forward on but really liked the story and though I would share it.

 

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 tolearn.

 

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 on the upcoming 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 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 eggbeater

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 CO 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 into 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

maybe 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? _________________________

I hate to put a dampner on this sweet story, but Mozart's Concerto No. 21 in C Major is about 30 min long not 6 1/2 mins long it is also not a solo piece. (normally played with a full orchestra or at the very least a second piano)

 

He went from pianissimo to fortissimo, from allegro to virtuoso whoever wrote this needs to go back and study their musically meanings.

 

I think this is a hoax e-mail running off the story that Bob Richards put up about a football player with a blind father who overcame his inability to play football and score a touchdown just after his father had died. (I also think this story was made into a song)

 

Also if you look at the list of names of those killed in the bombing only 3 Roberts appear and none of them seem to have been in foster care or played the piano.

 

Sweet story but complete hoax sorry.

Awww c'mon A.V. next you will be trying to tell me the Easter Bunny is a myth...A story does not have to be factual...but... 6 1/2 minutes, perhaps he left out the cadenza? or maybe played just the first movement, maybe he played the piano reduction, maybe pigs might fly, ha, ha...the reference to the oklahoma bombing is how ever in very poor taste. [ perhaps should be removed?]