献给在天堂的妈妈…

分享一个很感动的真实故事…
Piano Lessons
My name is Mildred Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music teacher from Des Moines, lowa. I’ve always supplemented my income by giving piano lessons – something I have 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 protégée, 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, who was 11 when his mother ( a single mum) dropped him off for his first lesson.

I prefer that students(especially boys) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby. But he said that it had always been his mother’s dream to hear him play the piano. So I took him on.

Well, Robby started his lessons and, from the beginning, I thought it was a hopeless endeavour. As much as he 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 week, he always said: “My mum’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 stepped in.

Then one day Robby stopped coming for 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 had stopped coming. He was bad advertisement for my teaching!

Several weeks later I mailed flyers on an upcoming recital to students’ homes. To my surprise Robby(who had received one) asked me if he could be in the recital.

I told him that it was for current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his mother had been sick and was 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. Maybe it was his persistence, or maybe it was something inside me which said that it would be all right.

The night of the recital came. The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last on the programme, before I was to go up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought if he did any damage, I could always salvage his poor performance with my “curtain closer”.

Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed. Then Robby went up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he’d 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 began. I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart’s Concerto #1 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 Mozard played so well by a person 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 onto the stage and put my arms around Robby.

“I’ve never heard you play like that! How did you do it?”

Though the microphone, Robby explained: “Well Miss Hondorf… remember I told you my mum was sick? 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. I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil.

No, I’ve never had a protégée, but that night, I became a protégée of Robby’s. he was the teacher and I, the pupil. For it is he who taught me the meaning of perseverance and love, and believing in yourself, and maybe taking a chance on someone even if you don’t know why.

This is especially meaningful to me because 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.

(QUOTE FROM STAR PAPER)

这个故事一直在我心里，感动很久很久…