A story on the culturing of the human mind

[Guest guest]

A touching story...

FW: A Teachers True Story

 

 

Now this brought tears How about you?

 

 

Beautiful True Story

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 Des Moines, 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 prodigy 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 (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 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 stepped 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 mother 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'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 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, noticed that even their eyes we re 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

prodigy. . .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.

 

Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P.

Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma Cityin April of 1995. 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. 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 have two choices now:

 

1. You may Delete this, or be a BLESSING TO A FRIEND!

 

2. Forward it to the people you care about Have a nice day!

[Guest guest]

The story by Ms Hondorf is wonderful. I was moved to tears when I read it.

S.N.Sastri

 

 

On 8/27/06, subrahmanian_v <subrahmanian_v > wrote:

>

>

>

> A touching story...

> FW: A Teachers True Story

>

>

> Now this brought tears How about you?

>

>

> Beautiful True Story

> 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 Des Moines, 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 prodigy 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 (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 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 stepped 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 mother 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'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 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, noticed that even their eyes we re 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

> prodigy. . .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.

>

> Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P.

> Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma Cityin April of 1995. 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. 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 have two choices now:

>

> 1. You may Delete this, or be a BLESSING TO A FRIEND!

>

> 2. Forward it to the people you care about Have a nice day!

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

advaitin, "S.N. Sastri" <sn.sastri wrote:

>

> The story by Ms Hondorf is wonderful. I was moved to tears when I

read it.

> S.N.Sastri

>

>

> On 8/27/06, subrahmanian_v <subrahmanian_v wrote:

> >

> >

> >

> > A touching story...

> > FW: A Teachers True Story

> >

 

Please read :

 

http://www.truthorfiction.com/rumors/r/robby.htm

 

Anatomy of e-rumors

[Guest guest]

The story is touchy, brought tears into my eyes. It just shows that the potential in a person has nothing to do with one's likes and dislikes. So if the human mind can make up for the sake of a cause, nothing is impossible.

om namo narayanaya

Lakshmi Muthuswamy

 

 

Get your own web address for just $1.99/1st yr. We'll help. Small Business.

[Guest guest]

SUBBUJI!

 

I DIDN'T JUST CRY. I POURED OUT AND THANKED THE LORD FOR THE NET

THROUGH WHICH WE DO CATHARTIC SATSANGH BY EXCHANGING EXCELLENT

ANECDOTES LIKE THIS ONE.

 

PRANAMS.

 

MADATHIL NAIR

[Guest guest]

Namaste.

 

The pains taken to refute the 'truth' of this wornderful story remind

me of a song (poem?) composed by Late Vayalar Rama Varma, the

renowned Malayalam lyricist. An English translation in my incapable

words of what I can reall of it today is given below:

 

I TORE AND THREW A THOUSAND FLOWERS

TO LEARN THE PRINCIPLE OF THE FOLOWER.

DISSECTED THOUSANDS OF HEARTS

TO STUDY THE WORKING OF THE HEART.

 

KILLED A HUNDRED BROTHERS

TO MAKE FIVE RULE THE LAND.

EXILED MOTHER EARTH'S DAUGHTER TO THE FOREST

TO BE JUST AND RIGHT IN KINGLY VALOUR.

 

BLEW UP A HUNDRED IDOLS

JUST TO CREATE A NEW ONE AFRESH.

BLOWING OUT ALL THE LIGHTS THEN I BEGGED

"OH LIGHT, OH LIGHT, KINDLY GUIDE".

 

THIS COURAGEOUS IMAGE OF MINE

IS THERE IN THE LEGENDS OF THIS EON.

PLANTING A NEW SEEDLING

OF PHILOSOPHY EVERY DAY

I PLUCK IT THE VERY NEXT DAY

TO SEE IF IT HAS GROWN ROOTS!

 

PraNAms.

 

Madathil Nair

___________________________

 

 

advaitin, "advaitins" <advaitins wrote:

> > > A touching story...

> > > FW: A Teachers True Story

> > >

>

> Please read :

>

> http://www.truthorfiction.com/rumors/r/robby.htm

>

> Anatomy of e-rumors

[Guest guest]

Namaste Nairji:

 

Welcome back and thanks for the Vayalar's poem with a deep

philsophical message. Vayalar's poetic portrayal of the 'cyclical'

nature of our life (creation, preservation and dissolution) is quite

inspiring. Visible destructions are always followed by invisible

creations and discoveries. Vayalar uses the Mahabharat war to

illustrate the underlined philosophy - the annihilation of hundreds

of evil thoughts became necessary to keep and protect some very few

good thoughts. Our worst failure of life is to expect too much in

too little a time! Thanks for providing us the opportunity to know

and learn from Vayalar.

 

With my warmest regards,

 

Ram Chandran

 

advaitin, "Madathil Rajendran Nair"

<madathilnair wrote:

>

> Namaste.

>

> The pains taken to refute the 'truth' of this wornderful story

remind

> me of a song (poem?) composed by Late Vayalar Rama Varma, the

> renowned Malayalam lyricist. An English translation in my

incapable

> words of what I can reall of it today is given below: