Robby's Night
a true story

At the prodding of my friends, I am writing
this story . My name is Mildred Honor. 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 beg inning 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 up coming 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 Honor,
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 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 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 Honor . .
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 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
City in April of 1995.