| Robby's Night
True Story Worth Reading !!! Please read it all the way through to the end. I guarantee you will get a lump in your head if you do.
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 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 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 O Fortuna, from Carmina Burana by Carl Orff. 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 Orff demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Orff 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, some men came to the house. They said they were members of the Mystic Knights of the Ooga Chakka, and they said they could make her better… and they did!'
There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. Then Robbie pulled a long knife from the waistband of his pants. He had a weird gleam in his eye as he started chanting… "ooga chakka… ooga ooga ooga chakka… ooga ooga ooga chakka…" he raised the blade menacingly as he slowly advanced towards me. and I screamed. Help, me, please, for God sake, somebody help me!" but nobody in the audience or backstage budged. The sound was low at first, then it grew louder and louder, as they joined in the chant… " ooga ooga ooga chakka… ooga ooga ooga chakka…"
http://soundclick.com/mysticknightsoftheoogachakka
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?
'If you haven't the strength to impose your own terms upon life then you must accept the terms life imposes on you!' - T. S. Eliot |
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