Who is the Teacher? Who is the Pupil?
My name is Mildred Hondorf. I've always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons for over 30 years. I've also had my share of what I call 'musically challenged' pupils.
One such student was Michael. Michael was 11 years old when his mother (a single Mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson.
But Michael said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano.
Well, Michael began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Michael 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.
He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Michael off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in.
Then one day Michael stopped coming to our lessons.
Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the upcoming recital.
To my surprise Michael (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital.
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 Michael 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 Michael 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?'
Michael 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 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 up on stage and put my arms around Michael in joy.
'I've never heard you play like that Michael! How'd you do it? '
Through the microphone Michael 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 Michael 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 Michael as my pupil.
No, I've never had a prodigy but that night I became a prodigy. . Of Michael'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.
Michael was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995.
One such student was Michael. Michael was 11 years old when his mother (a single Mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson.
But Michael said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano.
Well, Michael began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Michael 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.
He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Michael off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in.
Then one day Michael stopped coming to our lessons.
Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the upcoming recital.
To my surprise Michael (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital.
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 Michael 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 Michael 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?'
Michael 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 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 up on stage and put my arms around Michael in joy.
'I've never heard you play like that Michael! How'd you do it? '
Through the microphone Michael 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 Michael 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 Michael as my pupil.
No, I've never had a prodigy but that night I became a prodigy. . Of Michael'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.
Michael was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995.
SREE NIDHI S K
Director - Oscar Murphy International, Singapore & India
Behavioral Trainers, Coaches & Attitudinal Change Catalysts
Reg Director (Asia) - AATD - Accredited Alliance for T & D, USA
Reg Director (Asia) - AATD - Accredited Alliance for T & D, USA
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