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Ferg

Medicine For Our Souls

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I read a lot of junk these days because I feel a person in this so called modern day needs to be "up" on what is happening in the world. Quite honestly, most of it makes me sick. The enclosed story is one of those to make a tear come to your eyes and to help you remember there are beautiful things happening also.

Subject: Robby’s Lesson

At the prodding of my friends I am writing this story. My name is Mildred Honor and I am a former elementary school music teacher from Des Moines, Iowa. I have always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons - something I have done for over 30 years.

During those years I found that children have many levels of musical ability, and even though I have never had the pleasure of having a prodigy, I have taught some very talented students.

However, I have also had my share of what I call 'musically challenged’ pupils - one such pupil being 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.

At the end of each weekly lesson he would always say 'My mom's going to hear me play someday'. But to me, 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 dropped in.

Then one day Robby stopped coming for his lessons. I thought about calling him, but assumed that because of his lack of ability he had decided to pursue something else. I was also glad that he had stopped coming - he was a bad advertisement for my teaching!

Several weeks later I mailed a flyer recital to the students' homes.

To my surprise, Robby (who had received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and that because he had dropped out, he really did not qualify.

He told me that his mother had been sick and unable to take him to his piano lessons, but that he had been practicing. 'Please 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 - perhaps it was his insistence or maybe something inside of me saying that it would be all right.

The night of the recital came and the high school gymnasium was packed with parents, relatives and friends. I put Robby last in the program, just before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he might 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 the stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked as though he had run an egg beater through it. 'Why wasn't he dressed 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 I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen to play Mozart's Concerto No.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 anyone 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 have never heard you play like that Robby, how did you do it?'

Through the microphone Robby explained: 'Well, Miss Honor, remember I told you that my mom was sick? Well, she actually had cancer and passed away this morning. And well ..... she was born deaf, so tonight was the first time she had ever heard me play, and 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 in to foster care, I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy. I thought to myself then how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil.

No, I have never had a prodigy, but that night I became a prodigy

......... of Robby. He was the teacher and I was the pupil, for he had taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself, and may be even taking a chance on someone and you didn't know why.

Robby was killed years later in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murray Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April, 1995.

And now, a footnote to the story. If you are thinking about forwarding this message, you are probably wondering 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 now have two choices:

1. Delete this; OR

2. Forward it to the people you care about. You know the choice I made.

Thank you for reading this.. May God Bless you today, tomorrow and always. If God didn't have a purpose for us, we wouldn't be here!

Live simply.

Love generously.

Care deeply.

Speak kindly.

Leave the rest to God.

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Well like Mr. Nightlinger once said "If it isn't true, it should be!". Thanks for sharing Ferg.

Bob

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Well like Mr. Nightlinger once said "If it isn't true, it should be!". Thanks for sharing Ferg.

Bob

Really? Because I was thinking there were plenty enough actual, real people that died in the Oklahoma City bombing without having to make up fabricated stories about fictitious people that didn't die there.

Edited by 25b

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Well, of course I didn't mean to offend anyone but there is always that chance.

You see, I didn't care if it was true or not, my wife said it wasn't.

I am well aware of all those folks in Oklahoma and many other places also. Fabricated or not it is a good story. I loved it and I think there might be a few that feel the same way.

Thanks Bob,

ferg

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Hey Bob, you did nothing wrong my friend, i liked the story, thanks for posting. Peace.

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Well that had the stench of a chain letter all over it. It would have been just a cute little made up story if they didn't try to stick in a real tragedy, as 25b mentioned. If you want to read about some real-life good deeds though, look here: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=937158 There's some touching stories.

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Jazzman, this wasn't my post, it was Ferg's, and like him, I enjoyed it. It reminds me of a time when people liked a good story that had some moral to it. Guess, like Ferg, I am just getting long in the tooth. I prefer the old days and old morals. Thanks' again to Ferg for posting it.

Bob

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... It reminds me of a time when people liked a good story that had some moral to it. ... I prefer the old days and old morals.

This.

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Jazzman, this wasn't my post, it was Ferg's, and like him, I enjoyed it. It reminds me of a time when people liked a good story that had some moral to it. Guess, like Ferg, I am just getting long in the tooth. I prefer the old days and old morals. Thanks' again to Ferg for posting it.

Bob

My apologies Bob, as usual i am not paying attention properly and got confused, it does not take much with me.Peace.

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No apologies required between friends.

Bob

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