The spirit of God in under privaleged?


Please read all of this it is an email sent to me.
Robby’s Night

True Story Worth Reading !!!

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 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 Rob by 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 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. And now, a footnote to the

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?

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!



Lost for words. :bighanky: God bless his little soul and his mothers

Have forwarded this onto the local music teacher here who is so talented, and who devotes so much of his time here to a lot of underprivileged children and has helped form them into a wonderful band. (I know he was a Catholic teacher over the road to where I taught once, but doesn’t seem to want to discuss it much these days. He is personally going through some struggles in his life at the moment with three asperges sons and great financial difficulty. Hopefully this may be a catalyst to begin discussion.

Thank you for this.


There have been several versions of this story floating around the Internet since 1988.

There are other problems with this story:

why would a music teacher use the word virtuoso" as if it were a tempo?

No child named Robbie (or Robby, Bob, Bobby, Robert, or any other form of the name) was killed in the Oklahoma City bombing, says the Communications Director for the Oklahoma City National Memorial & Museum, who has often been asked about this particular urban legend. Also, in her discussions with the family members of the adult victims, none of them has ever identified their loved one as “Robby.”

Not to mention the difficulty of playing Mozart’s Concerto #21 in C Major which requires an orchestral accompaniment.

If it sounds too good to be true, it usually is.


Regardless of the incidentals you have noted the point of the relationship with people in this situation are very close to me since I taught music to a group of 15 who the local police told me were the most collective group of young criminals in the area.

On telling the police that I hoped they would refer these youth as ordinary and if any then their actions be seen as criminality not the people, for they should be given a chance.

I taught this group for 13 months, lost a lot of gear to them stolen broken lost or hidden from our group. Most could not read, had no schooling, lived under bridges or other, had no direction. I started a indoor cricket teem to get them to work together other than stealing, rape and drugs.

In the end 5 rang me asked if I would come to the local baptist church they had joined since as they told me they couldn’t beet my god so they might as well join Him. I moved to another city and there I met two a boy and girl who had married i Baptiste in my bath room. They were becoming ministers studying at a school.
This story I gave you means much to me I have been there.
There is no difficulty when God intervenes.


Just to let you know, I meant no malice. Inspiration can come from many sources. Personally, there have been times when I felt inspired after reading Lord of the Rings. But I wouldn’t try to pass it off as historical facts.

In this age of instant, global communications one should be leery about taking as fact any fantastical story one reads, even if it’s in the mainstream news media. That’s all I meant.


No problem Godbless you I have not taken offence if it seemed that way.
I cry my way through stories like this one because of my past relationships with them.



I’m glad you have, may God bless you and have this message carry on.


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