一个糟糕的学生.doc

“一个糟糕的学生”

刚刚收到朋友给我的一个电子邮件，没有别的，就是一个故事，故事非常感人，想到这，就想与大家分享一下。

一天，一个11岁的男孩被他单亲妈妈送去学钢琴，小男孩对老师说，是她妈妈想听他弹钢琴。老师尽管认为男孩学钢琴年龄还要小，但还是收了这个男孩作为学生。这位老师从事钢琴教育几十年了，也没有发现一个特别的钢琴天才。那男孩从基础开始学习，学得很认真，但是突然有一天，他再也没有来了。那老师想给他打电话，但还是没有，因为她想这男孩也不是什么音乐天才，并且她觉得男孩弹钢琴为她做了一个糟糕的宣传。

几个星期之后，要举行一个独奏音乐会，老师给所有学生家寄去了一个宣传传单，也给这个男孩家寄去了一份。男孩打来电话，他要求参加这个独奏会，老师说，他没有资格参加，那只是为最近的学生举办的，他已经离开了。那男孩非常坚持，并且说他没有来学习是因为他妈妈病了，不能送他来。老师最后答应了，并且安排他在最后一个，老师想，随他弹得怎么样，反正已经谢幕了。

那一个晚上，小男孩如约而至，最后是他上台表演了，他的衣服也没有烫平，头发也没有梳一下。老师心里还在埋怨他的妈妈为什么不给他梳梳头发。男孩走上舞台并且宣布，他要弹莫扎特协奏曲21章。这时老师都懵了，但小男孩的的小手指在钢琴的黑白键上穿梭，如行去流水，把莫扎特的音乐弹得非常的棒，老师也在想，同龄来说，还没有人弹得这好。一曲下来，整个音乐厅响起了疯狂的掌声。老师跑上前去，紧紧地拥抱他说：“我从来没有听到过你弹得这么好，你是怎么做到的？”，小男孩回答说：“我不是告诉过你，我妈妈病了嘛？事实上他今天早上刚刚去世了，她是一个天生的聋子，但今天晚上这是她第一次听到我弹琴，我想要弹得特别一点”，所有在场的人眼睛都潮湿了。

小男孩被一个社会组织收留，后来死于一次不幸的爆炸中。

我们在生活中，总会以自己的想当然去想别人，在我们的思想中总会有一些这个或是那个“不合适”。其实，只要我们有坚强的意志，有不屈不挠的精神；内心充满了爱，相信自己。我们不会有克服不了困难，不会有做不到的事情。

我们也可以打开我们的电话薄，看看我们有多少人是因为我们的缘故而没有给别人去电话呢？或是把别人忘记了…………

请看故事原文：
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 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, 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  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?