Fw: Good story

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>> At the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story. My name isMildred>> Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music teacher from DeMoines,>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>protégé>> though I have taught some talented students. However I've also had my>share>> of what I call "musicically 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 playthe>> 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 toexcel.>> But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I>> require all my students to learn. Over the months he tried and triedwhile>I>> listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of eachweekly>> lesson he'd always>> say, "My mom's going to hear me play some day." 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 hismom>> 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 whatled>> 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 alright.>>>>>> 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' run an egg-beater 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 mymom>> 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, Inoticed>> 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 protégé but that night I became a protégé...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.>>>>>> This is especially meaningful to me since after serving in Desert Storm>> Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal>> Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995, where he was>> reportedly....playing the piano.>>>>>>>> And now, a footnote to the story. If you are thinking about forwarding>this>> message, you are probably thinking about which people on your addresslist>> 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. We all>have>> thousands of opportunities a day to help realize God's plan. So many>> seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a>choice:>>>>>> Do we pass along a spark of the Divine? Or do we pass up thatopportunity,>> and leave the world a bit colder in the process?>>>>>>>> You have two choices now:>> 1. Delete this.>> 2. Forward it to the people you care about.>>>>>> You know the choice I made. Thank you for reading this>>>>>>>>>>>

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It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls,career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear acrossthe country in pursuit of his dreams.There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think aboutthe past and often no time to spend with those important to him. He wasworking on his future, and nothing could stop him.Over the phone, his mother told him, " Mr... Belser died last night. Thefuneral is Wednesday."Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietlyremembering his childhood days."Jack, did you hear me?""Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought ofhim.I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said."Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you weredoing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over "his side ofthefence" as he put it," Mom told him."I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said."You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr.Belser stepped in to makesureyou had a man's influence in your life," she said."He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in thisbusiness if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching methingshe thought were important...Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jacksaid.As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to hishometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had nochildrenof his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by toseethe old house next door one more time.Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossingover into another dimension, a leap through space and time.The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Everypicture, every piece of furniture....Jack stopped suddenly."What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked."The box is gone," he said."What box? " Mom asked."There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. Imusthave asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell mewas'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack rememberedit,except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had takenit."Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I bettergetsome sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."It had been about two weeks since Mr.. Belser died. Returning home fromwork one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. "Signature requiredona package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office withinthenext three days," the note read.Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old andlooked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting wasdifficult to read, but the return address caught his attention. "Mr.HaroldBelser" it read. Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open thepackage. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack's handsshookas he read the note inside."Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack.It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to theletter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefullyunlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch.Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatchedthecover. Inside he found these words engraved: "Jack, Thanks for yourtime!-Harold Belser.""The thing he valued most...was...my time."Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office andclearedhis appointments for the next two days. "Why?" Janet, his assistantasked."I need some time to spend with my son," he said. "Oh, by the way,Janet...thanks for your time!""Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by themomentsthat take our breath away,"Send this letter to all the people you care about, if you do so, youwillcertainly brighten someone's day and might change their perspective onlife, ...........for the better.To everyone I sent this to, "Thanks for your time"

Good story

It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls,

career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across

the country in pursuit of his dreams.

There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about

the past and often no time to spend with those important to him. He was

working on his future, and nothing could stop him.

Over the phone, his mother told him, " Mr... Belser died last night. The

funeral is Wednesday. "

Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly

remembering his childhood days.

" Jack, did you hear me? "

" Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of

him.

I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago, " Jack said.

" Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were

doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over " his side of

the

fence " as he put it, " Mom told him.

" I loved that old house he lived in, " Jack said.

" You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr.Belser stepped in to make

sure

you had a man's influence in your life, " she said.

" He's the one who taught me carpentry, " he said. " I wouldn't be in this

business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me

things

he thought were important...Mom, I'll be there for the funeral, " Jack

said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his

hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no

children

of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.

The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to

see

the old house next door one more time.

Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing

over into another dimension, a leap through space and time.

The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every

picture, every piece of furniture....Jack stopped suddenly.

" What's wrong, Jack? " his Mom asked.

" The box is gone, " he said.

" What box? " Mom asked.

" There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I

must

have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me

was

'the thing I value most,' " Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered

it,

except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken

it.

" Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him, " Jack said. " I better

get

some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom. "

It had been about two weeks since Mr.. Belser died. Returning home from

work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. " Signature required

on

a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within

the

next three days, " the note read.

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and

looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was

difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention. " Mr.

Harold

Belser " it read. Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the

package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack's hands

shook

as he read the note inside.

" Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack

.

It's the thing I valued most in my life. " A small key was taped to the

letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully

unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch.

Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched

the

cover. Inside he found these words engraved: " Jack, Thanks for your

time!

-Harold Belser. "

" The thing he valued most...was...my time. "

Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and

cleared

his appointments for the next two days. " Why? " Janet, his assistant

asked.

" I need some time to spend with my son, " he said. " Oh, by the way,

Janet...thanks for your time! "

" Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the

moments

that take our breath away, "

Send this letter to all the people you care about, if you do so, you

will

certainly brighten someone's day and might change their perspective on

life, ...........for the better.

To everyone I sent this to, " Thanks for your time "