When Ben, my son, was in 5th grade, I decided he needed to learn
a musical instrument. As a former band
geek myself, I thought he should be in band, plus I knew it was a very social
activity. I talked it up. I got excited and got him excited. After working with the band director, my son
chose the clarinet.
He played, practiced, and took private lessons. Learning to put the thing together took him a
good couple of weeks.
Every parent should experience the sheer delight of hearing a 10
year old learning to play an instrument.
The proverbial nails on a chalkboard feeling? Not even close. Remember all the big debates about water
boarding the terrorist prisoners in the news?
I thought we should just lock them in a room with tapes of a beginner
practicing around the clock and they’d be begging for mercy.
I remember when I mentioned to his band director my desire for
Ben to participate in the high school marching band. For just an unprofessional millisecond, his
look said it all.
“Are you high/stoned/insane?”
See, our local high school takes marching band to a pretty high
level. They are one of the best bands in
the state. They go to regional
competitions and regularly place in the top 3 bands. Winning happens on a regular basis. The kids involved spend over 250 hours from
the end of July through the end of October practicing, and that’s not counting
the individual work they do to have all the music memorized before they show up
in July to summer band. It also doesn’t
count the Saturdays in October that are spent at the competitions. I wanted Ben to have that social outlet, that
instant network of friends from marching band.
So, he prepared for 9th grade and high school. I had already spoken with the band directors
and prepped them. He worked on
memorizing his music over the summer.
The last Monday in July loomed like a roller coaster he was finally tall
enough to ride. I warned him, while
keeping my comments mostly positive, of the challenges he would face. Heat, sweat, pain, people yelling, mass
chaos, etc. After all, those of us who
have been through summer band (or “band camp”) know it can put Scout Camp to
shame. It’s more like Boot Camp for
musicians, complete with its own vocabulary, attitude, and drill sergeants
(they’re called “Drum Majors”). He had
his water bottle, sunblock, ball cap and comfortable shoes. I reminded him to drink, drink, drink,
because this is Kansas, it’s July, and dehydration happens. I was proud that he didn’t throw up even
once.
After 3 weeks of torture rehearsals, his band director asked
to speak to Ben and I. She complimented
Ben on his attitude, work ethic, and playing ability. However, he was struggling with
marching. After all, marching and
playing an instrument is HARD.
Since our band actually learns two shows, she proposed Ben march
in the easier, more fun, halftime show that is performed for the students and
spectators at football games, then play from the front sideline during the more
serious competition show. She expressed
concern for his safety (apparently he had more than his fair share of “near
misses” with flying flags and/or rifles), and the safety of the other students
(he was also being trampled by kids who would run into him because they knew
where they were going and he didn’t).
Marching in the “Rock Show” would help him learn the fundamentals of
marching, while keeping him (and everyone else) safe.
OK, sounds good, because I am a huge fan of emergency room
avoidance.
However, by the end of that first marching season, Ben realized
he wanted more. He wanted to march in
the competition show. He wanted to be on
the FIELD when the announcer said “Blue Valley High School, you may take the
field in competition.” So, he
worked. He practiced with the incoming
8th graders in their marching clinics, something the other students didn’t have
to do. I marked off 5 yard lines in the
back yard so he could work on his steps.
He went to all his sectional rehearsals and worked, worked, worked. July loomed again, this time anticipated with
a little more fear, because he WANTED to march this year. He was nervous, because he knew what he
wanted, but was afraid he couldn’t do it.
3 more weeks of torture/rehearsal. He drank his water, applied sunblock, sucked
down Popsicles that the band moms brought, and marched, and marched, and
marched.
He ate, slept, marched and played. I prayed and wondered what I would say
if/when he didn’t make the competition show.
I honestly thought he had a snowball’s chance in hell of making it. The last day of band camp arrived, and when I
picked him up, he had a HUGE smile on his face.
“Mom, I’m in the competition show.”
Later that evening, after the performance the kids put on for
their parents to show us what they’ve accomplished in those 3 weeks of
rehearsals, I found the band director and thanked her for putting Ben in the
competition show. She looked at me and
said “He earned it. I didn’t give it to
him. He earned it like every other kid
out there. He’s great.”
Parents, let’s not be afraid to give our children these
experiences.
Yes, it’s hard to watch your child work twice as hard as everyone
else to achieve the same results. But to
see the look on your kid’s face when he knows he’s accomplished something is
worth all the heartache and tears. Then
when that first football game and competition comes—and even though there’s no
crying in football—you can just let the tears flow and not apologize once for
them. You’ve earned them.
What has your child or friend with autism done to step out of their comfort zone and learn something new? How has the experience helped him or her?
