The Joy of Song

I have always liked the quote “Dance like nobody is watching”. The freedom to enjoy life to its fullest, without reservation or hesitation brings heightened awareness through the joy of movement. H finds this zest for life through music. Even at a young age, he would learn music faster than his classmates, and he sang with robust excitement. We often use music with H to celebrate, calm nerves and redirect. Car rides often include singing our hearts out to whatever is playing on the radio, adding silly words to familiar tunes.  A walk through Target can include H belting out “You’re a lot less fun since I quit drinking”,” I’m a Single Lady” (his version of All the Single Ladies) or “Oh my God I’m Stuck”  (which he insists are the lyrics for Gangnam Style). He proudly walked to the plate as his favorite Ariana Grande song played for adaptive softball between batters who chose The Wheels on the Bus and The Barney theme song. Music also was the sound of my world crashing down. I heard that sound every parent dreads, my son loudly crying out. I ran upstairs only to discover as I was racing down the hall toward his room that he wasn't in pain, just singing his heart out to Ariana Grande.

Even with his love of music, H would need encouragement in elementary school to walk on stage, and, overwhelmed, would turn and perform facing away from the audience. By middle school, he stayed facing the audience but would often look around between songs. His teachers always put him in the front row because he had physical limitations with climbing the risers and his short stature meant he would struggle seeing over anyone in front of him.

By H’s first year in high school, we discovered sometimes music isn’t always so inclusive. He signed up for the entry choir, the one everybody can join. We sat in the audience as he entered the stage with his peers for the first concert and watched painfully as he walked out and tried to climb onto the risers without any assistance. I started to get up fully intending to go on stage to help him to avoid a harrowing fall but a peer noticed him and helped H climb onto the first riser. He looked around quite a bit during the concert but sang every song, maybe a little too loud and too close to the microphone. By his junior year, the plan was to continue with this entry-level choir. We were told the teacher was requesting no special education students in choir. They didn’t perform on stage standing still with eyes on the director. We were not asking for H to be given a spot in a choir that required a try-out nor was this choir auditioning for Glee. Thanks to his case manager, this exclusivity request wasn’t approved and H was again in choir. My fear of H having a teacher who spoke out about his disdain for inclusion subsided as the year unfolded. The night of his first concert we talked to him about keeping his eyes on the choir teacher’s directive but H also learned his aunt and uncle would be attending. I watched as H entered the stage, found someone to help him climb onto the first riser, then face his music teacher. Suddenly, he decided to try to find his beloved aunt and uncle by using his hand to shield the bright stage lights while looking back and forth like a pirate looking for land.  

Music continues as a spotlight in H’s life. He attends monthly dances filled with friends and music. He still loves requesting all of his favorites songs on his Echo. And, we will always sing our hearts out in the car.