Teaching and Performing at Autism Association
“You have to call him Green Frog – and don’t look him in the eye,” the autism aid told me, leaving me flabbergasted. Before I started working with Crescendo, a program for autistic children, my world was filled mostly with my own music. My most meaningful and challenging decisions were deciding between practicing an acapella arrangement and an aria. I thought volunteering in a music related program would be easy. I was wrong.
They gave me good advice before I taught my first class, but I didn’t think I needed it. I know music. I know how it works. When I stepped into Autism Association’s tiny classroom, I immediately regretted my nonchalant preconception. The atmosphere was chaotic. Intermittent screams with raucous voices interrupted our introductions. Children sprinting across the room with speed akin to Usain Bolt hindered our performances. Before I left, I was already considering leaving these kids behind to play for nursing homes or elementary schools. Someplace easy where people sat still and enjoyed music like I thought they should.
The next day, Crescendo received an email from the supervisor, ecstatic with results of my session. Ms. Christy said the music helped the kids, that I had made a difference. Before then, I hadn’t even considered why I was volunteering, and I wasn’t certain on what making a difference truly meant.
I decided to try again to understand what about the music was impacting the students. Observing the children in detail, I looked for reactions hidden beneath their stoic faces. I asked the staff questions and researched the benefits of music therapy for autistic individuals. Besides affecting their communication and cognition, music also enhances social skills and emotional regulation while providing a safe ground to feel accepted and out of danger. With this in mind, I looked for little changes. Kids I assumed were throwing a fit were actually rocking to the pulse of the song. Instead of volunteering to perform for entertainment, I began to volunteer to enhance their lives in any way I could. I returned every Tuesday with constant improvements to the lesson plans, accommodating the needs of the children through structure, song choice and dance activities. Even if the changes were small, they accumulated.
One Tuesday, a new boy appeared in the back of the classroom. Avoiding eye contact, he stared at the ground. Because he was severely autistic, he’d burst into tears at any moment, so we couldn’t say his real name or look him in the eye without chaos ensuing. Wearing a green polo and khakis, he was simply called “Green Frog”. As the other children clapped to the beat and even sang along, Green Frog whimpered in his personal-aid’s arms. But the next session, he looked at us, holding our gaze instead of averting his eyes. The following session, he kept calm the whole lesson.
Teaching and performing at Autism Association has not only helped the kids, but it also transformed me. Entering high school as a girl who didn’t truly fathom the meaning of making a difference, I now have both the desire and the experience of seeing change first hand. Had I accepted defeat after the first session, I would’ve never seen how drastically lives could change. If I compare these children’s behavior to their first session, they are almost unrecognizable.
It was the day Green Frog became Kai that I understood what making a difference meant. As he responded to his own name, I knew I had changed as well. Responding happily to the direct reference, he joined us in our dance. He remains the reason why I continue to make music, and the reason I look for beneath the surface of every stoic face for a chance to touch someone’s life.