Lyric has been going to Kim's Dance in Moline, Illinois since she was 3-years-old. She started as a "Tumble Bear" - an adorable half hour of toddler tap, tumbling and tutus. Dance class for a child that young is almost always about the cute factor (and maybe a dream or two to mold a future cheerleader). But the class demonstrates real purpose. Just like the following years of dance & tumbling, Lyric had to practice listening, working as a group and of course, looking adorable.
Lyric has mastered all 3. And that right there is what's so remarkable. (Not the adorable part of course - she's always had that part perfected.)
But listening and group activity have never been Lyric's strong suit. For as long as I can remember, Lyric has preferred to isolate herself, avoid eye contact, and live in her own world. The rest of us have to "plug her back in" as I call it - bring her back into the real world and then, when she senses the world will allow her to retreat, she unplugs herself and skips happily back to her solitude.
Dance class is different. I don't know if it’s the music, the repetition, the support and encouragement she receives, or the dance moves, but Lyric has felt at home there.That's counter to what I would have expected and what I've seen with other endeavors. She isn't very graceful. She has a hard time following directional instruction (turn left, over here, step back, cross over - all mean nothing to her without context) and frankly, she's far behind in many of the skill sets.
But she keeps trying.
When Lyric was 3, 4, 5 years old she was literally terrified to be held upside down. (Even tilting in a downward direction or reaching down to pick something up while holding her, would send her into a panic). And for those of you without an autistic child, this terror is unlike anything you might see with most children. This isn't, for instance, a child's natural fear of dogs or bees. This is shear, unadulterated, down-to-the-bones kind of terror. (For some kids on the spectrum, it's the sound of a vacuum, the feel of certain textures, fire, the sound of a toilet flushing, etc.)
So to now see my daughter kick her legs up to an instructor to do a front walk over or to hold a handstand - even with help - is an accomplishment that in comparison, is likely well beyond the personal achievement of anyone else in her class.
Last year at Easter, Lyric's cousin Payton (same age) said he couldn't do a back bend. I saw Miss-Tune-Herself-Out jump up and proudly exclaim," I can do that!" before proudly demonstrating next to Payton while he struggled, but failed, to do one. It was the first time she had ever been able to do something someone else couldn't do. And left me determined to give her more of that.
Here's the secret. Whatever it is our children on the specturm might be trying...whatever challenge we put in front of them... they have to take it on in a safe, supportive - but firm environment. And that's what's made dance class so successful . Since day one, the staff at Kim's has understood Lyric would have to be taught differently. Not coddled. Patiently. Not special. She is forced to pay close attention to the many words she doesn't understand by attentively watching the steps - not just hearing the directions. The staff has further understood that expectations don't include becoming a gymnast - but that she keep trying. And the teachers there - many of them in high school - set a tone early on that she is respected. That her handstand is just as magnificent as the back flip next to her. And will be proudly displayed during her recital.
And you know what? Fellow students pick up on that. Let's be honest. She's charming but most kids think she's weird. She sings all the time. She says goofy things . She has a hard time following a conversation. She fake laughs when she thinks she's supposed to be laughing. She talks when she thinks she should be talking. And she tells jokes that aren't funny. (Knock! Knock! Who's there? Apple. Apple Who? Apple and Banana!) And yet, the other students in her dance classes don't seem to mind. They never roll their eyes. They wait patiently for her to finish her tumbling sets ( that are twice as slow as their own). They are friendly. They are accepting. They cheer her on.
And that's because its what they see from the teachers they admire most.
So when young children hear their parents or coaches complaining about the kid that shouldn't be playing . Or the child that is slowing down practice. Or the student that is holding up class . Guess what those children learn? I'm betting they don't learn tolerance and I'm betting that kids like Lyric aren't reaching the potential they could be if they would just be allowed to try. I'm not saying there isn't room for winning and losing - just recognizing that for children like Lyric, a patient, supportive and encouraging environment makes all the difference in the world. Even when that world is turned upside down.
It's Recital Day! Do your Best Sweet Girl!
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