My elementary students eagerly prepared for their first concert. As performance time approached, I frantically looked for my music and a music stand. I couldn’t believe they were not onstage. One of my perceptual sixth graders looked up at me and said, “Mrs. Baack! This is not Carnegie Hall!” I often thought about cross stitching that worthy advice and hanging it over my piano, or perhaps a larger replica over my fireplace!
I often would refer to the sage Carnegie Hall reference when including special needs children into the choral experience. My collegiate studies taught me to strive for perfection in all concerts. Reality taught me that perfection was way over rated! No matter the behavioral level of any students, I learned to expect the unexpected. But the concert at my last high school position provided the craziest, unexpected events of all and still brings tears to my eyes, in a good way.
Wayne, who was autistic, demonstrated communication skills and a profound love of music, with a larger than life baritone voice. Orphaned as a baby, Wayne’s journey thus far presented lots of difficulties. His adoptive parents knew full well their lives would hold incredible challenges and unconstrained love at the same time. Wayne’s success was reflective of the unlimited love and patience his parents showed him.
As with many special needs children, medications could make their lives easy or very difficult. Wayne rode a roller coaster of emotions, due to his meds. He could punch a staff member and then within minutes of the aggression, sing angelically with his resounding low-pitched voice. We designed a plan to give him a positive experience in choir. Helping him control his flailing arms and constantly moving legs became an integral part of that instruction. Relished moments of success needed celebrating, but afterward Wayne would squeal with delight, flap his arms uncontrollably, dance around the room and appear unable to regain his composure.
The morning rehearsal of the evening concert, Wayne tried diligently to stand still and sing. His peer helpers loved assisting Wayne and they gladly guided him through the process of calming his constant flying arm movement. One helper would gently take Wayne’s arms, when they took flight, and tenderly pull them back to his side. Wayne loved this helper so he willingly allowed him to bring his arms back down to an acceptable position.
The evening concert lifted off like a helium balloon, each choir’s performance soaring higher and higher. Wayne’s class lined up on stage, and he appeared calm and relaxed. During the first song, Wayne fought his body’s excessive energy with all his might. Every ounce of strength Wayne possessed charged on all pistons as he tried desperately to stand still. The second, more upbeat song began and Wayne’s body took off. His helper tried, with no success, to calm him. The students on stage continued singing but looked mortified with fear and embarrassment. Everything we had encouraged Wayne to do, he lost in this moment of jumping and flinging his arms to the music.
Then came that God whisper. I motioned to one of my helpers to continue conducting the song while I walked up to the third riser and joined Wayne. He and I must have looked like quite a pair. A 21st century pas de deux of an old lady and a young man, both flailing and kicking! If you’re not a ballet buff, pas de deux is the French phrase for a dance of two people. We sang and bounced, moving our arms in synchronization and kicking out our legs. My students looked horrified. I encouraged them to collaborate with Wayne and me. By the end of the song, most of the students joined in the “Wayne Pas de deux.” The ensuing applause deafened as the audience showed their appreciation. God helped me decide, in a heartbeat, we could learn something about the true joy of singing if we became more like Wayne.
Years after, parents would remind me of Wayne’s “performance” and how it proved the highlight of their child’s choral experience. When they shared how the dancing song affected them, some even choked up in describing the emotional moment of the presentation. Wayne taught us the uninhibited jubilation of singing held far more importance than concert decorum.
Teachable Moment: That same year I asked this non-auditioned choir, without Wayne present, if they wished to participate in the state choir competition. I pointed out we could go without Wayne and that would be fine. I wanted my choir to compete and have a good chance for a high score. My students admonished me for even thinking about not taking Wayne. They unknowingly hurt my feelings by accusations of prejudice but inwardly, I felt very proud of their response. Wayne accompanied us to the state competition. He moved around during the serious music, flailed his arms during the upbeat portion and sang off key, as loudly as he could. It did not bother the choir so I decided it should not bother me. We ended up with an Excellent rather than a Superior rating. One of the judges took me aside and complimented me for bringing a student who appeared challenged. I felt embarrassed by the compliment for if it had been up to me, Wayne would have stayed home. It is important to celebrate those times when teachers must learn important lessons from their students.