The Sightreading of the Parenting World

When I was a band director, it was always expected that I took the bands to “Festival,” which is a nicey-nice term for what it really was – competition.  Ideally, the judges would rate each band according to an ideal, a standard, but in reality, they were comparing your group to the other groups they’d just heard, and would hear after yours, and indeed the phantom college band they had playing in their head at all times, being conducted by some very famous college band director.  And when you were done they would post your scores in the cafeteria, right under the group that had performed before you, and right above the group after you, so everyone could compare…  Yep, it was a competition through and through.

My favorite part as an educator, and my own gauge of my effectiveness as a teacher, though, was sightreading.  This involved taking your group of stage-frightened, stressed-out kids into an unfamiliar band room, and handing them manila envelopes with explicit rules not to touch the envelopes until directed to.  Then, after reading an interminably long page of more rules, the kids and I were able to see the music, and then had seven minutes in which to discuss two pieces of music.  We were not allowed to play a note, just review it together as quickly as possible, and try to catch all of the notes, rhythms, dynamic markings, and other nuances that normally take several months of rehearsal to bring to the stage.  Sometimes we ran out of time and didn’t get through it all.  Sometimes we had time left over.  But when time was up, we played, and were scored on how well we played by the judge.

I often feel like parenting is a lot like being a band director, preparing, rehearsing, going over details until they “get-it,” and then moving on to the next thing.  But that being an autism parent is more like sightreading.  Using all of your knowledge and skills, sometimes in what seems like a very condensed amount of time (because it usually just takes our kids a longer amount of time to do everything), on a stressed-out and overwhelmed kid, and hoping that you’ve done enough for them to be able to apply what you’ve taught them.  There’s a lot of adrenaline and anxiety, and at the end of the day, if you did the best you could do, you take what you’re given, reflect on what could have gone better, and get ready to do it again.

Except band directors (and students) do it once a year.  Autism parents do it every day.

Cheers to all the maestros out there.

The Tuba is Here

tuba practiceIt seems the crisis has passed, although I have had to email the band director to find out the current assignments, and to ask him to make changes to his last quarter grade based on the tests I had sent him on video.  I think “maintenance” will be required within our new arrangement, but I don’t think they will again try to steamroll me into something that just isn’t right.

The tuba has arrived, and I again thank all of my readers that tried to help.  I actually found a decent one on ebay, and it is a smaller, easier size for The Boy to handle.  It isn’t pretty, but it does work, and hopefully we can work from where we are now.

According to the director, The Boy has begun playing more in class, but is still having problems starting with everyone else.  I had asked to come in and take video to do some reverse modeling, as suggested by the autism specialist, but the director was not comfortable having me come in to do that – just wanted me to “explain” to The Boy when to start playing.  So we continue to play this game, with him pretending like he is making accommodations and modifications, when he really just doesn’t get it, and isn’t going to lift a finger to try.

But I see progress, and I’ve stopped them from going down the usual path when they encounter a kid who “doesn’t meet the criteria,” so maybe, just maybe they’ll think twice before doing it to the next kid.

Tuba Update

Aren’t we done with this yet?

Well… maybe.

I wrote my four-page letter to the principal almost two weeks ago, and haven’t heard a single word from her, nor from the band director.  I haven’t heard a thing from anyone (except from LinkedIn, which notified me that the band director had viewed my profile, the same day that the principal received the letter… a coincidence?  I think not!), and so I am beginning to believe they have stopped trying to get him to switch instruments/quit.

I still need to get him an actual tuba to practice, and I can’t believe the help you all have given me.  It’s amazing, really, and makes me realize that the internet can be a very good place.  College band directors and nonprofits have been contacted by us, as well as on our behalf, and one of my readers here referred to tuba players as a “brotherhood,” and he said they take care of their own.  This brought me to tears (good ones!) because that is something I hoped for when The Boy began school band.  I saw it as a place he could belong, and meet neurotypical kids who were a little more likely to be accepting of him.

It also reminded me of when I was in the college marching band, in the piccolo section, and we traveled to Las Vegas for a bowl game.  The stadium continued to sell beer past halftime, and by the end of the game, the opposing team’s fans were incoherent, and several young men were actually threatening us, the piccolo section of the band!  The tuba section, all big, beefy boys left their seats to stand in the aisle between us and our bullies with their arms crossed.  It was a very brave and gallant gesture.

You helpers and supporters are lifting this boy up, in the face of someone who wants him out.

I feel very thankful.  We should have a tuba in the next week or two, and then I will ask to visit class to videotape so we can work on some modeling for The Boy, and help him to participate, which should have been the focus of all of our discussions from the beginning.  Keep sending us your positive thoughts, as now The Boy will need to get caught up!

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Band Woes Again

tuba practiceThings are going very well at The Boy’s school.  Last week we got a note home that he had placed 2nd in his class in a pyramid game (whatever that was), and had earned a 100% on a social studies test.  I reflected that even though he doesn’t have hours of homework a night like he did at his previous school, he still seems to be learning the material – they must be doing things right.

I also got a note from The Boy’s band teacher wondering why he hadn’t been able to play his test for his teacher.  I hadn’t known there was a test, and hadn’t even known they had moved on from some small ensemble material they had been playing before and after break.  At the time, I explained to his teacher that I was very ill, but could The Boy play it next week, so I could have some time to work on it with him.

And then the poop hit the fan.

We practiced it once on Sunday, the first day I really felt human again.  And we took Monday night off (we generally practice every other night or so).  Yesterday, I start to get some emails from the band teacher which seemed to suggest The Boy is incapable of playing the test.  He got upset with me when I told him we had only practiced the test once.  He suggested maybe The Boy should play trumpet, because he’s had other kids with autism have some luck with that instrument…

Here we go again.

I’m disheartened that teachers doing what I used to do seem incapable of thinking outside the box to include students with special needs.  They seem not to have a clue that IEPs apply to them, as well.  And to have a parent like me as a resource in educating their student, and to almost disregard it…

I’m the one who’s at a loss.