As the concert began, she was quite engaged and appropriate. After about 2 songs, she became restless. She was stepping out of her place, “dancing” to the music, turning around to see her classmates, using self-talk etc. And there I was, scanning the crowd in a panic, wondering how many parents were distracted by her display. I began, from the back of the room, to give her cues: rotating my finger clockwise to encourage her to turn face forward, hands at my side, “still body” cues, etc.

After unsuccessful attempts, and increased panic, I decided I needed to go to the front of the stage on the floor for more direct instruction. I slid on the floor to the front of the stage and began to provide a more direct approach. When the concert was over, I was exhausted! I couldn’t wait to get out of there! My daughter, however, found it necessary to go and greet the parents of her “friends” in her class. That took another ten minutes of an already excruciating evening.

We got in the car, and I had tears rolling down my face. I was once again grieving, this time, the loss of the “typical” experience of a school choral concert.

Then came my 'AHHH' moment.

As I began to pull away, with tears of disappointment running down my cheeks, my daughter said, 'Mom, did I do a good job? Thank you so much for taking me to my concert. I LOVED it and had so much fun.' Hmmm. Amazingly, this concert wasn’t about ME! It was HER concert – a chance for her to join her typical peers and perform all that they have worked so hard to learn and perfect. My tears of sadness quickly changed to tears of gratitude. Grateful for who she is and grateful for the privilege to experience the world and what is important through her eyes."

~Diane R.