Personal Narrative: My Child With Autism

I had never known much about autism. Yes, it is on a spectrum and it is a very prevalent disorder, but I never had the need to approach it personally.

The summer before my freshman year of high school, the director of my dance school approached me with an opportunity. 25 years after she had opened the now flourishing institution, she has decided to start a program centered on introducing the world of dance and music to children with autism.

A few months later, my childhood friend, Anna, and I are student teaching the class of d left close to 15 children that we had completely fallen in love with. Kids of all different backgrounds, ages and placements on the spectrum are experiencing the same delight that had enthralled me and my closest friends almost 12 years ago. I saw the same smiles that I had when I grasped a difficult movement and heard the same laughter I still had with my friends at dance class. It all seemed so familiar, yet peculiarly different.

I know that as a teacher, picking favorites is looked down upon, but occasionally it happens unintentionally.

Eight-year-old Isis was the center of attention. Every Saturday she would walk into the classroom in a sparkly blue tutu and immediately run to me. Although she was nonverbal, she was the most determined and concentrated student in the room. Once she walked into the classroom, her personal disabilities disappeared and the only thing she had to focus on was acting beautiful and graceful. Her parents would come up to me after very class thanking me for looking after her and telling me that this is the happiest they have seen her in a while, yet I do not think they believed me when I reciprocated that

feeling.
Isis’ everlasting smile was what kept me coming week after week.It was not that I did not love all the other students as well, but I saw something in Isis that I really wanted to see in myself: undying enthusiasm. Ballet, especially through classical Russian training, is a tumultuous combination of hard work and determination that may eventually result in satisfaction and accomplishment, but I had never seen it so earnestly depicted as in the eyes of a disabled eight-year-old. During the class, Isis had her difficult moments. When she could not get a move, she would stomp or fall. Sometimes, she would be so determined on doing something herself that she would fidget away from the support of my hands. It broke my heart that I could not help her all the time and could not do it for her, but all I could do was ste back and let her figure it out on her own or, resigned, look to me for help. Nevertheless, this process saw so much progress come out of Isis. She was even more fabulous that she had been before, not to mention growing musicality and kinesthetic awareness, which is a blessing for her disability.
Unfortunately, a few months into the program, Isis’ parents had decided to move to Florida. Her last class, Isis strutted into the classroom the same way she did every Saturday. She hula-hooped better than ever before, did a solo (with my help) in the center of the room and left with her final goodbye wave. I do not know if she completely understood that it was her last time with me, but that did not matter. I only wished the best to her and her family and thanked them for everything I have learned from their princess.
Although I have not seen her for almost three years now, Isis will always be in the back of my mind. She was the most inspiring person that I have ever met and I could only hope that I could develop the type of determination that she had. Whatever my future has to hold, I will do it to make myself, and Isis, proud.