Another game in San Antonio, but this time, unlike a couple of others I can think of, we had no trouble showing up at the right stadium in the right city on the right day. And we got there early enough to sit close to the Monoceras, the Unicorn Dance team that always sits next to and hence between us and any parents and the band. However, we were able to align ourselves fairly easily with the woodwinds. This meant that, occasionally, we were able to glimpse Colin’s curly head, and to see that yes, sometimes he was dancing with the rest of the band.
I’d never known that the band kids amuse themselves, and are encouraged to do so, in a large part, by dancing to whatever the percussion section or whichever section(s) that is/are playing until the that very first game, back in September at Canyon Stadium. Seeing that Colin participates in the group dancing has been encouraging and is still downright unbelievable. The kid who hates confined spaces with other people--my kid--gets up there and dances on one small strip of aluminum with a bunch of other kids. Who would have thought this would be one of life’s blessings? But, it is.
At Wagner, a fairly new school judging from the smallness of its crowd, cheerleading squad, and other groups, we easily outnumbered the parental opposition in the home stands.
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| Sparce parental opposition at Wagner (in yonder stands) |
The Wagnerites must have expected the competition to be tight, as they'd selected us for their homecoming game opposition, something Roger tells me is a sign that the other school thinks you'll lose.
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| Wagner Homecoming Court: See ballgowns on sideline. |
The band’s director, Mrs. Pradervand, had agreed to let Roger pull Colin from the contest right after the bands’ performance (normally, the bands stay to watch the other bands) so that Roger could go take Colin home to New Braunfels, then drive back to San Antonio to see Chloe and her group to perform. But, again, we needed the numbers of the people who would help us connect with him after the performance.
The good thing is that, while at the front getting the phone numbers, I talked to Colin’s section leader’s mom, a nurse at a local elementary school, about how Colin was doing in band. She had finally solved the problem of getting Colin to talk to her by realizing that his speech therapist came to her school and consulting her. The key to getting Colin to talk, my new booster friend Mrs. Dietert found, was telling him she knew the speech therapist, Mrs. Gonzales, and that Mrs. Gonzales was her friend.
Somehow, knowing that Mrs. Gonzales was a friend and that therefore, Mrs. Dietert was okay, provided a necessary key to open the Colin door and get him to communicate. In fact, after he’d figured out that she was safe for him to communicate with, Colin had become, for Colin, ebullient, or at the least, talkative, sitting with Mrs. Dietert in the front of the bus, where he especially liked to sit.
Once more, part of that the mindset so many autistic kids have is that they must be first. Years earlier, on a trip to Disney world, we’d even had to get a doctor’s note stating his disability and needs so that we could take him to the front of a line if it became necessary to avoid a Colin detonation.
Thankfully, that letter had not proved necessary. Roger and I had decided ahead of time to try to make Colin wait like every other kid did there and he’d taken it remarkably well. Now, if we’d had a sign to hang around his neck on the flight home saying, “I’m autistic. Be gentle with me—and especially my parents” we might have used that, as upon arriving at Hobby airport on the flight home, he was literally rolling around the boarding area as we waited for the connecting flight.
Now, Mrs. Dietert said, he’d share with her concerns about sitting down before she did on the bus but also about issues in the band, even seeking her out for some questions.
The bad thing about all of this parental networking was that, during my efforts to get to know Mrs. Dietert and other the folks who worked with Colin, I missed a crucial announcement at half time. He’d been recognized as band student of the week.
At least his father had caught the news. “He looked left and right,” Roger said of Colin, “as if he were looking for another Colin Jones.” Me, engrossed in the moment, had not seen this. Roger, the attentive parent, had at least been able to yell Colin’s name and cheer him on. After all, in a group of over a hundred kids, not every one will make student of the week, and certainly precious few during football season.
Later, as usual, I asked Colin to write down what he’d thought about the game:
Colin: “I talked mainly to a friend of mine named Christian about various stuff such as how our concert is going to be. Also I asked a couple of times to go to the restroom. Mainly I talked to her [Christian] about dancing. Today I talked to her when I was eating about the bus we were taking to Houston [for the USSBA contest in the Woodlands].”
When asked what he talked to Christian about some more, Colin said, “I kind of talked to her about the moves I made.”
Mom: “What did you say or ask?”
Colin: “I kind of forgot.”
Just as his mom forgot to get a photo of him as band student of the week. But I got more at other games and contests--to follow shortly . . . or slowly. But, to follow . . .
