When the beat stops

Into the Wilderness: Story 26

Raising Autism: 201

My younger daughter quit an activity she was really good at. She was the cool female drummer in a prodigy rock band put together by her music school. They were good enough to be invited to play at festivals and events- and not one of them is over 16. They’re all precociously talented and naive, a wonderful mixture for a rock band.

I’m really pissed at her for doing this.

All my parent training of the past 3 years is rattling through my head. Be more curious than critical. Ask questions. Give her space. Listen. Get in the green zone. For God’s sake, get over it. She’s a teenager. But as much as I try, I’m stuck. I can’t get over it and I’m not sure I want to.

I know what you’re thinking- that I’m living through her, vicariously. But it’s not that. I never fantasized about her drumming professionally, a road cowboy hustling from city to city hitting the sticks for a living. She was never going to be a rocker.

But she was going to be a social human being. From a parent expectation standpoint, that’s not necessarily a lot to ask.

My daughter didn’t quit because she hates drums. No, she wants to continue drum lessons, alone in her basement, boom, thwap without a tune. She quit because she wants to do absolutely effing nothing. Sit in her room and listen to the racket between her ears, watch anime, sleep.

Quitting is big for me. I never quit, even when it’s in my best interest to do so. I rally through, make the best of anything. I persist.

But she quit. She quit her band, their only drummer. The drummer sets the foundation, establishing the rhythm, the timing. It tells the bass when to add its thumping beat. The singer listens for the drum to open the vocals. A band needs a drummer. A drummer needs a band. No one says- hey, tonight I’m going to just put on some drum beats with no accompaniment. No one.

My daughter is on the spectrum. At her best, she is introverted and introspective, a bit selfishly so. She will tell you point blank she really doesn’t feel like talking, let alone be in the same room with you. It’s hard enough being a teenager. A teenager on the spectrum? Suckville. Take all the worst teenage traits- social angst, self isolation, selfish attitude- and multiply it by bazillion. That’s a teenager on the spectrum.

I feel helpless to do anything to change the situation. And I have tried. I have shamelessly pulled every passive aggressive dig possible, so much so that my now 18-year-old Catina (yes, she became an adult and I didn’t even write about it), called me on it. She told me I am being an asshole. And she’s right.

I think partly I’m angry at the spectrum stuff. It wires and rewires the brain in fascinating, amazing and sometimes beautiful ways. Her innate precision made her a good drummer. Her ability to focus, hear patterns, sense rhythms by feel… these were her gifts. But what made her a really good drummer is now her undoing.

My drum-quitting daughter now holes herself away in her room even more than she already did. She is 100% confident in her decision. She doesn’t want to be around people.

I’m working on it, folks. I really am. But I keep thinking about the lost talent, the lost socialization. This was her one moment of human interaction each week. I keep thinking of the versatility and brain growth music cultivates. I keep thinking of that blank space of nothing she has chosen instead.

So tell me, what would you do? I’m lost.