This was published 7 months ago
He loves death metal – and a girl. Helping a teen with autism find his rhythm
A support worker on a young man navigating life – in a world that hits him differently to others.
By Julianne O’Brien
Credit: Paolo
He’s 17 and in love for the second time. I had to talk him down from the dizzying heights of his first love last year. I said, “You’re texting her too much. She already said she just wanted to be friends. It might be considered harassment.” But he was adamant. “I told her I’m going to try to make myself more attractive. I’m going to take showers and clean my teeth.”
Then a bit later when, as his daily support worker, I was driving him to school, he mused, looking out the car window, “When I get a girlfriend, I’m not going to tell her I’m autistic ’til after the wedding.”
Daniel’s* going to be a world-famous death metal musician. He plays the keyboard and drums brilliantly. Brought up Catholic, he’s worried he won’t get into heaven because he worships Satan’s music for hours every day. His favourite sub-genre of death metal is pirate metal (yes, that’s a thing). The songs are about epic sea battles and rallying cries from a boisterous brotherhood for a life of freedom. He informs me that when pirates say they’re going to get “hammered” they mean “get drunk”. It doesn’t actually have anything to do with tools.
It’s after dinner, about 9pm, when he starts to play the electric drums. He goes non-stop until about 2am. Although he uses headphones, the dull, rapid thump-thump-thump sound easily penetrates the thin walls to his “sleeping”, full-time-working, middle-aged parents. Ultimately, it relaxes him enough for him to go to sleep.
In the morning, Daniel tries to express to me the joy of it, dancing, leaping and waving his arms in the air. He tells me he used to be an angry person and points to the holes in the walls. But not now that he’s found death metal.
His exhausted mother greets me with coffee. She’s worried his obsession is consuming him. When he was younger, he did other things – reading, chess, Lego, Pokémon. He even liked swimming. Right now, we can hear him practising metal’s disturbing, deep-growling vocal style in the shower. My limp smile is unconvincing. I assure her he won’t be playing metal at age 25 or 30, but she looks at me doubtfully. “Are you sure?”
I tell him he won’t be a world-famous metal musician if he stays in his room all day. He’ll have to learn to make contact with others. Being in a band will involve co-operation, collaboration, being open to others’ ideas and, dare I say it, “time management” and “emotional regulation”.
His school has a communal piano in the yard for public use. As I’m dropping him off there, he tells me he’s going to play it today. Perform in public. For the first time. Like the best ideas, this idea has come from him. He says he probably won’t look up, and he probably won’t sing, but he will play one of his favourite pieces.
The risk pays off. Some of the students in the vicinity look impressed at his amazing dexterity. This is at odds with the goofy guy who’s always late to class. The guy who looks so stunned when the teacher asks him a question and takes so long to speak that she simply has to move on from the awkward silence.
The girl he likes approaches him at the piano. He remembers the role-play his psych has taken him through – “first make eye contact”. She says, “I didn’t know you could do that.” He remembers the next step of the role-play – ask a question but nothing personal. “What’s your favourite song?” he asks. Hers is American Pie.
That night, he breaks his golden rule of only playing metal and spends hours learning how to play American Pie. His version stretches the membrane of his bubble out a little and it’s still comfortable. He’s now inside it with a Chevy and a levee, and the image of two ordinary kids who kick off their shoes and go dancing in the gym. Tomorrow he’ll play her the song on the outside piano. Whether she hears it or not, he’ll be reaching out.
Nothing happens with the girl. But something good does happen. He starts to play the piano most days. Kids he has never spoken to make requests. A guy approaches him. He’s a metal fan. Daniel is floored; he thought he was the only one in the village! The guy and his mates are starting a band called Unholy Hitmen*. “If you like,” he says, “I’ll ask the rest of the band if you can join?” Daniel says yes, he’d like that. Some endless days later, the text comes, “Buddy, you’re in the band.”
It’s 8.50am. We’ve made it to school on time. Every morning, I gently coax him through his routine, pulling him away from the lyrics he’s writing in his head to the breakfast he has to finish, the medication he has to take. The first time I dropped him off, he slammed the door and didn’t look back. The second time, he looked back at me. Much later, he surprised me with “bye”. Sometimes I remind him of what is expected – “Thanks. Bye. See you later.”
Today, he stops and turns back voluntarily. He has something to say. He tells me he’s just proudly updated his Instagram profile, adding some new personal details. Daniel, age 17, member of death metal band Unholy Hitmen. There’s something else, too – something he’s not put out in public before. Lives with autism.
* Names have been changed for privacy.
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