Humming Along

There is a riddle that asks the question, Why does the hummingbird hum?

The answer: Because he doesn't know the words.

I have a boy who hums in one of my toddler music classes. If he knows the words, he's not sharing them, because David, age two, doesn't speak. I've never heard him say one word. But he's learning sign language and likes to practice with his mother.

Blue is his favorite sign. He wants the blue truck. The blue scarf. The blue rhythm instrument. When he gets the blue item, David smiles at his mother, the one who loves him more than anyone; the one who makes David feel safe. But David never smiles at me. Or at the other children.

From the protective circle of his mother's arms, David watches us, the other people in his class, who are too loud, too energetic and too scary. I suspect David is autistic, but his mother has never mentioned it, so I leave it alone, because some things are too difficult to bring up in casual conversation.

I remember one particularly agitating day, when David tried to block out the noise in his disturbing outer world by grinding his teeth and humming to himself. I was worried the other kids would find this odd, but I didn't need to be concerned. With the acceptance that can only be found in the hearts of the very young, the other children joined in to David 's song, until the entire class was humming.

Since that day David has very slowly become more comfortable in class. He no longer feels the need to move to a corner to escape the boisterous activity. He has occasionally stepped away from his mother and returned instruments without her help. And last week during a marching song, David peered shyly over his shoulder. . . and smiled at me.

I smiled back and I felt a song of pure happiness rise inside me, making me want to hum along.