For just a few amazing hours, I didn't feel the need to apologise for my son.

Who knew an afternoon on the plains of Africa could provide such joy to a child?

The first ever Australian Autism-friendly performance of Disney’s The Lion King happened on Saturday (June 14) in Sydney, and soon there will be the similar shows in Melbourne and Brisbane coming up. The Lion King has been working closely with Autism Awareness Australia to specially adapt the performance so it’s suitable for individuals on the autism spectrum and their families.

This was one mum’s experience of seeing an Austism-friendly performance:

Musicals have been my greatest passion ever since I was a teenager, and even when I was pregnant with my twins I’d dream of sharing this joyous experience with my children.

Once J’s autism came to light, however, it seemed less likely that he would enjoy a show with me. J has hyper-sensitive hearing, can be overwhelmed by large crowds, and does not seem to grasp the need to be quiet in certain situations. So when I heard there was going to be a performance of Lion King aimed specifically at an autistic audience, it seemed too good to be true.

When the tickets arrived, there was an accompanying letter inviting me to use the resources on the website prior to the performance. Clearly considerable time and effort had gone into producing the visual story which enabled me to prepare J for our visit. It meant he knew what he would see when he arrived, and how the show would start. And indeed, when the big day arrived, J was very excited to see the theatre, exactly as he had seen it on the laptop screen the day before.

But it wasn’t until we took our seats that I started to realise quite how special an experience this was to be. I looked around as the  auditorium began filling with a truly unique audience. All around me were children, teenagers and adults with varying degrees of autism. Many were flapping their hands and jumping up and down.

Some were rocking back and forth ferociously in their chairs. Others were making unusual hand gestures, or clapping their hands over their ears. Many were wearing ear-defenders to block out the sounds around them. Some were spinning around in the aisles, others sat on the floor and refused to stand.

To the uninitiated this might have looked daunting, even frightening. But to us, the parents and families of people with autism, this was pure happiness. Unlike J, many people with autism are non-verbal. The best way they had to express their growing excitement was to make these strange-sounding noises. And for some, like J, the noise and the crowds were overwhelming. Some made their own noises to block out the sounds around them. But this was fine too. This was part of giving our children an experience many of them would never have otherwise been able to have.

Two cast members in full costume took to the stage. The audience grew quieter: something was about to happen. And then the man in the lion costume spoke.

“My name is George” he said “and I play the part of Scar”. This was clever. This helped the audience differentiate between the actors and the characters.

He introduced the woman standing beside him, who plays Rafiki, and explained that she would be singing the first song in the show. Again, a thoughtful measure to help prepare the audience for what would come. “Much too often” said George meaningfully “autism has to adapt to society. It’s about time a little bit of society adapted to autism!” The audience erupted. I burst into tears. The woman next to me handed me a tissue, as she also stifled a sob. They understood. All these people around me – the families, the cast and crew, the staff of the theatre and the National Autistic Society and Disney who were lining the auditorium ready to help: all of them understood.

I cannot imagine the cast have ever performed to an audience like it. At times the noise in the auditorium made it difficult to hear what was happening on stage. But at no point was anyone shushed. No-one was on the receiving end of dirty looks, whispered comments about controlling our children, tutting and head-shaking. It was all OK. In front of me a teenage boy was rocking so hard in his chair that his mother tried to stop him and turned to apologise to the woman behind her. “Please don’t” said the woman. “He’s absolutely fine”.

When the song Hakuna Matata started J recognised it and tried to sing along. The words of the song seemed so poignant at that moment. “It means no worries for the rest of your days.” Sadly I realised, the opposite would be true for so many of the young people sitting around me. The challenges caused by their autism will likely mean the rest of their days will be fraught with worries. But, for that moment at least, their worries were suspended. Hakuna Matata for a few hours.

The second half passed with as much noise and excitement as the first. When the final curtain call came, I leapt to my feet with J in my arms. I whooped and cheered for all I was worth. J hated this and screamed at me to be quiet, but I couldn’t. I had to let all those responsible for this incredible production know just how grateful I was and how much it had meant to me. As the house lights went up and we put our coats on, J started sobbing. “I don’t want to leave Lion King!” he pleaded. “I want to stay at Lion King!” He was placated by the Lion King flag handed to him by a smiling staff member on the way out, which is now taped proudly to his bedroom wall.

Hakuna Matata.

Were you at the performance in Sydney on Saturday? What did you think?

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