Watching Hamilton With Hearing Difficulties
Bye Hamilton
I'm nervous as we settle into our seats at the PrivateBank Theatre in Chicago.  Hamilton  is going to be loud. The tickets were expensive. I'm not sure my kids can stay up this late. But here we are. My son  a 10-year-old non-verbal boy with Down syndrome  has been listening to the soundtrack for well over a year  so we finally bought tickets  despite all the complexities of bringing kids to a big-time  late-night theater show. We have an ace in the holeâa $15 pair of bright green hearing protectors  sized for a kid.
Too often  our choices about accessibility are driven by shame and stigma. We live in an "ableist" society that judges people based on how closely they conform to perceived physical and neurological norms. Walking through the theater in bright green headphones is not "normal." But that simple tool turned a trip to see  Hamilton  into a magical  joyful experience for all of us. Instead of demanding my son conform to the environment  we're giving him the tools to control his environment.
 Hamilton   as I've written before  is particularly important to my son. Something about the music and lyrics sparks him to experiment with his own sounds and words. It's helped him with his own communication strategies as we have embarked on our slow  gorgeous process of finding ways for us to communicate. I will never forget the day he surprised me at breakfast by saying  in time to the music  "Awesome  wow."
But enough about bathrooms. Back to  Hamilton .
My son has perfected the art of dancing without leaving his chair. At  Hamilton   I watch as he sways in time to the music  moves his hands in mimicry of the actors on stage  and yet keeps from banging other patrons or making too much noise. As I watch him  I regret how long it took us to buy these bright green lifesavers. As his reaction to certain kinds of sounds intensified over the past few years  I was too slow to give him this simple tool. I just tried to convince him that "it would be OK" to walk past the blaring hand dryer. It wasn't OK. Now he doesn't have to put up with the sound  but can still dry his hands.
We made it to the end of the show  though both kids were exhausted by the time of the final bow  and we quickly slipped out into the night. Outside  he handed me his headphones  pointed up at the bright golden marquee  and said  "Bye Hamilton."
I'm nervous as we settle into our seats at the PrivateBank Theatre in Chicago.  Hamilton  is going to be loud. The tickets were expensive. I'm not sure my kids can stay up this late. But here we are. My son  a 10-year-old non-verbal boy with Down syndrome  has been listening to the soundtrack for well over a year  so we finally bought tickets  despite all the complexities of bringing kids to a big-time  late-night theater show. We have an ace in the holeâa $15 pair of bright green hearing protectors  sized for a kid.
Too often  our choices about accessibility are driven by shame and stigma. We live in an "ableist" society that judges people based on how closely they conform to perceived physical and neurological norms. Walking through the theater in bright green headphones is not "normal." But that simple tool turned a trip to see  Hamilton  into a magical  joyful experience for all of us. Instead of demanding my son conform to the environment  we're giving him the tools to control his environment.
 Hamilton   as I've written before  is particularly important to my son. Something about the music and lyrics sparks him to experiment with his own sounds and words. It's helped him with his own communication strategies as we have embarked on our slow  gorgeous process of finding ways for us to communicate. I will never forget the day he surprised me at breakfast by saying  in time to the music  "Awesome  wow."
But enough about bathrooms. Back to  Hamilton .
My son has perfected the art of dancing without leaving his chair. At  Hamilton   I watch as he sways in time to the music  moves his hands in mimicry of the actors on stage  and yet keeps from banging other patrons or making too much noise. As I watch him  I regret how long it took us to buy these bright green lifesavers. As his reaction to certain kinds of sounds intensified over the past few years  I was too slow to give him this simple tool. I just tried to convince him that "it would be OK" to walk past the blaring hand dryer. It wasn't OK. Now he doesn't have to put up with the sound  but can still dry his hands.
We made it to the end of the show  though both kids were exhausted by the time of the final bow  and we quickly slipped out into the night. Outside  he handed me his headphones  pointed up at the bright golden marquee  and said  " [TGT] ."