A five-year-old little redheaded boy with a miniature viola has just finished his piece and bows to the parents and children who fill the stadium-style seating in the university classroom. The emcee announces that the next Suzuki String Program performer is Sophie Wigney who will be playing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

Sophie, who is almost eight years old, gets up from the front row where she has been sitting with the other children who are recital performers this Saturday morning, and stands at the front of the room. Her dark hair is pulled back at the temples, but hangs long past her shoulders down her back, draping her loose, burgundy patterned dress.

As she fidgets her way into a proper violin-playing stance, her parents wait nervously for her performance. Richard’s sweaty hands are tightly gripping Patricia’s. She is in tears almost before Sophie begins.

There are five variations of Twinkle in Suzuki Violin Book One. Children who start this book when Sophie did, at age four, typically finish it within six months. But it has taken Sophie three years; Sophie has autism.

Patricia was devastated by the diagnosis, but she was determined to give Sophie every experience she could. This included the Suzuki training method for violin and filling Sophie’s life with music.

Sophie developed typically for the first years of her life. Then she suddenly stopped babbling and interacting at age two, soon after a severe reaction to her MMR vaccination sent her into an extended period of fevers and mouth blisters. The diagnosis of “high functioning autism” was given a year later.

When Sophie was four, Richard found a local music therapist and after one of the first lessons Sophie was not only saying her own name for the first time but singing the spelling as well. This gave Patricia the determination to keep Sophie involved in various forms of music, and Patricia soon approached the Suzuki String Program her older daughters had attended.

For Sophie, the process has been slow but incremental. In the second year of violin lessons Sophie was still learning how to stand and hold the bow. She, like many children with autism, has difficulty with coordination. Making her body parts all move independently and in sync takes intense concentration. Leaning her head in an unnatural position, into the chin rest of the violin, holding her left arm outward and her right arm up, are all tasks in themselves.

The most difficult part for Debby, Sophie’s violin teacher, has been helping Sophie to learn without correcting her mistakes. Sophie’s perfectionism manifests itself in extreme form due to the autism. Nothing can be “difficult.” Sophie does not need “help”—although, occasionally she will accept “assistance.” If other language is used, Sophie spirals into trauma, “Why do you ask if I need help? I don’t need help! I’m fine!” The anxiety she experiences tightens her vocal cords; the pitch of her voice becomes a high, tense singing tone like that made by an over-strung bow. And, often, once she is upset in this way, she gets stuck, seemingly unable to let go of the irritation, “Did you hear me?” she’ll continue, “Why did you ask if I need help? I don’t need help. Understand?!”

Debby learned to use Sophie’s penchant for imaginary play to teach her instead. For example, when Sophie was fixated on Thomas the Tank, Debby explained that Sophie’s wrist was part of a train track that ran down her arm. The wrist needed to be straight in order for Thomas to stay on the track.

Debby is a petite woman with wiry curly dark hair laced with silver and walks with a limp due to MS. At one point she felt overwhelmed by her teaching schedule and decided to drop all of her students but one: Sophie. With a degree in school psychology, Debby wanted to work with a child with special needs, and she felt she could truly have an impact on Sophie’s life. Since the violin lessons took place at Sophie’s house, she could also help Sophie work on transitioning from one activity to the next. They would ease into each lesson by first reading a book or playing a game.

One day Sophie invited Debby to jump on the trampoline with her before the lesson. Debby explained that it would be very hard for her to do.

“Why would it be hard for you?” asked Sophie.

The two discussed Debby’s limp, Debby showed Sophie her brace and even let Sophie wear it during the lesson. Sophie understood; playing the violin for her was like jumping on the trampoline for Debby.

Step by step, note by note, Sophie slowly learned Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. What began as single 3x5 cards showing the note and a photograph of the correct fingering—Sophie playing a single note at a time, sometimes a single note in a whole lesson—became a poster with the notes written in lines, each of the six lines of the song denoted by a sticker: Winnie the Pooh, a rabbit, a star, a grasshopper, a violin, and, finally, Tigger.

The process took years. During the last year, Patricia worked to try to get her daughter through a single line.

“Ready? Let’s play the Grasshoppa!!” she would say in a silly voice to make Sophie giggle.

Last month Sophie played each line in sequence for the first time and seemed to realize it was a song. Patricia and Debby decided Sophie was ready for her first recital. They thought she could handle playing a single line and had Sophie practice a few times: bow to the audience, play the Pooh line, bow again. But Sophie had other ideas. She insisted she was going to play the whole song.