What My Daughter with Autism Taught Me at Karaoke Night
It was a random Thursday evening. Nothing planned, just one of those slow summer nights when you want to get out of the house, let the kids run off some energy, and enjoy a breath of fresh air as a family.
We ended up at Jail Break—our local Family Entertainment Center. The kids were excited for the playground, and Adam and I looked forward to sitting back for a moment, catching our breath (and maybe a drink), and watching them play.
We had no idea it was karaoke night.
But God did.
At first, our youngest, Gracelyn, was totally caught up in the playground. That’s her zone—climbing, spinning, bouncing, smiling ear to ear. But then a little boy walked up to the mic and started singing. And I watched something shift.
She locked eyes on him.
I knew that look. Her wheels were turning. I braced for the question I knew was coming:
“Why is he singing?”
“Can I sing too?”
Gracelyn was diagnosed with autism at age 3. Most who know me know her story—or parts of it. She is hilarious, kind, full of life, and completely unfiltered in the best way. But as she gets older, and her peers continue to grow past her socially and emotionally, I sometimes find myself holding back out of fear. Not her fear—mine.
As a mama of a child with special needs, there’s a protective instinct that runs deep. Not to stop her from being herself—but to stop the world from being unkind to her for it.
But here’s the truth: Gracelyn sees only the good. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks. She just is. And maybe… she’s got it more right than any of us.
She’s been slightly obsessed with “What Does the Fox Say?” for a while now (parents, you know what I mean). And sure enough, that was her one request for karaoke. And that was the moment my inner tug-of-war began.
Do I let her do this? What if people laugh? What if she doesn’t understand why they’re laughing? What if … What if… What if….
And then, as if God Himself sent backup, a man sitting behind us leaned over to my husband, Adam, and said,
“Just let her sing. It'll be fine. This is a family-friendly place.”
So we did.
She took the mic. She sang with everything she had. She didn’t just sing… she performed. The crowd clapped. They danced. They cheered. Some joined in. For those three minutes, Gracelyn was the star of the Jail Break party, and y’all—she owned it.
I cried.
Not once.
Not twice.
Three times.
Not out of sadness. But out of pure, overwhelming joy. There she was—fearless, happy, free. There I was—still learning how to let her be.
When she finished, she bowed and blew kisses like she was on the Grammys stage. Then she found that little boy who sang before her, gave him a high five, and told him he did a great job.
Who even is this child?
A teacher. A light. A reminder that our children, no matter what their journey looks like, are often our biggest teachers.
If I could give you one thing from this story, it’s this:
Let your kids be who God made them to be.
Even when it feels uncomfortable. Even when the world doesn’t understand. Even when your own fears whisper otherwise.
Because when we let go—really let go—we make space for them to shine. For their joy to spread. For their confidence to soar.
Gracelyn reminded me that night: It’s not about perfection. It’s about presence. About purpose. About joy.
"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." – Psalm 139:14
She is wonderfully made. So is your child. So are you.
And yes, sometimes that means belting “What Does the Fox Say?” in front of strangers and bringing down the house.
Let’s raise kids who know they’re deeply loved, unconditionally accepted, and created with a purpose.
Let’s raise kids who trust God and know the freedom of being exactly who He made them to be.
And maybe along the way, let’s let them teach us how to do the same.
