In a bright indoor pool adorned with fish-themed decorations, young children cautiously kicked and floated during what appeared to be a basic swim class. But this session was far from ordinary. Each child received focused attention — one-on-one or even two instructors per child — with visual aids replacing verbal instructions. Whistles were absent, replaced by a calm, sensory-friendly environment.

All of the participants at the Small Fish Big Fish swim school had autism, a condition that significantly increases the risk of drowning. While this danger has long been known to parents and professionals, recent data underscores its severity. In Florida alone, more than 100 children with autism or undergoing diagnosis have drowned since 2021, according to the Children’s Services Council of Palm Beach County.

This reveals a critical issue: Children with autism urgently need swimming instruction, yet accessing it can be a challenge.

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“It’s life-changing,” said Lovely Chrisostome, who panicked earlier this year when her 6-year-old son wandered away from home in a neighborhood filled with lakes. Previous attempts to get him into swim lessons failed—he wouldn’t even enter the pool. But in the tailored environment at Small Fish Big Fish, he participated. When he became uncomfortable getting his head wet, the instructor gently shifted his position, keeping him relaxed.

Autism affects about 1 in 31 children in the U.S., and the need for water safety has become more urgent in the wake of tragic incidents, such as the 2014 drowning of Avonte Oquendo, a New York teen with autism.

Although formal studies are limited, 2017 research found that individuals with autism are at a significantly higher risk of drowning, largely due to their tendency to wander and limited perception of danger, said Dr. Guohua Li, a Columbia University researcher and parent of a child with autism.

Local examples are heartbreaking. One child escaped through a dog door and drowned in a backyard pool. Another slipped through a playground fence and died in a canal. A third managed to bypass a makeshift barrier and drowned in a nearby lake. In response, officials are now compiling a national database of such cases.

Dr. Li argues that swimming instruction should be considered a primary intervention for children with autism.

Some children with autism thrive in the water, as highlighted in the 2017 documentary Swim Team. Others can learn essential survival skills in just a few sessions of specialized aquatic therapy, said occupational therapist Michele Alaniz.

Still, many families hesitate to enroll their children in swim lessons. They fear overstimulation from loud noises or group settings, and some children are even removed from mainstream programs that aren’t equipped to support their needs. While private lessons offer a solution, they can be prohibitively expensive.

“Having instructors who understand autism — how to communicate, how to prevent meltdowns, especially in a pool setting — is crucial,” said Lindsey Corey. Her son didn’t benefit from traditional or in-home private lessons but made meaningful progress in a program where teachers had specialized autism training.

Efforts to address this gap are growing. Autism Swim, an Australian nonprofit, reports that over 1,400 instructors globally have completed its training since 2016.

In Palm Beach County, local officials allocated $17,000 to the Autism Society of America to train swim instructors, along with another $13,500 to support the program at Small Fish Big Fish, according to Jon Burstein, the researcher behind the county’s drowning data.

The current class includes a dozen children from a local autism-specific charter school. Although initially hesitant even to board the bus, by April, they were stepping into the pool more confidently.

One girl practiced holding her breath while floating on a board. Another beamed as she swam with a foam noodle. Her mother, Jana D’Agostino, said the lessons are critical because her daughter is “fearless” and would jump into any body of water without knowing how to swim.

At the pool’s edge, a boy carefully entered the water to join Small Fish Big Fish founder Melissa Taylor. After copying her underwater dip, he retreated, using hand gestures to signal he was done — which the instructors quickly respected.

“It takes time to build trust,” said Taylor, who also knows how to interpret repetitive movements as signs of excitement rather than distress.

As the class continued, Chrisostome’s son emerged from the water with a beaming smile. He had learned valuable skills — but for his mother, what mattered most was something simpler:

“The happiness that he has.”