Everyone remembers “that kid” in school. The one who never had a single hair out-of-place, always produced the right answer for any question, and got straight A’s merely by showing up for class. Or so it seemed.
Remember that kid?
Yeah. I wasn’t that kid.
But I sat next to them.
I think the teacher deliberately made the seating arrangement that way. My hair wasn’t ever not mussed, a shoelace trailed behind me when I walked, and I never. Ever. Had the right answer.
I was the kid who made “that kid” look even better by comparison.
“That kid” was bright and energetic, outgoing and considered to be cool and sophisticated by the IT crowd. “That kid” was my complete opposite.
I was the “quietly messy and completely distracted kid”
While I wasn’t exactly an introvert, that came later, it became painfully obvious in the 4th grade that I wasn’t going to stand out for my people person qualities. For all of my shyness and lack of vocal talent, never was I mistaken for the “perfect kid”. I got in trouble often, though it wasn’t for passing notes or talking.
The teacher didn’t care for my reading Stephen King during class instead of participating like the others.
I still wonder whether it was my choice in reading material or my choice to read during class, that made her the angriest. She was amazed over my audacity.
The height of rudeness, she told my parents.
The way I saw it, was why bother? I knew “that kid” had it covered. Let them have the limelight, I prefer to read, thank you. I was grounded umpteen times but it didn’t stop me..
I grew taller, got older, and continued to read. My tendencies and quirks were given an explanation of ADHD and armed with a better understanding of why I was the way I was, I could move on.
My preferences for the company of a book over real life kept me from learning the give and take of a conversation, the small talk made to pass the time, the normal everyday communication. And I’m paying for it.
Duck isn’t “that kid” or the “perfect kid” or any other label
He’s my son
I’m his Mom
And I can’t give him what he needs so badly. I can’t teach him social skills when I barely have any myself.
Do you know what isn’t fair?
Know what cuts deepest without even touching you?
It’s having a child who means the world to you. One who needs your help and guidance. One who needs what you cannot give them, because you don’t have it to give.
Put yourself in my place, just for a minute and see how that feels. Then you can tell me I’m wrong and that life is fair.
No, really. Tell me.
Because it sure doesn’t feel that way from where I’m sitting. ADHD is something I’ve had to learn to work-around, make compromises with and to accept. The benefits of it are what I normally blog about, because in my case-the pros outweigh the cons.
Screw you ADHD
You don’t play fair