We sat on the couch, he and I. We discussed big things, scary things, important things. It was late, very late, and I watched him crumble a bit. My older son has ADHD, and it costs him. He was struggling with school, with life, with himself. College for him was a rollercoaster, and he’d found another low point.
45 minutes earlier, when we started our conversation, he was bright-eyed and focused, concerned. Now, he was twitchy, sweating and distracted. He couldn’t stop moving, eyes darting and cracking his knuckles. His words were clipped and frustrated. He was falling apart.
When he was a boy he’d adjourn to the basement, alone or with his best friends to play video games. If you’d gone down there at some point, you’d see him with a controller in his hand, playing a game, while simultaneously watching a movie and listening to music. There could never be enough input for him.
I admit, before he was diagnosed I was skeptical about ADHD. He wasn’t adversarial, just energetic. His third grade teacher had approached us about the possibility of an ADHD diagnosis. His class was to be taking a standardized test soon, and she invited me to watch him through the hallway window.
He sat up front, where she could keep an eye on him. The class was told to begin. He wrote his name, and became distracted by the pencil, with which he started to play. His teacher spoke gently to him, and he started to read. Within a couple minutes he was playing with his pencil again. After that the clock, the leg of his desk, and his shirt provided distraction. At some point, realizing he was struggling, he set his pencil down, used his hands as little blinders and bent way over the page, trying his hardest to tune it all out.
He didn’t finish the test, and was diagnosed soon after.
The rollercoaster also started soon after. He never liked the way his medication felt, while at the same time was pleased with how it allowed him to do well in school. It was a long series of highs and lows. When he was able to cope, he was a good student. He was accepted into both universities he applied to: Montana State University and the University of Minnesota Duluth.
He chose UMD, a decision that surprised us. We thought, being a skilled and passionate skier, that he’d choose MSU. It was a fortuitous decision, choosing to be so much closer. His freshman year was difficult. He wasn’t emotionally ready, and his ADHD quickly became a factor. He rarely left his room, he wasn’t eating well, and he couldn’t sit through an entire lecture. He was drowning, and we became frantic. Then, around Halloween, while I was at a high school soccer game, he called me. It was a short, one-sided talk. He told me he was fine. He’d left his room, he’d met some people. He had decided to be fine. His voice was stronger, and I believed him.
Eventually he did what he’s always done. He stood up, and worked the problem. He gained a measure of self-awareness, and self-confidence. He started owning his ADHD. These days, he studies in the busiest spots he can find, with one earbud playing music and his other ear listening to his surroundings. He has two notebooks open; one for class and the other to record the ghosts in the machine, the random snippets of his input-thirsty brain.
Now, he’s about to graduate with a degree in Economics, with a focus in Sustainability. After dealing with so much adversity, having never quit, he’s walking away from this stage of his life quietly and without ceremony.
And I want him to know that We’re proud of him. That everyone is proud of him. He’s excited for what comes next, and he should be. He’ll discover that he’ll take leaps of faith, and find his calling as often as necessary. He’ll experience the wonderful buffeting of stepping away from the comfortable.
He’ll be who he’s always been.
Congratulations buddy. We love you.
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