Date: April 24, 2023
Understanding the experience of raising a child with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) can be challenging, especially for those who have never encountered it.
“Oh, it takes my son ages to tie his shoes too. That doesn’t mean he has ADD. That’s just how kids are!” friends might say, unaware that I’m not talking about a simple delay. I could instruct my son to put on his shoes and socks and return three years later to find him still in the same position, probably mesmerized by a wandering ant. His last thought wouldn’t be about his thirst but rather, “Wow, look at that ant go!”
“Don’t worry, my kid gets distracted during her soccer games as well. She spends half the time picking flowers on the sidelines.”
But how often have I received complaints from other parents about how my son frightens their child while playing “The Monster’s Coming!” during the game? And that’s on days when I’m not rescuing him from a tree behind the field every time it’s his turn to kick the ball.
Coming to terms with my child’s unique learning style has been one of the most exhausting and nerve-wracking journeys I’ve faced. It all began when I enrolled him in preschool at a mere 18 months old.
“Have you noticed that Jake kind of…zones out a lot?” his teacher asked one day. “It’s like he disappears for a bit, and it takes a while to bring him back.”
“Ummm, yes?” I replied, somewhat defensively. I had been juggling my responsibilities with a toddler, an infant, and was expecting my third child. To me, keeping everyone safe and sound every night felt like a triumph. The teacher’s observation sent me spiraling into guilt.
As any devoted parent might, I immediately took this to heart. I was clueless about what “it” was, but I instinctively felt that “it” was something concerning, and “it” was undoubtedly my fault.
“It” happened because I didn’t spend enough one-on-one time with him. It was due to the fact that I allowed him to watch TV while I worked from home. Or because I had a glass of wine during a friend’s wedding while pregnant. The teacher suggested we keep an eye on it, downplaying her concerns.
But “it” was, in fact, something.
“We’re puzzled by Jake,” his teachers often began, sounding like they were reading from a script. “Some days he comes in, fully engaged and breezes through activities. Other days, he looks lost and struggles with the simplest tasks.” They would pause, then continue, “But he’s incredibly imaginative! Just look at this drawing!”
The spring before kindergarten, they recommended we have him assessed. I had no idea what for, nor did they. After a three-hour evaluation, where I overheard phrases like “above average,” “unnecessary,” and “Why is he back here?” I left holding a “within normal range” slip, feeling utterly humiliated. It was as if I had conjured a problem from thin air.
Everything seemed fine, or so I thought, until kindergarten began. Soon after, I received a letter stating, “Based on assessments and recommendations, your child qualifies for additional services…” My world tilted, and I wished I could go back to being blissfully unaware. This was the start of an unpredictable ride that would last for two years.
This roller coaster of uncertainty was marked by feelings of inadequacy whenever I received notices about my son qualifying for special services. It made me feel like I was losing my grip when I took him for screenings, only to see him excel in tests. It was anxiety-inducing when teachers repeatedly expressed concerns about his focus. It was mortifying to hear the school counselor say, “He’s fine, let him be a kid.” One day he’d complete his homework effortlessly, and the next, he would be in tears, struggling to understand.
Initially, it didn’t dawn on me that his struggles could be linked to ADD. It wasn’t until his first-grade teacher mentioned the term “attention” that everything clicked. I started reading about ADD, realizing that it often manifests differently in girls and boys. The descriptions in the books felt like they were tailored just for him—daydreaming, difficulty with math and spelling, and social cues.
In an ideal world, my son would spend his days lost in what we affectionately call “Jake’s Universe,” dreaming about dragons and ice cream flavors. But we had to face reality; he would need to adapt to life outside our home, which required basic math skills.
Unfortunately, “Jake’s Universe” didn’t translate well to the classroom. A little over a year ago, my joyful, carefree child came home in tears. “I don’t understand what’s happening in class,” he sobbed. “My teacher thinks I’m not paying attention, but I am. My brain just keeps interrupting her!”
This was the moment I understood: he was the one I needed to listen to all along.
We began weekly tutoring sessions with a remarkable educator who understood his learning style. We minimized his intake of dyes and sugars and ensured he had an early bedtime. He now sits at the front of the class, and his teacher is adept at discreetly bringing his focus back without making it a spectacle. We consulted a child psychiatrist with expertise in ADD for an official diagnosis, and this year we decided to pursue medication.
My hands trembled as I administered the first dose, checking in on him constantly. I feared that the medication would dull his vibrancy, that it might strip away his uniqueness.
And yes, he has changed. We’re still figuring things out, but we’re in a much better place now. He has begun to channel his creative thoughts into structured ideas. His room is filled with “Invention Journals” overflowing with sketches. He has authored and illustrated several books and even devised board games from recycled materials. While math isn’t his favorite, he’s flourishing in school and no longer requires additional services.
His “Sparkly Brain” has become an essential part of our family, bringing joy and occasional frustration, and someday it will help him make a difference in the world.
A few weeks ago, I was chatting with my husband after dinner.
“He’s going to be just fine,” he remarked. “I was in the ‘special’ reading group, you know.”
“What’s that?” I asked, intrigued.
“The bluebird group,” he said, using air quotes. “I couldn’t read until med school. Honestly, I think I have ADD, so he probably inherited it from me.”
Suddenly, it all made sense. “Why didn’t you tell me this three years ago when I was doubting myself?”
He shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “I didn’t really think about it until now.”
“Just go back to your own world,” I said, patting his hand. “I hear it’s lovely there.”
Parenting a child with ADD is a journey filled with ups and downs, but it brings an extraordinary richness to life that we wouldn’t trade for anything.
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Summary
Parenting a child with ADD is a complex journey filled with challenges and joys. Understanding your child’s unique perspective is vital, and finding the right support can lead to significant improvements in their development. This narrative explores the struggles and triumphs of one family navigating the intricacies of ADD.
Keyphrase: parenting a child with ADD
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