If I am invisible, my son is not. That would be too easy. That’s because he is weird. And I mean, obviously different. He technically has ADHD and an autism spectrum disorder. He is kind, polite, interesting, but just a little off in his vocal inflection, body language, and facial expression. It’s very subtle, but the other kids KNOW. They can sniff it out, like the nasty little birds of prey so many of them are.
I like kids, I really do. I usually prefer their company to adults, in a totally platonic, nonpedophile kind of way so get your minds out of the gutter! But since he was about eight I’ve felt like our lives have become more and more Lord of the Flies. How do the kids know how to behave like such survival of the fittest, we’d better weed out the weak DNA or we’re doomed as a species alpha-males and -females? Easy. They learn from their moronic parents who think that their children must be friends only with kids who are destined for success, meaning good grades, athletic, or popular, preferably all three. Freaks, dorks and other misfits need not apply. So my son has no friends, aside from another ADHD type boy who’s already been suspended for writing in a notebook the names of the kids he’d like to see dead. That’s not good, say school officials. Never mind once questioning why he’d like to see these kids snuff it. Meaning, hey, guys, maybe he’s actually being bullied! Maybe kids are mean to him! Why not ask them and maybe, just maybe, get them to stop?
But even Notebook Boy has been keeping his distance. Or maybe his parents are telling him to keep his distance because better to be a future homicidal maniac than a weirdo dork kid who can’t pay attention in school but can tell you the title of every episode of Doctor Who from Season One (with Christopher Eccleston) to Season 4 (David Tennant, and can you believe they wiped out Donna Noble’s memory? More on that later).
Oh, and there’s also his friend ADHD Girl, but Girl is the opposite of my Boy. Where he is withdrawn and spacy, she is talkative and in your face. Where he is analytical but has no common sense, she is sensible but doesn’t have an analytical cell in her body. But at least they both like Lego.
My son is eleven and just had his last two baby teeth pulled. The permanent teeth were pushing and poking through the side of his gums, and those baby teeth wouldn’t budge. So the dentist said they had to go and out they came. We brought them home and my son put them under his pillow for the Tooth Fairy. Yup, still believes in the Tooth Fairy. And Santa Claus. I drop hints that maybe they’re not real, and it’s not so bad because people who love you and are willing to go through all this crap to make you happy are and isn’t that lovely, but he’s not letting go. I’m not sure if he really doesn’t get it or just doesn’t want to.
So I took my last two Sacajawea golden dollars procured specially from the bank for just such occasions and put them under his pillow. And I am very sad that this is the last time I’ll ever do this, ever. Unless of course the dentist was mistaken and overlooked another baby tooth.
After trying Adderall, Dexedrine and Metadate, I finally fulfilled a prescription for Strattera. It’s our last hope for a drug fix to help bring him into the real world. Can’t say I blame him, though. Why join the real world when you can live in your own head?
