Monday, December 04, 2006

And along came a teacher

One day, out of the blue while I was picking up my son early from school because of something he did or took or hit, his teacher walked outside with us and closed the door behind, leaving the classroom temporarily teacher-free. She looked into my eyes and probably sensing my loss for direction offered some advice in one brief sentence that changed my life completely. She said, "Meds have worked miracles for children with ADD" and with that she kindly smiled and returned to the room like a Genie summoned back to her bottle.
All the short walk to work with my son I could not get those words out of my head. Was there something wrong with my son? Did my son Have ADD? When I got to work I called our pediatrician and booked an appointment. He gave my son a physical and I asked him if he knew anything about ADD. He said he did and he gave me some questinoaires to fill out, have my sons teacher fill out, and then return with them completed at my son's next appointment. There were a over a hundred questions and you answered them with, "never, sometimes, and frequently." I was pretty shocked by the questionaire. There was so many things that my son did that were on those sheets of paper I could hardly believe it. I was even more amazed when the forms were filled out by both myself and my sons teacher. Identical responses to all the questions, and the ones that we responded to positively (almost all of them) they were almost all, "frequently." The funny thing was that during the doctor visits my son was pretty well behaved. He didn't even fidget much. He looked so calm and cute and happy. Probably because of this the doctor then referred us to a psychologist. We visited her a couple of times and she prescribed some ritalin after she was sure my son was ADD. After a couple of visits he would start to climb the walls and it was then I learned that for short periods of time in new environments an ADD person is so stimulated with the new surroundings that they can appear to be having a "honeymoon" from their symptoms. I balked at the ritalin thing, not wanting to drug my son, and asked about alternatives. She suggested exercise, behavior charts and the Feingold Diet. Our journey had just begun.

Saturday, December 02, 2006

In the Beginning there was a child, a divorce and lots of blame

Looking through the rearview is sometimes pleasant, sometimes not, yet I find myself assessing my life more frequently as each trip around the sun becomes seemingly shorter. Could I have predicted this ADD parenting thing and chosen an easier softer way? What could I have done differently to have made the course of events better? What can I say to those following in my footsteps to help them avoid some of my misteps and help them get to where I am now much easier and more quickly?

Well for one thing, don't do what my wife and I did the first 3 years of our sons life- we blamed each other for our son's behavior. She was an addict/alcholic (self medicating ADD) and I was a non manipulatable self willed co-dependant. A match made in Hell I used to say. We were divorced before he was born and visitation was a fun new way to sling arrows into the backs (and fronts) of each other. I would complain that every time I picked him up he was sick, and she would complain that every time I brought him back home she could not control him. I was the reason her life was in such a shambles and I would put the blame directly in her lap where I knew it belonged.
Looking back I can see that although neither of us needed these little wars, I can see no escape from them. This was just the way it had to be under these circumstances. The only other thing I could have done would have been to admit all wrong and pay all her bills, just like she wanted me to so she could go out and party all night long without any consequences. What addict/alcoholic wouldnt want this? And being a self-righteous co-dependant I was not going to give in one bit.
After a few years of this the new game was to bring him over to my house at 8:00 a.m. and tell me I had to take care of him because she couldn't and after all he was my responsibility too. How could I argue with that? So I found daycare, got him to a doctor (still sick) and rearranged my schedule to accomodate my suddenly new lifestyle. Of course a week or two later I would get a phone call demanding more assistance with the threat of taking him back if I didnt comply. Needless to say she came and got him the next day. 4-6 weeks later we would play this out again, and finally the third time I realized this was a new and twisted game and changed the rules by refusing to give him back and I took her to court for full custody. Although I got a lot of heat from her and her family, this went over a little better than I expected and I suspect that this was what she was hunting for all along. Sure she had to blame me for it, but how else could she save face?
Soon, after having my son with me longer than a couple of weeks we started having problems. The public seemed to want my son to behave with a little more constraint than we were used to at home. At home he could play all day and what little boy doesn't, right? In public he had to sit still for a few minutes or be quiet or basically not climb around so much. Surely my wife didn't teach him any manners or work with him at all, so naturally she got all the blame. Hmmmm, sounds vaguely familiar, except the roles are now reversed.
Looking back these were the arguments that didn't need to be fought. Our son was the way he was, not because we were awful parents. We were merely basically skilled parents, with a high needs child. We were in over our heads and the easiest way to bail out a sinking boat is to pass the bucket to the other person.
Three years and 2 daycares, 3 preschools and 2 kindergartens later I was picking him up from school early a couple of times a week. He was not doing any better in elementary school than he did in a more casual setting like preschool. Still hitting people, pushing people, swearing like a marine, "whapping" other kids with sticks, throwing rocks at cars, hiding under desks, and running into the street whenever the urge hits him. Something had to change, and that something had to be me.