Love in the Periphery

ADHD lives in this strange paradox land.  You think having a kid with ADHD means you’ll have a son who will make noises all day and never be able to concentrate.  This isn’t always the case with my son.  His focus is intense to the point of compulsion.  He can sit through an entire Astros baseball game and tell you each play and at bat of his favorite player.  He can play Minecraft all day if I’d let him.  He remembers being slighted or not picked for certain classroom incentive or awards since he was in first grade.  He asks these overly detailed and sport specific questions during football season, or wants to know who holds the record from the most fumbles to the tallest volcano in the world.  This is why when he his asked more than once to do something, he screams, “I am!” or claims we were yelling.  In his mind, he is doing what he’s supposed to do.  Don’t blame me if I stopped to pet the dog on the way.  This intense focus, coupled with impulsive anger, erupted into the perfect storm. 

This year my son was one of 29 players who made the evaluation process for consideration on the 10u all-star team.  Leading up to that day, and the days that followed, were met with some anxiety for my son.  He tends to ask these detail-specific questions on most anything, and this was no different.  He wanted to know who else on our team had made the cut.  I had to tell him not to divulge that he made the 29 to his teammates.  “They might be jealous?” he asked.  “Well, we don’t want to make it sound like you’re bragging.”  

After the try-outs, he lamented not having a great performance.  While he hustled and gave his all, I think the size and ability of some kids caused him some doubt.  “I had a horrible tryout,” he said once it was over.  Then the questions.  Who’s going to make it?  Will they still pick me?  Why didn’t they let us take grounders (there was no fielding station like other tryouts)? Why don’t they have 2 teams so everyone makes the all-stars?  Then the declarations.  If I don’t make it I’m quitting baseball.  I’m going to punch the coaches in the face if I don’t make it. Finally, the excuses.  The coach was in my way (he missed a potential pop up that fell just before his dive).  It wasn’t fair.  

These situations are always learning experiences for me as a father and for him as a son.  I start with worrying about ourselves.  I tell him the coaches have to evaluate all the kids and not just him.  Yes, your hustling matters.  If you don’t want to play baseball again, fine, but we’re not quitting this season.  Who told you that life was fair?

On Tuesday came the big reveal.  I had found out via email that he had not made the cut that morning and elected to wait to tell him until the evening.  I thought of my reaction to his reaction beforehand.  And when you play these what-if scenarios they don’t always go like you plan.  They always have that sitcom element to them.  So when he jumped from the coach and began screaming and cursing I had no idea of what to do.

My first reaction was don’t laugh.  Whatever you do, don’t laugh.  My second reaction was heartbreak.  Immediate heartbreak.

What?  That’s not fair.  I worked my fucking ass off.  I’ve been the best person on my team every year.  I’m quitting.  I worked my fucking ass off!  I didn’t get to play up (he tried out to play in the 10’s when he was 8 and he didn’t make the squad) because I’m small.  Don’t you know how that makes me feel!

He wished death upon the coaches.  He cried.  He stomped upstairs and screamed.  He slammed his door.  Came back down and screamed some more.  Again, teachable moments. 

He sat with my wife and I.  We talked about how the process was fair.  Everyone trying out doing the same skills.  God made you perfect.  I avoided the dreaded “God has a plan for you,” suburba-Christian saying.  We will not be wishing death upon the coaches.  We will continue to play hard this year and show them that you’re a leader.  Do you think Jose Altuve (his favorite player who stands about 5’5” on a good day but leads the majors in hits this season) made his first all-star team?  I told him the story of Michael Jordan not making his high school team.  Hugs. 

As a family, we made the decision to seek further counseling and therapy for our son.  A new round of medication has already been administered (from Vivance to Intuive).  Because of the hurtful words he says about himself, we are also adding a dose of Prozac to help with his mood swings and depression.  The counseling sessions have gone well.  We are following through with the doctors as much as we can.  As a teacher I know the impact of medication for hyper kids, but with the history of our family, we would be remiss if we did not start seeking the help of professionals. 

That’s not to say the prayers or help from supportive friends has diminished.  One thing I’m learning is parenting is not a job one does alone.  I teach students with single moms and broken families.  I’m married and we both have careers and we still struggle.  But, when I don’t pray and if I keep all my frustrations within the confines of my conscious, how much change do I really expect to make in my son’s life.  It feels refreshing to speak openly about him to the people who love him in the periphery—the choir teacher at church, our Life Group, and other adults in our lives who have been making an impact on his life. 

There’s a fear in parenting.  Like the feeling you have when you’re told that your Army daughter could be deployed after she completes her AIT training.  Or the fear you have when your son is having a meltdown at church and everyone is watching.  There’s also a fear of our pasts.  While I do not subscribe to the feeling that we our cursed based on one family’s past sin, I do know that sin is generational.  The brokenness and undiagnosed mental issues exist in both my wife and my family.  While I cannot change the past or perform some kind of DNA surgery to take out the “bad parts,” the parts that make us hurt, I can be proactive.  So if it’s prayer for healing, I’m going to burden my knees.  If it’s doctors who have been given a gift of intellect and knowledge of the mind, that too.  If medication helps, I’m leaving the pride.  I’m down for circumcising my own heart for the benefit of my son. 

There were two moments over the past week that happened with my son that remind me that God lives in his heart, and that God will not forsake me in this trying time.  They both involved the prayers of a 10 year old boy.  At dinner, he thanked Jesus for allowing him to try out for the all-star team and to give him the chance again next season.  The other was last night.

Dad, you want to hear my prayer I made?  I said, “Dear God, please help me play for you.  If I win (the upcoming playoff game) I give the win to you.  If I lose I give the loss to you.  Amen.

Heartbreak.  Immediate heartbreak.