Looking back over the past year, I realize that many of John's symptoms and behaviors indicate an extreme magnification of ego. He must be the center of everyone's attention at all times. He flashes the lights, and everybody looks at him. He makes loud siren sounds, and all eyes are on him. If his sisters are playing a quiet game of crazy 8's together, he puts his body directly between them and he's got their full attention. After they scream in protest, and a parent intervenes, he still watches the game intently, like a circling vulture, asking questions and offering to organize their cards, until they tell him to "go away". If he has enough control to redirect his ego into a fantasy, he picks up an abandoned cardboard tube and pretends it's a microphone. He's addressing a large group of people, and all eyes are on him. If he hasn't drained the batteries dry, he'll play the same game with two walky-talky's. This is even better, because he can hear his voice amplified with some feedback echo for effect. He recites, word for word, the phrases he has heard over public address systems in the past. His voice gets louder and louder until we ask him to tone it down or go up to his room. Then he dives into his vast collection of cars and trucks and begins his next fantasy. He selects a car, any car, any size, and morphs it into an emergency vehicle, complete with wailing siren and flashing lights. He is the policeman, and everybody pays attention to him. All his other cars pull over and watch the chosen car as it races down the street - King Of The Road. Back in the real world, he runs to the window whenever he hears a siren. He wants to drive a car like that someday. I use to think this preoccupation was due to traumatic events in his past - my mistake. It's all about pay attention to me!
I'm not sure if this qualifies as a particularly valuable insight, but it's interesting, and it explains why a 20th century classroom is the worst possible place for these children. No wonder John can't sit quietly and color a picture while 23 other kids color their pictures independently. Being ignored is, for him, a kind of pain that we cannot comprehend. There is no time to think about rules or consequences; the pain must end. Time to drum on the desk, or make a loud noise, or shout out something provocative, or run around the room, or flash the lights. Whatever it takes. There, that's better, now he's got everyone's attention. Some of the kids are even laughing at his antics, and that's the best of all. Uh-oh, here comes the teacher, and she's angry. He's in trouble again. Why does this always happen? There seems no way to avoid it.
Our neurological disorders are as interesting and as complex as the organ they afflict.
Q: How many ADD kids does it take to change a light bulb?
A: Hey, let's go ride bikes!