ADHD: A Love Story

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Read my piece ADHD: A Love Story on Medium and let me know what you think!

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What's Happening In My Head While Someone's Hitting It

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Thoughts While Sparring For the First Time --Hey. HEY! --Oh yeah? Oh yeah? --I can take that. No problem. Come at me again. --She's street fighting. This isn't pretty. --I WANT to LAND a solid RIGHT. Get your FREAKIN gloves out the WAY. Lemme try again. --Her head snapped back. THAT'S what I'm talking about. Wait: should I feel bad about that? Her mother is watching. I'm hitting this woman's daughter. --Actually, I don't feel bad at all. --She's tired. She's MINE. Thoughts Later In the Night After Sparring For the First Time --My jaw hurts. --Holy Sh*t I was boxing. --Why isn't this tylenol kicking in? --Why does my head still hurt? --What is this bruise on my chest? --Holy Sh*t I'm 40 and I was BOXING. --What did any of that training have to do with someone standing there trying to hit me? --Must learn more defense before I do that again. --Will you do this again? --Yeah, sure; a little more defense first, though. --But my head. It hurts. Ow
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Theo, age 8, spent the summer collecting frogs and tadpoles from a nearby creek. With the help of his friend Ethan, who is 9 and can answer any and all questions on amphibians, Theo learned to distinguish leopard frogs from tree frogs, and studied their development daily on our back deck. Theo was so enamored with the whole operation that he wanted to purchase some more exotic strains. We visited a Pets Mart and hovered near a tank until a saleswoman came by. The right saleswoman, I should say; with disheveled hair and wire-frame glasses favoring one ear, this woman was all about the frogs. She hunched forward as if to let out a call that might travel the road back to our creek. My main concern was the amount of upkeep these $30 pets would require. "What do these frogs need, because our frogs from the creek...," I started to say, and immediately realized I had violated a sacred rule: removing the animal from its natural habitat. I tried to play it off. So did she--at first.
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What's Left

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'Twas the night before Christmas, with yesterday spent boiling a mouthpad--twice, to sink those molars--and being hit, and hitting. Not your normal holiday preparations, but then again today is hardly usual for us. A sick kid is in the next room. Your average winter cold is ominous for the diabetic, and we had communicated with the on call endocrinologist twice before lunch. Next stop is the ER for IVs, he said. Merry Christmas. The line up was such at boxing class that I'd be sparring the teacher. "Oh man," Chad exclaimed, knowing what Emily could be like. "You're in for it." I had figured I'd be up against either a smaller, older man in the class or Emily, and it's saying something that I preferred the man. The preparation for being alone with your opponent and your wits requires people: the boxer is helpless to put on the gloves or the headgear. I stood as a fellow classmate pulled the headgear down over my face, was able to do nothing about t
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