The Day I Realized That I Wasn't a Mutant...

As I'm sure you've already guessed by my previous entry, recently I've come to the grips with the fact that my ADHD is spiraling wildly out of control. Now, this isn't the typical college kid, WEBMD-browsing self analysis that so readily in this country leads to overt prescription drug abuse. I've actually been diagnosed as a child with the disorder, took meds for a while and generally showed improvement. Hell, I was doing well enough that at the tender age of 12, that I was asked to take part in some oh so nifty standardized tests. The results of those tests? Your boy here was especially gifted in regards to the english language. At the time, I didn't think much of it. I mean, it's my first language after all. I SHOULD be able to speak and understand it with some degree of precision. A letter was sent home to my parents- A letter I still have to this day. I won't bore you with the semantics of what was printed, rather I will attempt to be as concise as possible... Which for me, I know... Sometimes a Herculean feat in and of itself.

Ahem. Here's the letter in a nutshell:








I may have embellished a bit on the last part.

So, I was stoked. I didn't get on too well with kids my own age, and often wondered why. Now, I knew. I was a super genius!! After years of being called dumb, having prescription pills rammed down my throat and being generally labeled a smelly, spazzy outcast by anyone wearing a slap bracelet(This were big at the time), I finally had something to feel good about. Plus, HELLO??? "School for Talented Youth"?? That was like one mental leap away from being the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters!! I knew it!!! All of my suspicions were totally right on the money. Yes, I... Matthew James... Was a mutant. Who knew what my super powers would be? Energy dispersion??? Energy absorption?? Something with energy. I mean, how else could you explain my inability to sit still and completely inhuman metabolism. And my unusual odor?? Bah, obviously a side effect of my latent mutant abilities.


Oh, God... I wondered what my outfit would look like! In the next few days, I drew up dozens of pages of concept art, each one more rococo than the last. One of the final drafts had a codpiece with a radioactive powered unicycle that would extend for quick getaways. Yes, I was young and idealistic, but naysayers be DAMNED. I'd have my Crotch-Rocket and the only way that anyone would take it from me would be if they pried it from my cold, dead hands. The thought of testicular radiation never entered my mind... Nor the thought that years later, the previous statements would sound incredibly filthy.


But, I digress... Constantly. The note was in my hands and the writing was on the wall. This kid was going places!!! My parents seemed slightly less enthused with the analysis. One night, while in bed, I found myself unable to sleep. Not an uncommon occurance, seeing as how my brain ALWAYS seems to be running. From my room downstairs, I heard my parents arguing. Again, not an uncommon occurance. But, the repeated use of my name drew me from my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles clad twin bed and to the foot of the steps. What I heard then, would set the course for many years of self loathing and internal doubt.

[Mom] Look, I think it's a wonderful idea. Matt doesn't seem to be able to pay attention at school as it stands. His teachers tell us that he's often bored and unattentive. Many have stated that they don't feel that he's being challenged enough.

[Dad] Ok, so he's too smart to do his work?? well, that's just great, Liz. Hey, I've got an idea... Why don't I call my boss, FIRST thing in the morning and tell him that I too am just too smart to do the job I've been assigned.
At this point, my Dad launched into what may have been a hilarious pantomime involving the house phone. I'll never know, because I was hiding just out of sight.

[Dad] "Hello, Schnitzel?(Amazingly the name of my Dad's boss. It explains a lot. Imagine if your boss's last name was Schnitzel.) Yeah, this is Jim. Yeah, I'm not going to be able to make it in tomorrow... Or any day for that matter. I'm just too damn smart for this job. It's just not 'mentally stimulating enough'. That's right... I'm calling in bored."
At this point, I assume he hung up and flashed my mom an especially smug face. It would definitely explain the labored sigh that escaped from her lips at this point.

[Mom] James... It's not like we'll even have to pay for this. It's pretty much been covered by the state.

[Dad] It's in Baltimore. I'd have to get up at like 4am on Monday just to drive him... Send him money for food. And then on Friday, I'd have to leave early just to pick him up from the train station... Also, the kid JUST can't pay attention!! I'll bet you the house, that the first time we put him on a train, we'll get a phone call from Phoenix, Arizona asking us to pick him up-

[Mom] But, James-

[Dad] NO!!!
There was a pause, and the sound of my Dad wearily walking to his room. Before, I heard him shut the door, the defeated and conflicted sound of my father's voice was heard once more.

[Dad] No... Liz, I love him and all... But, he's just not worth it.

And then the door to my father's room shut for the night, along with the door to my bright, shiny and spandex wearing future. Don't judge him harshly. I certainly don't anymore. My Dad is a good man. It took me years to realize it, but now it's ingrained in my mind. My mom, ever the altruist, chose to adopt children and open her home to foster kids whenever possible. It takes a certain kind of person to do that. My father, God bless him, never wanted it. He wanted to settle down, get married and have a few kids of his own. But, that's not to say that he didn't grow to love me in time. It's just that he never asked for me. His plan was always to travel the world when all of his kids were out of the house... And the second they were, My mom went and adopted me... And a few others.

I imagine that it's like an irritatingly long prison sentence... You keep your head down, stay out of trouble and do your time. Finally, your parole's up. You've got a meeting with the warden, everything's going fine and you're all set to ship off to Zihuatanejo, because your buddy Andy would never stop talking about the damn place, when suddenly-

[Warden] Oh... Yikes.

[Dad] What??? what yikes? Why yikes? HUH???

[Warden] It seems that your parole...??
And he pulls out a massive rubber stamp and bitchslaps my pops across the face with it.

[Warden] DENIED!!!!! Throw him in the hole!!!



A bit dramatic, but I think that it fits. So, I don't fault the old man. He drank, sure. Sometimes, when he'd come home, all he'd want to do was relax... Have a beer. Maybe hang out by the pool if the weather was nice. But, as he'd enter the house, Mom would fill his head with all of the terrible deeds that the son that he'd never asked for had perpetrated that day. And, well... Sometimes, things would get heated. Growing up, I always figured that my Dad was just this big, angry, selfish jerk. And now, as a father, I realize... My Dad was just tired. He was a prisoner for a crime that he'd never committed. In a way, we both were. I didn't ask to be born the way I was. I didn't ask to never be able to keep a coherent thought in my head... To not be able to pay attention when it's truly needed of me. I never asked to be unable to know what's socially expected of me.

You know, they say that you suffer from ADHD. But, it's not just the afflicted who suffer. It's everyone around you, whether they be your folks, your friends or just the readers of an interminably long blog.