The child is father of the man.

    

- Wordsworth

 

Chapter 8

CHILDHOOD ADD TRAITS

      

I was born in Seattle, Washington, in 1947.  I lived with my parents in the same home in the Jackson Park section of the city until I graduated from college. My fa­ther was a self-employed cabinetmaker. My mother stayed home during my early formative years. She kept books for my father's business and later worked outside the home as a part-time bookkeeper to earn money to send me to college.

             

Early Influences

             

Two factors shaped my childhood:  my inheri­tance of ADD/-H and my as­cribed status as an "only" child.  The first relates to a neurobiological process, the second is linked to a socialization process.  Kevin Leman writes that only children are often ul­tra-per­fectionists.  His list of “only” traits describes me, ex­cept for two:  well organized and attention seeking. Some are also charac­teristic of people with ADD/-H.  See Table 5 below.

 

 

Table 5

       

 

Relationship Problems

             

Despite the perception of my primary school teachers that peers liked me, I frequently made pro­vocative comments or butted into their conversa­tions, thus an­noying them.  I blamed my unpopular­ity on oth­er kids.  I thought of myself as a victim and did not un­derstand my role in instigating much of the antago­nism di­rected at me. Typical of a child with ADD, I was not self-aware of my verbal im­pul­sivity.

An older neighbor boy sexually assaulted me in ele­men­tary school, but, though the assault was fright­ening at the time, it did not produce lasting psychic trauma or symp­toms of Posttraumatic Stress Dis­order.  More terrifying was the behavior of an­other neighbor, my own age, who physically as­saulted me throughout my childhood.  He pinned me down and spit in my face; strangled me on the school play­ground until I lapsed into unconsciousness; threatened to stab me in the chest with a knife; and threw rocks at me.

             

* * *

 

In junior high school, I became intensely interested in girls, but interaction with them was painful for me.  My shyness approached social phobia.  I had a crush on a girl who sat directly in front of me in class, yet was so self-conscious that I spoke only a few words to her during the school year.  Out of des­peration, I sent for a pamphlet written by Ann Landers on how to become more popular through the art of conversation.  Landers explained that people are flattered when ques­tioned about themselves, but working up the courage to ask the questions was still a challenge for me. 

Later, I overcame my shyness enough to start dating in high school.  Although I was socially introverted at my own school, I dated a cheerleader at a rival high school where I played the role of an outgoing, self-as­sured guy.  The gulf between these two personae was puzzling to me.  My shy­ness with women reasserted itself in college.  I dated very little and had difficulty reading social cues in relation­ships.  I worried that I might never marry because of my social awkward­ness.

At my 10-year high school reunion, several people did not remember me, in­cluding a woman who had been in my church confirmation class.  As a teen with ADD/-H, I blended well into the social back­ground with­out calling atten­tion to myself.

 

Impulsivity and Aggressive Behavior

             

Besides verbal impulsivity, I was impulsive in other ways.  With the help of a friend, I stole my Cub Scout den mother's cigarette lighter.  Later in ele­mentary school, a teacher sent me to the principal's office for lifting girls' dresses with a coat hanger—be­havior to­day la­beled sometimes in schools as "sexual har­assment."  Still later, I en­gaged in six physical fights dur­ing junior high and high school.

Actually, I disliked fighting, but was quick to strike the first blow when teased by other boys.  The conse­quences of my behavior did not enter my mind before I retaliated[2], and I never attempted to hide my actions from teachers.  Once, I even "decked" a boy in the classroom without being caught.  After­wards my anger quickly dis­sipated and I was quick to for­give and forget.

My first fight occurred in eighth grade when a ninth grader ripped paper out of my notebook with­out provoca­tion from me.  I crumpled it up and threw it in his face; he threatened to give me a "fat lip."  When I arrived at the prear­ranged fight scene, I stumbled backwards as the other boy ad­vanced to­wards me.  Then, I got up, put him in a headlock and punched his face until the blood flowed from his mouth even though he was wearing a mouthpiece.  I stopped when he pleaded, "You're going to punch a hole through my lip!"  He declined the school pic­tures taken the next day because he had the fat lip—what irony!

I developed a brief fascination with the martial arts as a way of defending my­self against bullies.  My role model was kung fu expert, Bruce Lee (born "Lee Jun Fan"). Lee, the 24-year-old owner of the Jun Fan Gung Fu Institute in Seattle, gave a martial arts demonstration for the boys at my high school in 1964.  De­spite Lee's diminutive size, the largest boy in school—a football tackle who out­weighed Lee by 100 lb—could not push him from a stationary stand­ing position.  Lee simply pushed up on the un­derside of the boy's arms.  Lee became famous in 1966 as “Kato” in the Green Hornet television series and later in kung fu movies like Fists of Fury (1972).

A high school physical education teacher sent me to the principal's office, after I hit another boy be­tween the eyes, breaking his glasses.  The vice princi­pal politely asked my version of the fight before sus­pending me for three days and making me pay half the replacement cost of the other student's glasses.  Since the other boy admitted that he pro­voked me, the vice principal held him respon­sible for half the cost of his own glasses.  The man seemed to me to be as wise as Solomon.  His sense of fairness left a lasting impres­sion on me.  Nowadays, ag­gres­sion like this, how­ever, can result in arrest for misdemeanor as­sault.

My self-consciousness and impulsivity almost caused me to assault a high school teacher.  One day, my physical education teacher called attention to me in front of class, pointing out my difficulty in re­turning volleyball serves.  He made sarcastic com­ments and kept directing the ball at me.  The more he per­sisted, the more self-conscious I became, the worse I per­formed and the more humiliated I felt.  I checked my impulse to strike him.  Assaulting this instructor, a former professional football player, would possibly have landed me in the hos­pital, re­sulted in my ar­rest, and led to my expulsion from high school. 

 

Boredom, Lack of Motivation and Fleeting Interests

             

As a child with ADD, I was easily bored and pur­sued a se­ries of fleeting fasci­nations.  My vocational ambi­tion in elementary school was to become an ento­mologist.  After visiting an insect exhibit in a mu­seum, I described the construc­tion of the display cases in detail to my father.  He indulged my whim by building a large specimen cabi­net with 48 draw­ers; each one rabbeted for a pane of glass to protect the specimens.  The cabinet had enough space to store a lifetime col­lection.  I soon lost interest in "bug col­lecting."  My fickle inter­est, which resulted in my fa­ther's wasted effort in making an expensive mu­seum-quality cabinet, miffed my parents.

             

* * *

             

Music was another short-lived fascination for me.  In ele­mentary school, I felt coerced into taking violin lessons after supposedly testing with a good music ap­titude.  I detested the instrument and participated only briefly in the school or­chestra because of my lack of interest and unwillingness to practice.  Dur­ing my only school concert, I became con­fused and could not keep up with the group.

I scored low on a second music aptitude test in jun­ior high school.  Again, in­stead of being allowed to play the in­strument of my choice, a saxophone, I was forced to play the baritone horn.  My boredom with the instrument and lack of practice led to a sec­ond musical failure.

The third strike in my would-be music career came when my mother con­vinced me to take private piano lessons "to be popular."  After two years of pi­ano les­sons, the music teacher asked me to quit.  I had not shown any significant progress.  I had no interest in practicing and the bland selection of sheet music picked by the teacher bored me.

             

* * *

             

A fast friendship developed between a neighbor and me in junior high school.  We both were margin­ally popular.  My friend enjoyed working 3-D puzzles and playing parlor games, which held no appeal for me.  I assumed that he possessed superior intellect be­cause he literally beat me at every board game and card game we played for many years.  (He claimed to have an IQ of 145, which he later admit­ted was false.)  My inability to memorize and retain game rules meant that he had to reorient me each time we played.  I participated in these personally boring ac­tivities to please my friend.  As I ma­tured and learned to enjoy backgam­mon, I beat him regularly.  This was not consistent with my self-concept as the "stupid guy.”[3]   The key to my success, I came to real­ize, was interest and mo­tivation; it had nothing to do with intelligence.

             

* * *

              

Monthly hikes with my Boy Scout troop were fun, but I was not motivated to earn ranks and merit badges.  I left the troop as a Second Class Scout with just a few badges, reminding me of Alfonso Bedoya's lines as a bandit in the movie, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre: "Badges?  We ain't got no badges!"

             

* * *

             

As a young adult, I yearned for adventure.  For a time I fantasized about emi­grating to a remote place like the wil­derness of Ontario, the outback of Aus­tralia or the cattle ranges of Brazil.  I dreamed of buying a large tract of cheap acreage so I could live off the land.  My sense of awaiting romance in Brazil waned quickly after learning that émigrés had to be proficient Portuguese speakers.  I was not motivated to learn a second language.  Later in life, when I was able to purchase acreage in a rural area of my home state, I was too impatient to pursue my "living off the land" dream.  It was too much work!

             

Inattention and Concentration Problems

              

A good example of my inattention and concentra­tion problems occurred when I played football in high school.  Like many adolescent males, I dreamed of be­coming a football hero.  At 5'9" and 150 lb., I was the right size to play guard on the sophomore team.  It was the first time I formally par­ticipated in an or­ganized team sport.  I enjoyed the physi­cal contact, but could not remember the football plays.  The coach sent me into games for only two or three de­fen­sive plays that entire season.  On the field, I was con­fused and did not know my assignment. 

Over the next summer, I drank a quart of milk with meals, ate second help­ings at dinner and lifted weights three times a week until I was a muscular 175 lb. by the fall of my junior year.  The thing I failed to do to prepare for the next football season was to learn the plays.  I was astonished and upset when my name did not appear on the football roster at the beginning of the next season.  That ended football for me.

Today, as a University of Washington football ticket holder, I still do not know much about football plays, and I forget the names of the players from year to year.  I do not pay attention to these details, but do enjoy sunny Saturday after­noon games at Husky Stadium on Lake Washington, with the dis­tractions of the Cascade Mountains, the Olympic Range and Mount Rainier in the background.

             

Self-Esteem

             

Bodybuilding, begun in preparation for high school foot­ball conditioning, pro­vided a secondary benefit.  It bol­stered my self-esteem.  I set a school record for barbell presses. When the old childhood bully moved back into my neighborhood and ridi­culed me anew, I finally had had enough.  My in­creased strength and im­proved body image gave me the confidence to chal­lenge him for the first time.  I marched to his house, stood outside and yelled threats at him.  He came out and sheepishly asked me to lower my voice, saying he could not fight be­cause he had to eat din­ner, and he did not want his family to hear my taunts.  He never bothered me again.  This anticlimactic resolu­tion to years of bullying by him was bittersweet.   At the time, I wanted to punish him for the inner hurt.

 

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