My 9-year-old son has always been a firework, from the very second of his surprise existence. If my pregnancy test could have displayed two zigzags instead of straight lines, it would have.
He has never followed the path well-trodden. Instead, he has swung from the trees shadowing its path, spinning and tumbling over it like a Ferris wheel free from its hinges. His brain is always busy. It darts and daydreams and never tells him to sit, breathe, and just be.
“I was the same as him when I was a kid,” my husband would say. “He’s just a little boy.”
He often spoke of marked similarities between them, and we thought our son had simply inherited a huge slice of his father’s personality. That this was just “them.” So we attributed his behaviors to that – a child who was beautifully energetic. If he wasn’t spinning or cartwheeling, he was singing or asking questions or making funny little noises. The only time he really rested was when he slept, when dreams took over and his compulsion to “fizz,” as he calls it, quelled.
Father and Son: Drawing ADHD Parallels
Analyzing my child’s behavior, helicoptering his nuances and traits, and researching “ADHD in children” until there was nothing left to Google came easy. Turning the lens to my husband, on the other hand, was trickier.
My husband flitted from job to job, struggled to prioritize, became easily frustrated with any task, and was unfocused. But we had gone through a fair chunk of sadness in the last few years — the death of one of our other sons, the loss of parents, our 9-year-old’s meningitis battle when he was a baby. I put my husband’s erratic nature down to stress and trauma.
[Read: “Let Me Tell You How ADHD Runs in My Family”]
All the while, the phone calls from my son’s exasperated teacher mounted, as did the sense that my son’s behaviors in school and at home were indicative of something bigger.
My mother-in-law was a special education teacher for many years. The more I called her to analyze my little boy’s behavior, the more parallels she’d draw between him and my husband. Eventually, the constant joke that they were two peas in a pod became a lightbulb moment for me. I made an appointment with an ADHD specialist – for my son and husband. Sure enough, after a careful evaluation, the specialist diagnosed both of them with ADHD in the same appointment. Their test scores were practically identical, she noted.
Like Father, Like Son
“How do you feel?” the specialist asked my son. She sat next to him on the floor as he clicked LEGOs together and bounced on his knees.
“Exhausted” he said. And my heart sank. Exhausted by trying to concentrate in school and being told off constantly, exhausted by coming home to homework cajoling, exhausted for being reprimanded for his impatience and other behaviors at the outskirts of his control.
[Read: “My ADHD Family Tree — Three Generations of Neurodivergence Revealed”]
I saw my husband’s face crumble a little as he knew that feeling all too well. And I realized that, as a wife and mother, I had failed them. To me, their behaviors were annoying, frustrating, and sometimes inexplicable. I had often said to my son, “Why is it always you? Why are you the one who always gets into trouble?” I sometimes dreamed of an easier marriage to a man who would stick at a job or for a man who would actually listen to me. I had no idea what either of them were going through. It was an incredibly emotional day for everyone.
We walked out of the specialist’s room with a deeper understanding of each other and a feeling that we can all start to be our truer selves.
Our ADHD Family
We’ve only recently entered the neurodivergent universe. We’re perched on a circling satellite looking into a place where words like “disorder,” “impulsivity,” and “disorganization” zoom by. But it’s other zooming words that captivate us — “spontaneity,” “creativity,” “courage.” We are going to run with these as fast as we can.
We’re not alone in entering this universe. We see many other families embarking on this journey, too. Some days we think we have a firm grasp on ADHD – and some days we don’t. And that’s OK, because all we can do is buckle up so the twists and turns don’t jolt the ones we love quite so much.
I would not change my son or husband for anything. We’ll bundle up all of the positives and challenges, stick them into our family jetpack, and navigate the steps, bounces, stumbles, and freefalls of this shared diagnosis together.
ADHD Family Ties: Next Steps
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