It’s all we need, right?
Love. Love. Love.

We just made it through another Valentine’s Day, where a young boy’s heart naturally turns to, what? Love, right? Well, sort of. Theoretically. For some young boys, love looks and feels differnetly, though. Take my ADHD Wonder-son who we call “Clark Kent,” for example. He’s in his junior year of high school. He thinks about love. He even has love, or something like it. He has dated the same sweet neurotypical girl for over a year.

But the form love takes when practiced by an ADHD teen doesn’t look like the love I, as a non-ADHD person, remember feeling, or that I do feel for my gorgeous husband Eric even now. To me, young love is urgent. It is all-consuming. It makes you do crazy things. Operative word? DO. As in “take action.”

That’s where my son differs so much from my experience. Clark is completely happy in his 4-second window of life; the past is gone, the future doesn’t exist. Anything that enters that window and stays with him is awesome. But if it’s not there, then he really doesn’t miss it all that much. Maybe a little. If his girlfriend texts him and asks him to miss it, for instance. As in, if she texts and says, “Look, here I am, and I’m not with you.” Then he misses it. He continues playing FIFA Soccer on the Xbox with a smile on his face, but he kinda sorta misses her. Things might be even better if she were here. She’s not though. And he’s still happy. He doesn’t need to DO anything. It’s all good.

Sometimes they ride to school together. Her sister drops her at our house before 7:00 a.m. Eric and I aren’t always dressed and out of the bathroom yet at this time. She rings the door bell in the dark. Surely Clark is up and will answer, I think. Surely he knows when she was due to arrive. The doorbell keeps ringing. She weighs 90 pounds sopping wet, and I can’t take it any longer. I sprint to the door in my half-tied robe and let her in.

“I’m sorry. He’s not awake. I’ll get him,” I apologize. She and I have had this exchange before. We have it most days.

She settles in happily, making strawberry icing doodle-art on the toaster streudels. I stomp up the stairs where two alarm clocks blare over Clark’s snore.

***

Catch the rest of It Is Love, Actually over on {a mom’s view of ADHD}, and please leave a comment while you’re there.

Ciao,

Pamelot

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