He Becomes Content Like Gandhi.
There are exactly three secrets to living happily with Dylan. Without these three secrets, my ADHD-burdened child becomes something of a whirling dervish. I can remember comparing him, even at a very young age, to the Tasmanian Devil.
It’s still an accurate description.
So after 13 years, I am passing along all three secrets, just for fun.
1. Dylan must be well-rested. The more tired he is, the more exacerbated his symptoms. He becomes far more bouncy than most people enjoy. (“Kick in the face,” anyone? He is exhausted today.)
2. Dylan must be well fed. If he is hungry, waves of horrific sadness can overtake him in 10 seconds flat. And he won’t believe he needs to eat.
3. Dylan needs to be mentally stimulated – something that happens almost exclusively by allowing him to work with intricate moving parts … or music.
If he is building something, designing something, studying cars or robotics, he is completely calm. When he was a toddler, he was obsessed with trains for more than a year.
One day, he discovered a monster truck – and the obsession transferred instantly to monster trucks. We went to more monster truck rallies than I can count. Oddly, I now think monster trucks are incredibly cool, but no one in my family cares to go with me to the shows anymore.
Dylan graduated from trains and trucks to exotic sports cars. He knows more about Lamborghinis and Ferraris than I will ever know. But he can also talk shop about vintage Camaros, if need be. He’s a car nut – just like his daddy.
Also, if he does anything – anything – with music, he becomes content like Gandhi. Music is a miracle cure for anything that ails Dylan. And in turn, he is a musical genius.
He sings like an angel. He doesn’t miss notes – ever. Even in the midst of his voice changing, I’ve never heard a more beautiful singing voice. To be fair, I am his mom. There are lots of gorgeous singing voices. But my baby still sings like an angel. (He also gets that from his dad.)
But it doesn’t end there. Dylan plays the piano. He’s doesn’t take lessons, and I don’t know if he can read music – but he plays the piano. When I was his age, I could barely pump out “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” with one finger.
Dylan plays the songs he hears on the radio. He figures them out in a few hours, in his head, and then he plays them.
Dylan also plays the drums, but Shane plays the drums. In order to keep my dream of someday having an Osmond-style family band, I try to keep Shane on the drums and Dylan on the keyboard. But Dylan could probably play any instrument he sees, given the time and inclination to do so.
So that’s it. That’s all there is to raising Dylan. Make sure he sleeps and eats. Then give him something to build or a song to play – and sit back and watch the fireworks.
It’s awesome.