Dylan has been practicing for his AP test in Language and Composition. As part of that practice, he’s been writing essays as part of his class grade.
He was absent one day, and was unable to do one of the practice essays. Twice we drove Dylan to school early, but – what a surprise! – his teacher (who had no idea he was coming) wasn’t able to meet with him before school. So Dylan was still missing that one practice essay – two weeks later.
Fortunately, he had this weekend – finally – to work on that missing essay. It was the only assignment still missing after two weeks of playing catch-up, so I was thrilled that he’d finally have the time to finish it.
But Dylan went to work at his summer job (working at a concert venue) on Friday, immediately after school. Then he did no work on Saturday afternoon, and he went to a concert on Saturday night.
And on Sunday, he had tickets for … another concert. But he wanted to squeeze in a movie on Sunday afternoon, too.
“You aren’t going anywhere until that essay is done,” I told him.
“I’ll get it done,” Dylan said.
“I want to see it before you go anywhere,” I said.
But while the rest of the family was at church doing various volunteer jobs, Dylan woke up, got dressed, wrote the essay and disappeared. By the time we came home, he was gone.
He texted me from afar: “I think the essay’s pretty good.”
So I pulled it up online and read it. Quite possibly, it was the worst thing he’d ever written. It looked like he’d vomited up all the words and just moved them around on the page. It was incoherent and incredibly vague. One of sentences said something like, “The author speaks in a formal tone which makes him very trustworthy and someone whose words you can be respectful of.”
I’ve seen Dylan’s writing. It is actually quite good when he’s focused. This was like someone else’s writing.
To be fair, I knew nothing about the assignment. In fact, I knew nothing about the assignment after reading the essay, which made it all the more disturbing. But Dylan was at the movie, and couldn’t be contacted – and he only had 40 minutes between the movie and the concert to be bothered with rewriting the college-level, AP-practice essay.
When he got home, I told Bill to discuss it with him. Bill yells less than I do, but by the end of the conversation, both Bill and Dylan were yelling. For once, I stayed out of it.
Dylan’s argument – which he stated very loudly – was that the kids who wrote the essay in class hadn’t had any help from their parents, so he shouldn’t get any help from his parents, either.
Dylan rewrote a few sentences without our “help” but, for the most part, he left the essay in “as is” condition.
And that’s how it will be graded – now, and on the AP test. It will all be done without any help from us.
Dylan has been getting Z’s again – missing assignments – and he’s getting lots of them.
Due to some creative negotiating on his part, he now wipes them out in 24 hours, instead of getting them done immediately after they appear online. Because he got so many C’s on his third quarter report card, he claimed that it was from ‘rushing’ to do his work, rather than taking his time.
So we allowed him to have an extra 24 hours to get everything done – and he is doing it. He did lose his electronics last weekend, because one of his Z’s – a quiz he didn’t take in English – had been there for more than a week, and we’d even driven him to school early so that he could take it three days prior.
“The teacher wasn’t there,” he said. Surprise! He may want to ask in advance if he can take a pre-school quiz.
So the Z’s pop up, and then they go away. Just like always.
Unfortunately, Dylan has somehow missed the entire point. The point was not to make the Z’s go away so that he didn’t lose his electronics.
The point was to not have any Z’s in the first place.
But Dylan doesn’t see the point.
Dylan claims that “our rules” are interfering with his ability to “get it done” the way he wants to do it. I am not sure what way he wants to do it, or how our rules are stopping him from doing what he’s supposed to do.
He seems to think that by moving out of the house (when he goes to college), he will magically be able to figure out what’s due, and when, simply because he no longer has any choice in the matter. So I’ve tried backing off a bit, and seeing what happens.
And in fact, he is getting it done. Technically.
But the problem remains: Dylan doesn’t know what’s due, when it’s due, or – sometimes – what it is that’s due!
I don’t see how this is an ADHD thing. I see only that this is a teenager thing. He claims that everybody has missing assignments, even Leo! (Leo is very, very, very, very bright, and I’ve known him since the two boys were in the GT program together back in 4th grade.)
But I don’t care if Leo has missing assignments. I care only if Dylan has missing assignments.
And he does.
Still.
All. The. Time.
So for a long time, I’ve been taking L-Phenylalanine.
This is the amino acid in which I was deficient – so much so, in fact, that when I took one capsule (instead of the daily recommended dosage of 3-4 capsules), I was cured.
By “cured,” I mean “not mean anymore.”
By nature, I am not a mean person. In fact, most of my issues stem from trying to be nice but not being very good at it. I am also mostly nice to trees and animals, rather than people. But that’s another story.
Still, sometimes I scream. This frequently happens when I do not want to scream – like when I scream at my dearly beloved children. (I am still debating on whether or not I want to scream at my husband.)
But sometimes I become a raging lunatic. Most of the time that I gets to the “raging lunatic” phase, I am totally alone. These are not moments I wish to share with other people.
So when I first found L-Phenylalanine, I was thrilled. I could take one capsule and stop myself from screaming. It didn’t keep me from getting angry, but it did stop me from angering beyond the point of “normal.” In other words, something could happen like, say, a car could cut me off in traffic – and I would not scream at the other driver!
This was a miracle.
It was so much of a miracle that I started giving L-Phenylalanine to others. I gave it to my dad, since he and I are a lot alike. Unfortunately, my dad didn’t have the deficiency. When he took L-Phenylalanine, he actually became a raging lunatic! It had the complete opposite effect on him!
So two weeks ago, I was sitting at my computer, emailing a complete stranger. I was sobbing – tears were gushing from my eyes – and I was so angry, I was shaking. I could barely type, but I was able to create a two-page document in spite of the shaking and the crying.
I perceived an injustice from this stranger, and I wanted to explain my perception.
I emailed the complete stranger what I considered to be a very profound email about the human condition, fairness and justice, and faith in the human race. I expected this email to provide a pivotal point in her life, which she would read and then use to go forward on a higher plane in her human existence.
That didn’t happen.
What did happen is that my husband came near me and I acted like a rabid dog. When he mentioned pizza, the boys scurried to the car as fast as they could, just to get away from me. And when they came home, I left and went for a two-hour drive, angered beyond recognition, sobbing at the red lights.
A few days later, I was still a mess. I’d been doing a liver cleanse and eating healthily and my attitude was great up until this perceived injustice. But I couldn’t stop raging.
The family even had an intervention. “You’re always a little weird,” they said. “But lately, you’re just completely nuts!”
After some thought, and reconsideration of all of my vitamins, I “temporarily” stopped taking L-Phenylalanine.
And I have been 100% fine ever since.
I got a missed call and a text message from Shane one day while I was at work:
“Play practice was canceled. Please text or call me when you get the chance. I’m going over to Safeway.”
He’d already missed the bus, but I was working and couldn’t get him right away. In fact, I didn’t get his text until 15 minutes after he sent it. When I finally did get back to him, I told him I’d be there around 4:00 and asked if he could wait for me.
“Sure,” he texted back. “What time will you be done?”
I didn’t get that text right away – so I never answered it.
Meanwhile, I also had a missed call and text from Dylan, who was staying after school as well.
Before leaving work, I texted Dylan and Shane together. I asked Dylan to find Shane, and said that I would meet them at 4:00. The conversation was about eight texts long, and Shane didn’t respond to either of us.
I thought nothing of it.
“On my way!” I said cheerily. “Let me know where to meet you!” Then I drove to meet them.
When I arrived, I checked my phone for an answer from the boys. I had only one text, and it was from Dylan:
“I don’t know where Shane is.”
My stomach lurched. I looked at the clock. It had been an hour since Shane’s last text.
I scanned back through the texts. The last thing I’d heard was that Shane was at the Safeway. It had been nearly an hour since he’d texted me or Dylan.
Driving through the shopping center, I thought I saw him. I drove over to yell – but it wasn’t him. I looked around. He wasn’t in any of his normal meeting places.
I drove around the parking lot again, starting to panic. I called Shane’s cell phone, but he didn’t answer. It rang four times, and went to voice mail. Three times.
Shane’s voice mailbox was recorded years ago, and his voice was young and high. “Shane’s not with his phone right now….”
This is the last time I’ll hear his voice, I thought, and it’s not even his voice anymore!
I was on my second go-round in the parking lot, now nearly hysterical. I was frantically scouring the world around me, looking for … something: evidence of a kidnapping, a body lying in the parking lot, a familiar face….
I called Shane’s phone for the fourth time.
“Hello?” Shane said.
“You’re okay!” I shrieked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Dylan couldn’t find you and you didn’t answer your phone and I thought you were at Safeway!” I wailed, all in one quick breath. “Where are you?”
“I’m back at Safeway,” Shane said calmly. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking at my phone. I was doing homework.”
Then, finally, I breathed.
I looked at the clock. Shane had been “missing” for a total of four minutes.
Thanks to a non-working thyroid, autoimmune condition and weight gain that’s causing my joints to fail, I am following a “liver cleanse” and “adrenal gland refresh” protocol this week.
After years of trying to figure out what to do, someone has finally written a book that outlines an actual, physical way to take care of my problem in a concrete way. So I am doing my best to follow those guidelines.
Besides eating ridiculous amounts of green, leafy vegetables and giving up dairy, gluten and sugar, there is one significant thing that must be avoided at all costs for these two weeks: STRESS.
So I announced to the kids on Sunday night that I am going to take a break from stress. For me, this meant that I would be backing off on acting like I “care,” even though I still do care. I would just not be able to remind them about things, and taking care of the routine things was going to suffer.
I told them that, like the book suggested, I would be going to bed at 9:00 p.m. The book wants me to stay in bed for 12 hours a day, but that’s just not possible.
Still, I don’t have to get up and make breakfasts and lunches for the kids. They are way old enough to do that themselves. So I planned to sleep until Shane woke me up in the morning to drive him to direct the morning show – which, for me, is an average of four extra hours in bed.
“I’m just taking a break,” I told them.
“What are you taking a break from, exactly?” Dylan asked. I think he expected me to say “parenting,” which is also not possible.
Dylan said, without flinching, “Good! A lot of people don’t know they should do that.”
Shane just said, “Okay. What do you need me to do?”
So this week, they’ve been making their own breakfasts and lunches. Bill has been in charge of dinners, although he wasn’t home two nights and that meant the kids were in charge of their own dinners, too. One night I had carrots and hummus for dinner. Yum.
The hardest thing, though, has been staying out of their business. I still have to check Dylan’s online grades every day, but he stepped right up. He got all of his missing work done for one class as soon as it popped up online. He got his homework done for two days in another class, and showed it to his teacher. She emailed me and said, “This has never happened before!”
Shane, too, has taken on his own things. I emailed his science teacher because Shane couldn’t find the homework assignment online, but that was hardly stressful.
In fact, the whole week has gone amazingly well. The only day that felt stressful was when I realized that the boys were planning to make macaroni and cheese again, and that they hadn’t eaten the leftovers from the prior two times they’d had mac-n-cheese in the past week. Rather than eat the leftovers, they decided not to eat mac-n-cheese at all. (They had frozen pizza and cereal instead.)
All in all, though, living stress-free has been pretty nice. Now, if only I could get the other drivers on the highway to cooperate.
In order to keep current with his contract, Dylan is trying to get all of his work done during school. He is not actually doing it – but he is trying.
As a result, Dylan has been doing his math homework while his teacher is walking around checking to see if his homework is done. As a result, Dylan gets lots of E’s on homework – half credit – which brings down his quarter grade by 10%.
This has been going on for three quarters. He got so many E’s in math last quarter that he ended up with a C. Other than homework, his math grades are fairly good. (They have not always been fairly good, especially in math, so I am thrilled about the upward trend.)
Now it is the fourth quarter, and I have been getting emails from his teacher, outlining the homework for the week, so that I have a record of what’s due – and can share that with him. He can no longer say, “I don’t know what the homework is,” because his math teacher emails me directly.
But he is still doing his homework at – or really, after – the last possible second. This means, of course, that he is still getting E’s because it’s not actually done.
So I have started asking Dylan to show me his completed homework. I said, “Hey, I need to know that it’s done. Show me that it’s done.”
The first time I asked, he moaned and complained and whined. Then he took it out and did it. Then he showed me.
This was the desired result.
The homework was actually done and, when she checked it the next day, Dylan got an A. But after four days of showing me his homework, and getting A’s, he started to complain that he shouldn’t be treated like a little kid, that he shouldn’t have to show me his work, that his teacher should be the only one who checks it.
Dylan even complained to his teacher because he thought it was her idea for me to check his homework. (She had agreed that it was a good idea, since it seemed to be working, but it was definitely my idea.)
And since Dylan is 17, I agree. It is his responsibility, so it would be nice if he would actually be responsible and do the work.
I said, “Okay, Dylan, for the next week, you show me your finished homework without my asking for it. And after a week, if you show me every night, I will stop checking it.”
But on Day 1 of the New Plan, Dylan didn’t show me his homework.
And the very next day, this is the email I got from the teacher:
“The homework from last night was about half done (he was trying to do it under his desk while I was walking around checking it).”
I simply don’t know where to go from here. If he won’t do it without me checking it, and he won’t do it for himself, the logical conclusion is that Dylan actually wants to get E’s on homework.
On the same day that I posted Shane’s somewhat losing record on my blog, and without Shane ever reading that post, Shane went to the Friday night table tennis league.
He won four matches out of four.
I stand corrected.
Shane is playing table tennis every week. While his lessons have temporarily subsided, he still goes and plays.
For several weeks, Shane didn’t win a single match. He would kind of freak himself out, worrying about winning, and then – of course – he wouldn’t win. After a few weeks, he finally won a match – and after that, he realized he could win.
Since then, he’s been winning more and more. Most of the people he plays are close to his level – some much better, but most of his matches are competitive. He often wins two and loses three, but he has yet to win all five matches.
It’s painful to watch.
Shane is a very good player. He gets the ball back sometimes when no one should get the ball back. But he is very much a beginning player, and he still has some things to learn. Mostly he needs more practice.
But he thinks he should be better than he is. He beats himself up for not being better faster.
I think he’s doing great. I am watching him and wondering what happened to my little baby who, only a few months ago, couldn’t beat me. And now I can barely get a few points from him on one of his “off” days. So he’s really very good.
But I can see it in his face, when he decides he is afraid he is going to lose.
There’s a shift in his eyes, a lack of confidence. It appears even though there’s no outward reason for it. Suddenly he’ll just be down on himself.
Shane doesn’t seem to know that there’s a shift. I’ve tried to explain some of the psychology of sports, but he is unaware that it’s even happening.
It is not painful to watch Shane lose. Everyone loses once in awhile, even the very best players.
It is painful to watch Shane give up on himself. It is agonizing, in fact. It is the worst part of the parental experience to watch my child’s pain and do absolutely nothing to stop it.
And it’s even more agonizing to know that the reason for that pain is inside my child’s head. If he doesn’t acknowledge it, or know it exists, he can’t know how to stop it.
I minored in psychology in college. I read enough self-help books to have earned an honorary degree in something psychological. And I’ve been in a sufficient amount of therapy myself to know that self-esteem can take over an entire life and ruin it. I also know that low self-esteem does absolutely no good, and is useless to propel one into action. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
So even though the blips of low self-esteem rarely happen except during ping pong, I know it’s going to be hard to overcome.
But Shane is 14, and he hasn’t learned any of that yet. He doesn’t even know he has an element of low self-esteem. He’s a pretty happy kid, all in all, and doesn’t let other people bring him down.
When it comes to ping pong, though, he can beat up himself pretty bad. And he doesn’t even know that he’s doing it.
All of it, I’m sure, is somehow my fault – which adds to the agony of watching.
Of course I would never, ever stop.
Dylan forgot to go on his field trip.
“How could you not GO?” I texted the next day.
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t know I was supposed to go.”
The field trip was a trip to a local college fair. All juniors were invited to go, as I learned from the email of daily announcements.
“Get a form!” I squealed. “You’ve got to go!”
I get excited when Dylan has an opportunity for a field trip, because he doesn’t have to sit still. I am even more excited about anything that has to do with colleges. So for me, this was a double-whammy-wonderful trip.
But three days later, Dylan still had not picked up the permission slip. Since I was volunteering at the school, I picked up the form myself.
“I got your form,” I told him. “You have to register online, print out the bar code, and take it back to the school.”
“Wait, what?” he said. “I don’t understand.”
“Why don’t you go on the website and find out what to do?”
“What website?”
“The one listed on the form.”
“What form?”
“The field trip form,” I said, visibly frustrated. “The one I got for you because you kept forgetting to get it?”
“Oh, right.” He looked briefly at the paper. “This is just a regular form. You need to sign it.”
“Yes,” I said. “But you also need to register online.”
“Okay.”
Three days later, he still hadn’t registered online.
Meanwhile, I had researched the college fair. I found out what colleges were going to be represented, and even contacted Dylan’s favorite college to see if I could get a representative to appear. (No.)
I made a list of those colleges for Dylan to use at the fair. Then I color-coded the list with red, green and orange to show which colleges he should definitely see, which ones he should avoid, and which ones he might want to reconsider from his previous college searches.
When I was done with that, I went back through the list and crossed out the colleges he’s already seen and didn’t like, so that he wouldn’t waste his time with them, either.
“Dylan, did you ever register for this conference?” I asked one day, while perusing the website.
“Oh, no,” he said. “Why did I need to do that again?”
“So you can go on the field trip,” I said. “It’s really easy and I’m on the website right now. You just have to type in your name and print out a bar code. LOOK.” And I typed in his name and printed out the bar code.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Put that with your field trip form and money,” I said.
“Where is it?” he asked.
“Sitting over … Oh forget it. I’m going to be at the school in the morning. Do you want me just to take it in?”
“Sure,” he said. “That would be great.”
“Fine,” I spat. “I did everything else for this field trip. I might as well turn in your form, too.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he said.
The next day, I took in the completed permission forms, payment for the transportation, and the bar code, and gave it all to the career counselor at Dylan’s school.
Two weeks went by. I told Dylan to mark the date on the calendar. Apparently, he forgot.
An announcement was broadcast during school: “All students going to the Junior Class College Fair please meet in the front hallway.”
Dylan barely looked up. He had absolutely no idea that he was scheduled to go on that field trip.
I wonder why.
The end-of-quarter grades are in.
Thanks to Shane’s last-minute effort to complete his two “missing” homework assignments, he has straight A’s! His A in an honors math class gives him a GPA that’s actually above 4.0 for the first time (ever).
In order to keep these grades for the semester, Shane needs, at least, all B’s for the next quarter. I am totally thrilled, and so proud of all his hard work.
When I tell him this, Shane says things like, “I just do whatever the teachers tell me to do.”
As if that were the most normal thing ever for an 8th grader.
Shane is odd in a way that is very conducive to good grades.
Dylan, who turned in almost everything on time, has two A’s, a B (in Piano class), and four C’s. It is his junior year of high school and his GPA for this semester means more than it ever has meant. These grades are the ones the colleges look at most closely, to see if he is ready to study at a college level.
But even if Dylan gets straight A’s in the fourth quarter, he will have – at best – four more B’s on his transcript. If he gets more C’s in the fourth quarter, he may not get into college.
He did so much better getting the work in. He still didn’t study. He still dropped out of the race during the home stretch. And he still turned in many, many assignments late – just not late enough to lose his electronics privileges.
I am no longer worried about high school for Dylan. He will do what he’s going to do.
Now I worry that he’ll get to college, and do what he’s always done, and lose several thousand dollars learning that it doesn’t work at college. He can’t succeed there with these habits so ingrained here.
I think, He has a learning disorder. It is nearly impossible for someone with this learning disorder to turn in his work.
But it’s not.
Dylan has been given so many tools to succeed in school, for so many years. Everything we’ve shown him, and everything his school has taught him, is specifically geared toward helping him succeed in spite of ADHD.
It seems as though he just doesn’t want to use them. He doesn’t want reminders. He doesn’t want to talk to teachers. He doesn’t remember to take coffee to school, eat meat in the morning, or chew gum during tests. His fidget toys are all lost. He doesn’t exercise or sleep enough.
Yet he says, “I’m not going to do this in college, Mom.”
I am so proud of his changes and what he’s accomplished. The fact that he is planning to graduate from high school instead of dropping out is a small miracle.
But I am tremendously concerned that he will do this in college.
And then what will be the point of having tried so hard for so long?
