The D-Day Between August and September
It’s a typical summer evening in Denver, Colorado. We’re sitting at a picnic table, Jed and I, on a restaurant patio under the sunset, eating sandwiches, enjoying the cool breath of the coming night. Jed’s talking about his family. I’m trying to pay attention, but these days my brain sort of shuts off whenever somebody says the word “family.” From what I can gather, it seems like he has a nice family; I haven’t met them yet, but it’s looking like that’s in the books. I’m worried it’ll make me sad, though, because it sounds like our families were similar before my grandma and my dad died.
A Coloring Book Saved My Life.
In 2016, somebody gave me a coloring book for Christmas. It was an “adult coloring book,” per the centrally-placed text on its front cover; and allegedly, its purpose was to inspire the colorer. Well, I was an inspiration-seeking adult in 2016, so I gave it a good, cursory glance. To my relative unsurprise, I was not overcome with a sense of enlightenment. In fact, I felt nothing—not even an urge to fill in its blank pages with color. So, I chucked it, along with equally undesirable Christmas gifts, into a flat-rate box bound for oblivion.
ADHD Isn't a Joke—It's a Struggle, and a Gift.
“ADD isn’t real,” he said with a smirk. “It’s just a nice way to explain why our kids misbehave.” The natural smile that had been illuminating my face suddenly went into rigor mortis. He said…ADD…isn’t real?