Today, I sent my youngest son off to kindergarten. Honestly, I thought I would be overjoyed to see him head out the door. He’s my “active” child, and my days with him often feel like a series of damage control sessions—also known as “redirecting.” By the end of the day, I’m wiped out and sometimes on the brink of tears. The thought of having a few hours to just breathe feels like a dream. I could take my youngest daughter to the museum or the park, or even just enjoy a peaceful stroll without being hyper-vigilant for potential disasters.
As I tucked him into bed last night, the typical questions started to pour out from him about starting school. “Do I have to bring my school supplies home every day?” “No, buddy, they’ll stay at school.” “What if I have homework?” “You’ll bring home the work you need to do, and everything else stays at school.” “What if I need scissors?” “We have scissors here, sweetheart.” “Where?” “I’ll show you later.” “What if my teacher yells at me?”
My heart sank at that one. “Why would your teacher yell at you?” I asked. “Because, I’m bad. I’m always bad. What if she hates me?”
Wait, what? I had no idea he felt that way. Sure, he’s reminded of the household rules regularly, and yes, he spends more time in his room than his siblings. This is time spent pondering why we can’t throw bats across the yard or leave the bathroom sink running until it drips through the ceiling. Sometimes he’s sent to his room after a meltdown over a sports game. But at no point have we labeled him as “bad.” In fact, my partner and I strive to respond positively, even when things go awry, like when his sister walks in with a Sharpie-made mustache.
We’ve rewarded him with stickers and cotton balls for good behavior and constantly remind him how much we love him. Yet, he still views himself as a “bad” kid, and hearing him say that broke my heart.
He’s so young, yet he shows signs of self-shaming—something that often accompanies ADHD challenges. My sweet boy, with his big blue eyes, is the same child who covers his sister with a blanket when she falls asleep on the couch, cheers for his brother during baseball games, and sings “Wrecking Ball” into a toy microphone when he thinks no one is watching. My thoughtful little boy thinks he deserves “hate” from his future teacher.
As I watched him walk toward the massive school doors (seriously, when did they get so big?), I felt tears welling up. He blended into the crowd of kids, dwarfed by his oversized backpack and the bigger kids around him. He didn’t look back, my brave little guy. I knew he was nervous, but he stepped into this new chapter, hoping the world would embrace him for who he truly is—the kind boy who once ran two blocks to check on his brother after a bike spill.
Back in my car, the tears flowed freely. “What’s wrong, Mommy?” my daughter asked. I tried to steady my breath long enough to answer, “I’m just going to miss him so much.” She looked at me with her sweet, understanding eyes and said, “I know, Mommy. He’s my best boy. I’m going to miss my good boy too.”
Oh, how I wish the world would see him the way we do.
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Summary:
This heartfelt piece follows a mother sending her son with ADHD off to kindergarten. Despite her mixed emotions, she reflects on his self-perception as a “bad kid,” which he has internalized despite her and her partner’s efforts to instill love and positivity. The narrative highlights the vulnerability and unique challenges faced by children with ADHD, emphasizing the mother’s hope that the school will recognize and nurture her son’s true character.