At my son Noah’s pre-kindergarten graduation, he was tucked away in the back corner of the stage, almost out of sight. A teacher lurked just behind the curtain, poised to remind him to keep quiet—or to whisk him away if he disrupted the ceremony for the other, more composed children. Each child had their moment at the microphone to recite a line they had memorized. As they took their turns, the performance was a delightful chaos: mumbles and whispers, giggles and gasps, each child bringing their own charm to the stage.
We had rehearsed Noah’s line every night for weeks. Watching him fidget from the back, I couldn’t help but wonder, why can’t he just sit still like the others? When his turn finally arrived, my heart raced with anxiety. I hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself, at least not worse than the boy who merely snickered into the mic. Yet, deep down, I sensed that the teachers were expecting him to falter, just like everyone else.
Then came his moment: “Hello! My name is Noah. Here’s a fun song about a slippery fish.”
He spoke clearly, with confidence that radiated from him like a whirlwind. He made eye contact with the audience and delivered his line perfectly, even surpassing our practice sessions. I couldn’t help but tear up at his triumph.
Yet, a nagging voice in my head whispered, “Don’t get too carried away. That doesn’t mean he’s typical.”
Since Noah learned to talk, we had faced numerous challenges with his behavior. Simple tasks like picking up his shoes often turned into distractions, with him sitting on the floor inspecting the tiniest details of a carpet thread. In soccer, he was more fascinated by the play of his shadow than the game itself, often lying in the grass or hanging on the goal net while others chased the ball.
“Focus!” we pleaded, over and over. Were we urging him or merely wishing for it?
I shared my concerns about ADHD with a few close friends. They were quick to dismiss my worries, attributing his behavior to his intelligence or suggesting it was typical boy behavior. Some even argued that ADHD might not be a real diagnosis, but rather an unnecessary label for energetic personalities. Even my partner was skeptical of my suspicions.
I understood the reluctance; Noah was bright and quick to learn. He memorized entire books at a young age and had a flair for performance. He showed remarkable dedication to the things he loved. Still, I didn’t want to be the parent claiming, “He acts out because he’s too intelligent to be engaged.”
From my research, Noah showed many signs associated with ADHD. However, the diagnostic criteria suggested it was often challenging to identify ADHD in children before they entered school, as many signs relate to their ability to engage in routine, unexciting tasks.
I awaited the start of kindergarten with anticipation, convinced that it would clarify whether Noah had ADHD. While he faced challenges in that environment, the journey to a diagnosis was anything but straightforward. Despite my growing conviction that he fit the criteria for ADHD, I tried every behavioral technique I could find, hoping for that elusive solution that would help him focus.
We tried soccer, violin lessons, reward charts, dietary changes, stricter rules, and even more hugs. We explored all options, constantly adapting our approach as we learned more about our son. Together, we are figuring out how to navigate a world that demands stillness, while Noah’s curious mind seeks to explore the smallest details.
As parents, we will always be those supportive figures in the background, ready not to pull him off the stage but to encourage him to shine.
This article was originally published on Mamalode.
Summary
Navigating the challenges of parenting a child like Noah, who struggles with focus in a world that emphasizes stillness, has been a journey filled with both trials and victories. From pre-kindergarten performances to everyday distractions, this story illustrates the balance between encouraging curiosity and fostering concentration in a child who is eager to explore the world around him.