So I needed to aim lights. This requires someone sitting at the console, and someone doing the actual aiming. Kids love pushing buttons and being helpful, and there was one standing right there.
“Hey.”
Dead-faced, her eyes gazing at nothing in particular, she stood next to her parents, who were talking with a church member. Only a barely perceptible turn in my direction indicated that she heard me address her at all. Well, some kids are shy, but most usually can’t resist the opportunity to help out with something that usually only grown-ups get to do. “I need to get up on that ladder and aim lights, but I need someone to stay here and push the buttons on my light board for me. It’s really easy, just “Next” and “Back” buttons. Wanna help?”
A barely imperceptible shrug followed. Mom and dad swooped down from their conversation to encourage my interaction. They were overly-encouraging, like you’d talk to an autistic child. “Oh honey, that sounds like fun? Would you like to? Huh?” They nudged her gently toward the console, her steps dull steps without enthusiasm of any kind. Something about this
is starting
to feel
wrong.
I couldn’t back out now, so I pointed out what she’d need to push, and proceeded to get up on the ladder and focus. She listened closely, pushing the right buttons, but never once smiling.
Or asking a question. Or saying anything at all.
I finished aiming, thanked her. Jokingly asked if she’d run lights for me tonight while I went to the bus and ate pizza. She wandered off without saying a word. Mom and dad came over to be grateful.
“Oh, thanks so much for letting her work with you a bit. You made her day. She loves learning technical things.” “Uh, you’re welcome. Are you sure? I’m not sure she was having fun, I kind of felt bad for asking.” “Oh, she’s just shy.”
Okay. Right. Some kids are painfully shy. Makes sense.
“Well, she’s welcome to hang out with me and watch during the concert and learn whatever she can.” “I’m sure she’d love that.”
It was now dinnertime. I left to eat, so did they.
Doors finally opened, and girl came back. I noticed she was slightly more animated than before. Got her a seat next to mine at front of house, and we waited. My attempts at conversation were more successful this time. Fewer one-word answers, and she looked me in the eye this time. Slowly, the zombie-ness was wearing off. Interesting.
We chatted while audience members were filing in. She spun in her chair, the first child-like thing I had seen her do. At some point she excuses herself to go to the restroom. Dad shuffled over, worry lines etched on his face.
“You’re a saint.” I laughed politely, not understanding. “What?” “For hanging out with her. She’s not annoying you, is she?” He couldn’t be serious. “No, of course not. Honestly, I’m concerned that she’s not having any fun at all, she’s so subdued.” “I was afraid she might be bugging you. Her spinning around in her chair just now? That’s her meds wearing off. She has ADD. She can get pretty chatty off them.”
Hear that? In the background of your mind? That’s an alarm bell. Nine-year-olds are supposed to be chatty and spin around in their chairs.
“I see. Well, she hasn’t bothered me in the slightest.” Dad shuffled away.
The “medication” continued to wear off.
We talked about her sisters, her Silly Band collection, and I even let her push a few buttons during the show. Inch by inch, this person transformed from someone bereft of life to something resembling a human child. At the end of the concert, she jumped up and down a few times, brought her grandmother and mother to meet me, and said she had a lot of fun. Her parents left me with the distinct impression that I had just survived something to be endured, thanked me for being so patient, etc.
I left with a distinct sick feeling in my stomach. Maybe…maybe I don’t know all the facts. I don’t know all the facts. Maybe she’s a complete psychopathic monster when she’s not on drugs. Maybe there are significant mitigating circumstances that I’m unaware of. But it seems like an overreaction of extreme proportions to put a child on such a mind-altering chemical to control what, to me, seemed like very appropriate behavior. They have their uses, and are immensely helpful for some people.
But this is a person who’s being drugged, can’t legally give consent, into a state of near-catatonia for acting her age.
And that is wrong.
Exit, stage left.
Sparks
I couldn’t agree more. Sitting still for 8 hours in school for good grades is more important than being the person God created you to be. We aren’t meant to be cookie-cutter cubicle dwellers.
I have to think that with the parents initial reaction, that you did not see her unmedicated. For all you know she has attacked several people in fits of excitement or broken thousands of dollars of equipment multiple times. Usually, parents are fairly dulled to their own child’s hyperactivity (see Carver, Matthew). If they were genuinely worried about their daughters behavior, I can’t imagine that she has never shown any behavior that most people find completely out of character for the average child.
While I agree that meds are often prematurely used, the fear factor that you said the parents had indicates something fairly major that they did not share with you.
That’s very possible. I almost didn’t post this, because there’s that doubt in the back of my mind that I could be totally wrong. It does seem an odd thing to lie about, though – we discussed ADD at length for a few minutes, but I suppose that proves nothing.
I think I over-emphasized their apparent worry. It was more like concern that she was annoying everybody – even the other volunteers.
And to be fair, I think you often exhibit what might be called “above average patience” with your kids. 😛 Some parents might just be extremely short in the patience and understanding department.
Pills are one thing you can do for ADD but if you don’t teach the child copying skils and she should have a therapist and A Doctor montering how much meds she is taking because she should not be acting like a zombie. all those pills are for is keeping her fouced on one thing more then a second. Their is a thing of too many pills and parents not going threw the right channels.