The Label That Changed Everything, and Nothing

Connecting the dots between my child- and adulthood

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Memories of my childhood have been filling the walls of my mental space lately. Classes, concentration, academic performance and everything else that goes along with the 12 to 13 odd years of school.

My upbringing was an interesting one to say the least, moving schools a total of five times (seven if you count Universities), having to contend with different teaching styles, academic systems, and general ways of learning. But for the purpose of this piece, I want to draw particular attention to my schooling from grades 3 to 9; ages 9 to 15, and my adult life.

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A sunny morning that broke out the first summer months had the end-of-year holiday rolling around quicker than ever. Joyous to get out and enjoy it, I had just a few weeks left of graft, and like all mornings that preceded this one, I had my powder-mixed orange juice at my side to help slug down that small white pill.

Ritalin, the wonder drug to help me focus. The dry-heave worthy experience to start my day; oh how I hated that OJ.

Around the time I was 9, nearing on 10, I was was struggling intensely with focus in the classroom, and was told that I had something called ‘Audio Processing Disorder’ where any sound that was made would completely derail my concentration and make me lose all train of thought. Moreover, I couldn’t articulate what I was hearing, especially when it came to understanding speech.

You can imagine the detriment this would have on a young kid, trying to keep it together when there are far more interesting things happening outside the window, or, “Hey, the guy sitting behind me is clicking his pen again” … where was I?

Keeping up with what was happening in the classroom was a big deal, and soon after this discovery, I was hard-fastened to sit in the front for almost the rest of my school career.

The little white pill helped me greatly with this. Despite the groggy feeling induced mere moments after swallowing, give it three, maybe five minutes, and then whatever I was being told actually sank in.

Classes became interesting, I was learning! I kept up, and felt that I could participate in the discussions, taking that from passive to active learning. Yes! Look at me!

Grade four became five, and five, six. Yet by the time I hit grade eight, suddenly it wasn’t enough.

I suppose it only took nearly failing one exam to point out that the concentration aid wasn’t going to be the sole solution, no, I needed a special room for my exams. I had to sit with the other ‘struggling’ kids and each exam had extra time. I recall having my English lit paper being read to me by the adjudicator, and if I didn’t understand a word, I could ask. And if the exam was 60min, you bet I had at least 90min to complete it.

There were only maybe four other kids in this group, I don’t remember their names accept for a guy named Tom (Hi Tom, if you’re reading this); each of us struggling with something different. I had afterschool classes with Tom, and others, where teachers and assistants would sit with us, and help with our homework.

I recall a particular afternoon learning the difference between ‘highlighting’ important text, and ‘page painting’ which was just making large paragraphs a different colour to the rest. But to me, everything was important—I needed to remember everything in order to understand the context. Discerning what was, or wasn’t, felt impossible and took years for me to figure it out properly.

It was nice, I suppose, but at that time of my life I didn’t understand why I needed it. Or rather, I understood, but didn’t accept that that was the way I was.

I wanted to do better. Be better.

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While I was on Ritalin, during my younger years, and had extra time during my exams in my ‘older’ years, there was a time, a now distant memory, that was even more bizarre to reflect on.

My age? Errr, I’m going to guess, five to eight? Somewhere there, where I had to do ‘Simon Says’ classes afterschool, and meet for physiotherapy sessions. I struggled to retain information and recall it seconds later, or stand properly on my own two feet; my hips were problematic and my back, to some degree the same. I met with a nice lady once to twice a week and we played both board and word games. We played ‘Pass the Bomb’ to teach me quick thinking, and other more puzzle-oriented games to teach me logic and spatial perception.

Some of these were fun, and I say it like that because at that age, so long as you’re treated kindly, what the hell do you know.

• Simon Says classes were fun, the arrows on the screen moved faster and I had to remember longer and longer chains of directions and perform them without error.

• Puzzles and word games as always a laugh, and sometimes I got a treat afterwards too.

• Standing and balancing on a bosu, or yoga ball, well, who wouldn’t want to increase their balance.

But then things started to get annoying.