Making the Mark

Making the Mark

A Kid with ADHD

By Yehuda Grunhut

Based on an anecdote described by:

Dovid Becker LCSW

Foreword

 I am writing this to help you feel the plight of a child with ADHD, trying to make it through his school years. I will present it through the lens of a mother writing to the world, trying to give an accurate depiction of her son. The story is an adaptation of the anecdote described by Dovid Becker LCSW in a talk he has given to his community on the Coach Menachem Bernfeld Podcast. It was so good, I thought to use it as a springboard to this one.

Dear parents and teachers of ADHD students,

It is through tears and frustration that I write this. My husband Jack and I have just got back from a meeting at our Mark’s school. For the fourth year in a row, I see that my dearest Mark’s teachers just don’t seem to get him. I see a child, broken, despairing, and sad, hoping he can do better. I see teachers and a system that doesn’t understand him nor give him the support that he needs to soar. Allow me to present you with a small peek into Mark’s life, from my perspective. Perhaps this will give you the insight, and help you help Mark and others like him.

 Mark is the sweetest boy I know. He is 11 years old and in sixth grade. He’s got the biggest heart, and it’s made of pure gold. He is a breath of fresh air, lively, creative, and passionate. He cares about everyone and is always trying to help. Each day, after school, he picks up leftovers from the corner delicatessen and gives them out to the homeless fellows who have made the local park their home. He greets them with a kind word and an impish grin that leaves these poor souls smiling for hours.

He is the kid who can’t stand injustice and stands up for anyone he sees getting bullied. He befriends the most socially ostracized students in school, and around the neighborhood. He is well-liked by his peers and an angel to whomever he takes care of. He can pull a smile out of anyone! He is the kid I can count on to get anything done. If I tell him I need something from the neighbor, he is out the door in a flash, even before I tell him what I need. This is usually followed by a phone call or text from the neighbor, “Hey Mark’s here, he says you need something?” 

Just yesterday when we were in the school, the custodian walked by, stopped, and said “Are you Mark's mom?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Wow, he looks just like you! You should know that Mark looks for me every day and wishes me a good morning. He always makes sure to say thanks when he sees me working. He also asks me like a million questions. He needs to know what every tool I have does and how exactly I fix things. He lights up my day. Your son is one in a million!”

The custodian knows this, but his teachers don’t seem to.

 “Mark is a sweet boy, but he needs to learn to conform. The classroom is not a free-for-all where he can do what he wants. He must learn that, too,” says his homeroom teacher.

“Mark has sooo much potential, if only he would put in the effort!” says his math teacher.

“I’m sorry to say this but Mark is doing poorly and if he doesn’t get it together, I’m afraid I will have to fail him,” says his science teacher.  

“Please have a talk with your son about trying a bit harder in class, and he absolutely must hand in his homework assignments each day. He seems to forget to complete them and/or bring them back to school way too often!” says his history teacher.

“I am not sure what you would consider as disciplined, but your Mark isn’t,” says the principal.

When we’ve tried to explain that Mark has ADHD, and may need some alternative educational methods, we were answered with condescending looks and hurtful questions. “Well has it occurred to you that maybe Mark is plain and simply lazy?”

“Whenever we have a special project, Mark is all over it. He clearly can focus when he wants to.”

“Mark was fully engrossed in a book the other day. He didn't even hear me call him multiple times. Either that or he was brazenly ignoring me! One thing is for sure, he can focus.”

“Your Mark can do anything he puts his mind to; we expect him to put his mind to work!”

So here are 36 hours of what Mark goes through:

“Good morning, Mark, it's late! Why are you not up yet?!”

“Wha, huh? What time is it?

“6:45”!

“Ughh, I forgot to set my alarm again.”

“Well get up or you’ll miss the bus again.”

Back to sleep. I come in ten minutes later. “Mark!!”

A grunt back to sleep. 7:15 again, 7:20 again. Finally, six minutes before the 7:35 bus rolls around, Mark jumps out of bed. “Shoot! The bus is coming.” He starts to get dressed. He panics. “Where are my pants!!” He runs around the whole floor, turning over everything. He finally finds a pair in the laundry room. I’m not sure how clean they are.

He runs downstairs, grabs his backpack, and realizes he is not wearing shoes. He finds his right sneaker but can’t find his left. He franticly searches the living room, dining room, kitchen, and family room. There it is! Under the chair.

He starts for the door and stops. “Mom, wait, I need you to sign my homework assignment!”

“OK, where is it?”

 He rummages through his bag, but it's not there, he runs around the house, checking every book and paper he sees. Finally, he finds it. On his desk, right where he’s left it.

He heads to the door, sneakers untied, clothes rumpled, and oh no, I didn’t clean those pants, those are the ones he was wearing when he sat on the snail, yuck! Too late.

I look around the house. It looks like a mini tornado has just run through it. Mark in the meantime flies out the door. (I didn’t follow him to school, but I have been able to piece together all the following details from him later.) The bus has already passed. He dashes down the block to the next stop. Thankfully there was some traffic, and he gets on the bus. He high-fives Bert the bus driver. He greets all his friends. They all talk animatedly and have a great time. He is still deep in conversation as he gets off the bus and walks into school.

After the bus ride, as he walks into the school, he suddenly stops and slaps his forehead, “Oh shishkabob! I left my backpack on the bus!”

Again. The third time this week. Mark runs back as the bus is pulling away. He pounds on the door of the moving bus.

Bert stops, opens the door, and says “Hey Mark! Lemme guess, forgot the briefcase again?”

Mark mumbles, “Uh huh, yeah, kinda,” He runs on grabs his pack, dashes off to the school building, chugs his way down the hallway, charges into class.

Mark’s teacher Mr. Wilson stops him. Now don’t get me wrong, Mr. Wilson is a great teacher. He is experienced, caring, and dedicated, the type that is up all night preparing the sheets for tomorrow's lessons. He is also very strict with his rules. The type of teacher that believes that if they act with firmness, show who’s the boss, and keep the class structured and in control, the students  will learn.

It works for 98% of the students, but for Mark… not so much.

The teacher says, “Mark you’re late. Again. Third time. Ok, go to the principal’s office.”

He goes, the principal sees him, rolls his eyes, and says, “Mark what’s happened now? Let me guess you forgot your briefcase on the bus again? What story are you going to tell me this time?”

“Uh yeah, the bus again” he mumbles.

“OK go to class for now but come back here during recess. You’ll have to stay in my office, no going out today.”

 Mark goes back to the class. Settles into his seat. Takes out the textbook and finds the right page. He is lost, he’s missed the first twenty minutes of the lesson. Mark tries really hard to follow, but he has no idea what’s flying. Then comes the ant… crawling slowly across his desk. Mark tries to focus on what his teacher is saying but the words coming out of his mouth aren’t forming sentences. He can’t understand. There goes that bug, and ants, let me tell you, can be the most fascinating things.

He looks closely, and his mind churns; Wow look at that little thing! So unassuming… Hey! I can see its antennas… Do you think it can hear the radio?... Hey ant, can you tell me who won game six last night? I forgot to check… Ha-ha if only they could talk… Hmm, you think he is scared of me?... I heard they are really strong, like they can carry 60 times their weight… Wow, what would happen if I carried 60 times my weight, what would I carry?... Oh, and they dig tunnels, I wonder where his tunnel is… he probably has his family waiting for him to bring home food… here take a pretzel… too big? Ok here’s a crumb… What? you don’t like pretzels?

 “MARK!”

“Huh? Wha? Oh, Mr. Wilson.”

“How many times do I have to call you?! Can you summarize for us in two or three words what we have been discussing?”

“Um, pretzels? Ants? Antennas?”

The class bursts out laughing, and the teacher looks furious. Mark is disoriented, he is not sure what just happened. He chuckles along so as not to look like the complete idiot he feels like.

“Oh, you think you’re funny Mark? Please stand outside the classroom until we are done.”

During recess, Mark sits alone inside the principal’s office. He has no way to release his pent-up energy. He can’t sit still in the next class. He tries to occupy himself by doodling in his notebook. The motions calm him a bit, and he is able to pay a bit of attention.

Then he hears, “Mark, what do you think you are doing?”

Mark looks up to find his teacher looming over him, glowering. “This is social studies class, not art class… if you can call that art!”

He tries to take notes, but it doesn’t go. He is really wired now. He can’t stay still. He ends up being quite a disturbance. He gets detention at the end of the week, then threatened with suspension.

Mark leaves school completely drained and discouraged. He still manages to pick up the leftovers from the deli and bring them to the park. Just as he returns home, he remembers the flyers. “Oh man! I volunteered to put out the flyers for the Clothing4Kidz campaign. Shoot, it's tomorrow, I was supposed to do it yesterday. I totally forgot.” He grabs his skateboard, picks up the flyers from the box by the stationery store, and puts them in fifty mailboxes. Now he is really wiped.

 Mark comes home. He grabs two granola bars and goes straight to bed. I don’t think he even showers.

I walk by his bedroom about an hour later. I hear soft sobbing and I go in.

“Mark,” I say softly, “what’s wrong?” I see that he is lying in bed, his lamp is on, and his math book is open next to him.

“I totally forgot”, he tells me, “Big math test tomorrow. I had meant to study tonight, but I got so busy. Mr. Wilson told me I better pass this one or else he doesn’t know if I could graduate middle school. I can’t get left back! I can’t!”

I kiss him gently; I tell him I love him, no matter what. I rub his shoulders and within seconds Mark’s fast asleep.

 At about five in the morning, I wake up and hear noises in the kitchen. I pad out bleary-eyed. I see Mark sitting at the kitchen table with his math book. He is whispering to himself, “Please excuse my dear Aunt Sally… please excuse my dear Aunt Sally…” He is focused intently on his book. I see he is trying so hard to figure it out. He doesn’t even notice me.

I go to the counter, make two mugs of hot chocolate, and sit down next to him.

“Hi, Mom!” He gives me a winning smile “Oh wow thank you!” He takes the hot chocolate.

“How’s it going there, Mark?” His smile disappears, and it gets replaced with a worried frown. “I don’t know Mom. Math is not my thing.”

“Come”, I say, “let’s do this together.”

We study for two hours. I can’t believe he can sit for so long, but he is determined. Once he zones in, he picks up the formulas quickly. Thank God this is not a history exam. Mark has such a hard time remembering names and dates. By the time we are done, there is a gleam in his eyes. He knows the material and is excited. He will pull through on this one. He is actually out the door early today, it’s the first time since the first day of the school year.

I am jittery the whole day, I keep thinking about Mark. He usually comes home at around four. At 3:15 I decide to bake Mark’s favorite cookies, browned butter with white and milk chocolate chunks and mini marshmallows. They’ll be ready right when he walks in. As I take out the cookies, I glance out the window, there he is.

My heart sinks.

He is trudging up the driveway, kicking pebbles, and dragging his feet. He looks miserable.

I run to open the door, and I give him the biggest hug as he walks in. “How was your day sweetie?”

“Worst day ever, Mom” he replies.

“Come,” I say. “I made you cookies, let’s sit and talk about it.”

Mark brightens up, “Oh wow! Thanks, Mom I love these, they are my favorite!”

“I know. I,” I respond with a grin, “and you’re my favorite Mark in the whole wide world, that’s why I’ve made them.”

He gives his trademark winning smile and sits down at the kitchen table. I put down a heaping plate of the freshly baked cookies and a tall glass of milk. Milk and cookies… So cliché, so right.

I wait a few moments for him to eat a bit and then say: “Mark why don’t you tell me about your day?” (Now I’d like to add that although Mark is a pretty open child, he usually does not talk too much about his tough days. I normally have to pull it out of him, and even then, I only get a rough sketch. Today he was unusually forthcoming.)

 His eyes lower and I watch him kind of sink into himself. “So I came to class, and I was feeling excited, I thought to myself, I’m gonna ace this one. I’ll show Mr. Wilson that I am a good student. He gave out the test right at the beginning of class. I was smiling as I took the paper from Mr. Wilson. He said to me ‘Hey there Mark, you look pretty excited this morning,’ I told him ’Yup I am excited for the test, I am going to do well this time!’ ’That’s the Mark I’m looking for,’ he told me, and he patted me on the head and walked away.

“I started to take the test and…” Mark's eyes begin to fill with tears, “I don’t know Mom, it’s like my mind went blank. I couldn’t remember a thing! I knew that I had this, but I couldn’t figure out what to do. I just sat there and stared at the exercises… and nothing! It was like my brain had been erased. I wanted to start drawing, sometimes that helps my mind get stuff back, but I was scared Mr. Wilson would get mad if he saw. I kept waiting, hoping it would like, pop back into my head, cause sometimes that happens. It didn’t happen though. Then when Mr. Wilson collected the papers, I was the last to hand mine in. It was empty besides a few scribbles. He looked very disappointed.

He gave me this big sigh and said, “Mark, is this what you were excited to do? Hand in a blank exam? I expected more from you. If you would just apply yourself and put in some effort, you would be at the top of this class. I know you are real smart.”

 “So what did you tell him?” I ask Mark.

“Nothing,” he replies. “I was scared I would start crying if I said anything. I was really sad. The last thing I needed was for anyone to see me crying to the teacher. I would never go back to school again.”

“Ok,” I say, “It’s alright to cry sometimes but I can understand why you were embarrassed to. What happened after that?”

Mark replies, “I went out into the hall and over to my locker to put some stuff away and get a snack. All of a sudden, I got this like flash! The formula, Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally! I got so frustrated that I had been so dumb. How did I forget that?! I like, banged my head against the locker. I didn’t realize that it was still open a bit and I cut my forehead on the corner of the door. All of a sudden, I felt something warm running down my face. I look down and see blood dripping on the floor. A few girls started freaking out and shrieking. I don’t know why, but it was kinda funny, so I put my hands out like a Zombie and started shuffling towards the girls. They were yelling and hugging each other. It was hilarious.”

I roll my eyes, “Oh Mark…” and shake my head trying to convey disapproval despite my grin.

He continues, “Well, Mr. Wilson came running out of the classroom and he started yelling at me. ’What do you think you are doing Mark?! Are you nuts?!’ Yada yada yada, I don’t even know what else he said. He gave me some tissues to put on my cut and took me to the nurse.

“When we came into the nurse’s office, he said to her ‘Mark seemed to have cut himself so he could scare some students. Can you take care of him… and perhaps we need to call someone?’

“Call who?”  I ask Mark.

He replies “I wasn’t sure what Mr. Wilson was talking about. But then he walked out. The nurse took off the tissues and checked me. ’Oh, it’s just a super fish all cut. Nothing to panic about.’ I thought she was making a joke, I don’t know what a super fish cut is, but it sounded funny. I started laughing. The nurse got all bent outta shape. ’This is not a joke young man. It's not funny to hurt yourself like this!’ I tried to tell her that it was an accident, but she didn’t look like she believed me.”

“After she cleaned me up, she took out her phone and called someone. I heard her say, ‘Can you come to the infirmary, I think I have a new client for you.’ A few minutes later this lady came in. She told me that her name was Miss Allison and that she is the ‘school so shill worker.’ I asked her what a shill is and how do you work with it. She started laughing, as if I had made a good joke or something.”  

“Oh Mark,” I laugh, “Social is one word. A social worker is someone trained to look after the wellbeing of the students.”

I notice a glint in Marks eyes. He seems amused. He stage-whispers to me “Mom of course I know what a social worker is. I just wasn’t interested in playing along with them at that point.”

He continued his story,

“Yeah, so she said something like you said, about looking after us. Anyway, she spoke to the nurse for a few minutes, they were whispering so I couldn’t hear them.

“Then she took me to her office. It was actually a nice room! Real cozy with a yum cushy chair that she let me sit on. She sat on a regular chair. She doesn’t have a desk in there, just a computer in the corner. She had shelves with lots of cool games. She told me we could play together some other time. Miss Allison is real nice, Mom. I like her!”

 “Great!” I say to Mark. “I am so glad you’ve met her. Did you talk at all?”

“Oh yeah!” Mark replies. “We talked for a long time. I told her what really happened, with the test, and the studying and the hot chocolate and Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally and everything!”

Suddenly Mark looks distraught. “Mom, I feel so bad, I think I’ve really insulted her.”

“Why, what happened Mark?” I ask.

 “In the beginning, she kept asking me about the locker, she just kept going back to it. Why did you bang your head again… Are you sure it was by mistake? Did you think it would be funny if you hurt yourself? I got mad when she asked me that. I think I yelled at her. I screamed ’STOP ASKING ME THAT! I told you I didn’t do it on purpose! Are you STUPID or something?’”

“Well, how did she respond?” I ask.

Mark smiles, “Actually she apologized to me for making me upset and said she will try not to again. She said she just had to be 100 percent sure that I didn’t hurt myself intentionally. She said, ’I think you made it pretty clear, Mark.’”

“But do you think she was insulted, Mom? I feel so bad, she was so nice. Maybe she thinks I have an anger problem now or maybe she thinks I’m crazy or maybe she thinks…”

“Mark,” I interrupt gently, “you are none of those and she knows it, don’t you worry.”

“Really Mom, you sure?”

“Yes Mark, anyone can see how wonderful you are, but surely someone as perceptive and well-trained as Miss Allison can see it.”

He looks relieved.

 Mark continues, “She told me I can come by whenever I want to talk. I just need to put my name on a list by her door and she will come and get me that day. She also gave me her number and said you could call her late in the evening or anytime during school. She says she would love to talk to you.”

“Wow, Mark, she sounds wonderful, I am so glad you met her. So why did you still look so down when you came in?”

Mark seems to instantly deflate. He lowers his eyes and I can see his lips quivering. “Mr. Wilson called me out of the last class today.” Mark is talking so low I have to strain to hear him. “He was holding my blank test, and he told me that I need to get it signed by a parent and that I can’t come back to school until you meet with him and the principal. He said you should call the school office to make an appointment as soon as possible.”

“Oh Mark, I am so sorry. That must be so difficult.”

He is crying now. “They all think I am a dumb idiot. They hate me. I’m sure my teachers wish I wasn’t in the school.”

My heart is breaking for him. He is so sensitive, and it’s so hard to see him going through this. “Mark, they love you and want the best for you, they just want to work out the best way for you to make the most of yourself. Don’t worry, I will speak to Miss Allison and your teachers. I’m sure we can clear things up.”

Suddenly I have an idea. “Mark, where is the test?” Mark reluctantly takes it out of his backpack and puts it on the table. “What was the sentence you forgot today?”

“Um, Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally.”

“OK Mark, I want you to try and fill out the test right now. Let’s see how long it takes you. If you ace it, a three-scoop cone at Carvel’s for dessert.” I surreptitiously pick up my phone and start videoing. Mark grabs the paper and takes a pen. He fills out the whole test in 7 minutes and 34 seconds. I check it over. He got a 100% plus the extra credit question!

I tell him “I am so proud of you! Just remember you are not dumb at all. Not too many people can do that test so fast!”

He replies, “Then why couldn’t I do it in school when I wanted to?”

 “How about we ask Dad later when we go out for ice cream. I think he used to have similar troubles when he was your age.”

“Really?” Mark exclaims, “But he is so smart! How can that be?”

“Mark, you are also smart, and charming and generous, and kind…”

“Oh stop it Ma,” Mark says with a slightly sheepish grin.

“Really Mark, you are more like your Dad than you realize.”

Mark goes off to play with a very thoughtful expression on his face.

Later we go out with my husband Jack to the local Carvel’s. Mark gets this massive cone with three scoops. (Cotton Candy flavor, ewe!) We again tell him how much we love him and how special he is. Mark asks Jack, “Dad is it true you had a hard time in school?”

Jack says to Mark “Mark, I sure did. It was quite a challenge! And test taking… whew! Those were doozies! But I pushed through. My parents gave me a lot of encouragement. I will tell you what they told me, ’We want you to know that the effort you put in is way more important to us than the test mark.’ Mark, it’s OK if taking tests is hard for you. It can be stressful and when we are stressed our minds can go blank. Maybe this would be a good thing to work on with Miss Allison.”

Mark smiled, “OK Dad, that’s a good idea!” He went to bed feeling a lot better about himself.

I called Miss Allison that night. She is a gem of a human being. We spoke for a long time and she confirmed what I had originally thought; that the teachers in the school were good people. They care and want the best for their students. Their methods are top notch, and the GPA of the school is in the top five percentile in the state.  Their issue is they are a bit set in their ways. They don’t buy into these new-fangled ideas like ADHD. They say, “In my days there were kids with ants in their pants and space cadets. Nothing a bit of discipline and good techniques can’t solve.”

She tells me, “I try to point out that there are students that aren’t making it. They tend to write them off as lazy and unmotivated. They say, ‘We can only lead a donkey to the water, we can’t make him drink.’ I often try to show them how these kids aren’t lazy and want to do well, but it’s an uphill battle. It’s a battle I will not stop fighting though. These kids are too precious.”

She warns me not to get too worked up during the upcoming meeting. Try to stay on the same side, find common ground, and try to work together.

 I go over to the school the next day with Jack. It was a good thing I had spoken to Miss Allison the night before. She allowed me to see that they mean well.

It is hell though. They just don’t get my Mark. I show them the video of him taking the test. It is so frustrating. All they seem to see was that he was too uninterested in taking the test in school. They refuse to believe that this is a handicap. I am near tears.

Changing schools is not an option for us, but I can’t let Mark continue down the path to despair. If his teachers don’t believe in him though, he could easily. I am willing and do everything I can to give him a chance.

 I can’t sleep at night. I am so worried. My mind gets filled with all these thoughts of; What will be? How will Mark make it? What if he loses belief in himself? These fears are a constant companion. The future can look so bleak sometimes.

Miss Allison suggested an ADHD coach that she says can work wonders. I hope that can work. I am getting another evaluation in an ADHD clinic I’ve just heard about, to further home in on what Mark’s specific challenges are. And I am writing this to try and show what it's like to be Mark's Mom.

I am hoping this will validate some of you and educate some. Many of you may think I am exaggerating, and that this isn’t real. Over dramatization, the school is probably right. These parents coddle their kids way too much etc., etc.  

At least five percent of you know that this is real. This is a drop in the bucket, just 36 hours. Imagine a lifetime. Mark is a mild case; others are way more challenging. We at least have the means to hire a coach and can afford some of the therapies. Other families don’t have that luxury. Some don’t even have families.

 If you are reading this, if you are a parent or a teacher of ADHD kids, I am begging, pleading, with tears in my eyes, please, please, please, see them as good children who want to do well. Recognize their wonderful qualities. Understand that they have unique strengths, but they are wired differently. Encourage them and celebrate their successes. Love them to pieces.