This is clearly seen in the case of my youngest brother, Barry. Barry is decidedly not plagued (as doctors unkindly put it) by ADHD; he somehow escapes Mom’s genetic curse, instead inheriting Dad’s astounding athleticism and brilliant engineering mind.
One fine day, Barry is scuba diving the sun-warmed waters off the Florida coast. He has brought his trusty self-designed Blacktip Custom Speargun in the hope of bagging some delicious underwater prey. (To avoid owing a royalty fee, I’ll include his terrifying logo and link: http://www.blacktipspearguns.com).
Soon enough, Barry’s handsome and “always accurate” speargun finds its mark along the sandy bottom. Twice, in fact.
Soon thereafter, sleek and “never happy” sharks, equally pleased by Barry’s success, swarm overhead and cut off Barry’s underworld escape.
In the blue skies far above, my brother would breathe un-tanked oxygen. Upon green Earth, he would see himself grilling grouper with gusto. At this moment, however, Barry sees little but teeth. Not little teeth. Little but teeth. All attached to tiny minds. Their keen interest in my brother’s two fat fish conflicts with Barry’s “I shot ’em, I got ’em” viewpoint.
A momentary standoff freezes time as each side weighs its odds.
Sharks: “There are only two spears.”
Barry: “There are only 40 sharks.”
Barry, having determined his odds are better than the sharks’, decides to swim through the swarm of hammerheads. Realizing that toting his catch on long stringers may tempt the sharks to dart in and chomp away, Barry outsmarts the persistent primordial predators.
He straps the groupers to himself.
One big, dark body on each side, Barry has become the delicious white stuff in the ocean Oreo’s middle. On land, this is equivalent to a man wrapping his body with moose meat, then running inside a den filled with grizzly bears.
Slowly, steadily, Barry kicks his way up and swims right through the increasingly agitated brutes. The sharks never even nibble, apparently confused by the groupers’ ability to ascend without ever flipping their tails.
Barry breaks surface close to the dive boat. Unhurriedly, he climbs aboard to warmth, safety and the hearty hugs of his loving Lisa.
“Grilled grouper, guys!” he shouts to amazed onlookers. They fearfully peek past Barry at the array of frustrated fins. They silently stare at one another. They gape shamelessly at unscathed Barry, the sea’s swimming sandwich-board for the new underwater “Bite-Me-Now Blackwell Buffet.”
Normal people watch what we in the ADHD world do and shake their heads.
But you are no better.
Know many ADHD stories like this in your own life or the lives of friends? Please share them here for us all to enjoy.