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Imagine yourself in a multiplex movie theater. Curiously, no walls separate the half-dozen theaters that form the multiplex. Miraculously, you are watching six different screens all at once, thoroughly understanding and enjoying every scene, word, character.

Welcome to ADHD

[You in the Real World, be sure to click on the red underlined hyperlinks! And know these accounts are truewithout exaggeration!]

Fire fellowsLegal Luis is at the right end of the bottom row … with no deer in sight.

I have shown Real World readers life in an ADHD head (mine). I have shown you a Real Worlder’s mind (that of youngest brother Barry) when it’s tied to what seems an ADHD-powered body.

But now … now I’ll show you a Real Worlder’s life as it is watched through a six-screen filter.

It is Wednesday, perhaps 3am, and friend Luis Baez enjoys the quiet drive to work in his company’s car.

Suddenly the lonely highway is very, very unlonely, hints Screen Three.

Luis becomes aware of just how “unlonely” the once-desolate highway is because he hears a whump! at the same time his car inexplicably lurches.

Wow, that went right over the roof! marvels Six, never describing what went right over the roof. Not something you see every day, by golly.

Not something Luis sees at all, actually. Scanning from side to side, he cannot find what made such noise and yet never stopped his vehicle outright. Then he looks in the rearview and his disbelieving eyes behold a –

Big buck“Massive buck,” says the responding officer. “Can’t believe impact didn’t kill you both.”

“Why you say that?” asks perfectly legal Luis, caught between the Spanish of his former Mexican homeland and the English of his new country of proud citizenship.

“I say it,” the highway patrolman continues, “because the only thing that kept this stag – ”

Now he calls it a stag! complains Three. Guess the “buck” stops here.

“ – from smashing through your shield and breaking your neck is the car’s scooped front end.” He whistles softly. “Just beautiful,” he murmurs, then turns to Luis. “Eight points.”

“Eight points!” roars Luis, lapsing into Ricky Ricardo Spanglish. “Why you geeve me eight points? ‘Beee-u-tiful’ deer run eento meee! I do nothing but – ”

“Eight points,” laughs the officer, “on the deer’s antlers. Not your license.”

“Points” are the “Boone and Crockett” measurement of a creature’s antlers, narrates naturalist Five. A stag with eight-point antlers is one big Bambi.

Saintly Miss Stephanie, blushing bride of legal Luis, takes the post-accident phone call and weeps, “Please end his suffering.”

She mean the buck? asks Four.

Luis, mildly miffed at wifely emphasis on stag, not stud, explains the same flip over the roof which thrilled Steph’s “dear,” killed Steph’s deer.

Insurance steps in. Real World life resumes at breakneck pace.

“Breakneck?” questions Screen One. Really? Had to say it right there?

Retreat rowdiesOne week later, it is Wednesday morn, 4 at the latest. Luis Baez, stripped of his smashed company car, pilots Stephanie’s spankin’ new car to his job.

No way, shudders Two.

“Yes way,” I reply. “Luis hits a huge deer.”

Responding highway officer –

Not the same one, explains Six. But just as impressed that Luis has hit yet another eight-pointer!

– asks legal Luis (phoning sad Stephanie a second time in seven days) to help drag carcass off highway. Luis begs bride to wait one moment while two men tug antlers.

Antlers, laughs Three, become eight-point swords as “carcass” leaps to feet to skewer dashing dudes.

Boom! bangs the gun the officer draws, decidedly dropping dazed and definitely damaged deer. Wondering wife wails into phone. Legal Luis proves less lucky explaining second highway accident – “Yes, ees deefferent deer at same streeeet!” – to local insurance.

Months pass. At the family reunion, hunting-hardened brothers and cousins corral Luis, mocking his missing machismo. “You nothing,” they inform my friend. “But we bag beeggest deers of lives. Four points!”

Humble hero smiles. “That ees all? For whole lives? Heh! In joost one week, I get two eight-pointers.”

 

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Postscript: Last week’s column describes my being lost. In the woods. At night. During a blizzard.

Not as scary, says Six, as your brother Barry and his lady being left behind. In the ocean. At night. With sharks.

Coaxes Two, So this trip, you enter the dining lodge’s restroom. And when you exit, you find lights extinguished, supper buddies gone?

Spooked, cell-less and sighing for salvation, I throw on coat, cap and courage while walking 50 dark steps to double doors. As I touch handles, brilliant light floods me –

Guiding angel? asks One.

– and “Got you!” fills my ears, two bums laughing wildly behind 10,000-lumen flashlight. “Afraid you’d get lost again this year?”

Titanium knee shaking, I am without ready response to my men’s group duo. But sly Screen Five murmurs, Next retreat’s a year off. Plenty of planning time. And camp’s got countless, curious coyotes ….

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