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I skipped all the way home from school that day. Report cards had come out, and I was SO PROUD. We were overseas, so the school system did not have the traditional grades of A, B, C, etc. Instead, we had O for outstanding, S for satisfactory, and N for needs improvement. My entire report card was so full of O’s it was practically polka-dotted!
I could tell my mother was pleased, but she didn’t say too much. Praise was not her parenting style. She did tell me to be sure to show my dad when he got home. It felt like forever before he finally arrived—though in reality, it was probably only an hour or two. I then waited anxiously while he changed out of his uniform.
I can still see him coming down the short hall. I don’t remember his first words-something along the lines of, “I hear you have something to show me.” I held the card behind my back for a bit, savoring the moment, and then ceremoniously handed it over. He slowly opened and perused the card. He took his time, too, finally saying, “Well, what are you so happy about? This whole thing is filled with zeroes!” he teased, misreading the O’s for zeroes.
In that moment, I was crushed in a way I cannot begin to describe. I burst into tears. He immediately tried to comfort me, to no avail. There was nothing he could do. The searing pain felt physical. I ran to my room, climbed up on the top bunk, and fell asleep sobbing. That night was one of the rare times I fell off the bed while asleep. There really was physical pain from that! The pain, both physical and psychological, lessened with time, but that little second-grader never celebrated another report card day.
Looking back now, I understand that what happened wasn’t just about a misunderstood joke. It was also the result of something I didn’t know then: It would be years—decades—before I would learn that exaggerated emotional responses are a common symptom of ADHD in girls. Through education and training, I learned to recognize responses that were inappropriate to the immediate situation.
I am happy to report that eventually, I learned how to prevent those over-the-top reactions, or at least better handle them on the rare occasions they occurred in adulthood. There would be many more symptoms that went unrecognized—stories for another time.
To. Be. Continued.