Tag: adhd

Street Pickle

On By amandalgoodwinLeave a comment

Most nights, when my son is at my house, we play between one to three “street pickleball” games before dinner. We live in a lovingly congested neighborhood where kids, pets, and adults still make space for one another.

We don’t set up a net; our equipment came from Dollar Tree, but we both get pretty into it. Zara likes to watch from the living room’s big picture window, and more than once, we’ve given neighbors, dog walkers, and other passer-byers a fairly decent show.

A few weeks ago, after Briggs started a pickleball unit in gym class, we asked the kids next door for a piece of chalk to outline an “official” court. They obliged, and Briggs and I confirmed the dimensions with old man Google, mapped them out with the appropriate number of steps, and put the chalk to the pavement.

Then we played.

I won that best-of-three series, but neither of us got our typical dopamine rush from going after long shot balls (which on an official court were 100% out) or sprinting after the tiniest pop of a return (which absolutely would not make it over a net).

On our way into the house, I told him:

“Even though I’ll take the W, I think I like it better when we just guess on the boundaries and don’t play on an actual court.”

He responded:

“I would rather take the W, but you’re not wrong.”

The next time we played, Briggs mentioned that he learned in gym class that scoring only happens when you serve, so we decided to apply that official rule and return to eyeballing the boundaries.

This time, the game time doubled (which we loved), and the dopamine rush returned (which we really loved).

By the end, we were both sweaty, happy, and satisfied—Briggs because he earned the W, and I was struck by the benefits of changing, bending, and even abandoning the rules.

At other times in my life, I can imagine myself experiencing this moment and taking it as a sign from the universe to break the chalk, eff the boundaries, and have more fun doing most (if not all) things the way I want.

I think time changes things, mainly how I think.

Because this time, the lesson felt far more specific:

Pay attention. Know when you’re playing street pickleball with the human you grew, and the goal is staying connected now that he’s out here living. Know when the rules don’t matter. Know when the game isn’t what you’re playing. And know when they do, and it is.

Also, have more fun.

Rage to Rush

On By amandalgoodwinLeave a comment

When I was 20, I went to Luxembourg through my college’s study abroad program. While there, a friend from school and I decided to spend spring break in Barcelona. On that trip, I got mugged and then pick-pocketed on the train ride home.

When I called my mom from the French railways—through the US Embassy—for the second time in less than twenty-four hours because I’d been robbed—her first question was: “Did you really get pickpocketed, or are you just too embarrassed that you lost your wallet again?”

Not a great moment for either of us.

Twenty-three years later, I understand my mom’s reaction a bit better.

The only thing worse than having ADHD is living with someone who has ADHD. I kid, though, it’s funny because it’s true.

Neither my mom nor I knew I had ADHD growing up, and I only have a diagnosis now because I advocated for my kiddo to be evaluated at a young age. Turns out he got it from his momma.

I grew up losing everything: backpacks, sweatshirts, shoes, and expensive sporting equipment. Once (this demonstrates how small a town I grew up in), my mom gave me a signed blank check to bring to school so I could put down a deposit on my high school class ring. I took the check off the kitchen table and went to school. That night, the phone rang. My mom answered and thanked the person on the other end over and over.

“Amanda?!?!”

“Yeah?”

“Did you put the deposit down on your ring today?”

“Oh shoot, I forgot – but I took the check. They’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Where’s the check?”

“I don’t know, probably in my car.”

“Actually, it’s not because someone from the church recognized my name and just called. When she went to pick up her kid, she found the check lying in the school’s parking lot.”

“Wow, super lucky she didn’t use it.”

“AMANDA!”

Charming and sickening versions of this story exist for every stage of my life.

I mean, case and point, I can recall these exact conversations more than 20 years later, but just this morning, I lost my phone because I made my bed.

Not that anyone saw, but I’m assuming the visual of me barking at Alexa to keep calling my phone and my twelve-year-old using his good ears to find the buzz was the stuff of bad sitcoms.

After successfully uncovering the phone from under a comforter and quilt, Briggs said, “Am I good or what?”

I told him he was the best, and I meant it.

My ADHD rage quickly morphed into a rush of dopamine. And it felt very real to me that even though some things don’t change, they do.

As soon as I wrote that second to last sentence, Tom Sawyer started playing in my head.