Managing ADHC in my seventies

*

I’m sure I had a mild form of Attention Deficit Disorder when I was a kid.

But in the 1950s, no one cared.

The Sisters at Sacred Heart School kept a tight lid on their large classrooms.

Particularly Sister Robert Cecile, my 6th grade teacher.

Rainy days were the worst.

No recess.

How many stick figures can a kid sketch?

How many times can he ask permission to go to the bathroom?

Robert Cecile was no fool.

Finally fed up, she would keep me after school on the last day of class.

However, time took care of things. It usually does. My brain matured. I followed.

By my late twenties, I became a civilized adult who could stick to a task.

My revenge was to become a teacher.

The fidgeter was in charge of the fidgetees.

First, five years of trying to figure out 6th graders.

Then, forty years of getting to know undergraduates.

Aware that each of them would, like me, eventually grow up.

*

Today, five years into retirement, I’m still easily distracted.

When I look out the window, no one says, “Paul, quit daydreaming.”

Then, Sister called it laziness. Today, it’s creativity.

Now, I can get up and go to the bathroom anytime.

And I’m encouraged to stay hydrated.

So I move around a lot.

It’s good for the joints.

*

However, the tree outside the window offered no help with this sentence.

My bladder was temporarily empty.

Most importantly, I’ve turned off my MAC’s notifications for my waking hours.

The shade covers Windows, and the cleaning sign bars entry to the bathroom.

No trumpet announcement. No look-at-me red circle.

With the silence of the MAC, I can do my work.

I wish Sister Robert Cecile could see me now.

And that I could see all my former students.

Particularly those 6th graders.

Still lined up two by two, marching into retirement.

And stepping, unmonitored, into their bathrooms.