So, if you don't know me, you should know I'm A.D.D.
I'm not A.D.H.D. That's the kid who's running around the room with scissors. Definitely not me.
I am the kid who daydreamed, who then became the teenager and now middle-aged adult who daydreamed and continues to daydream.
To say I'm constantly distracted would be an understatement.
So, you might ask, why is someone so distracted sitting still long enough to write blog post?
Great question! You know, I really don't get the opportunity to formulate thoughts before they come tumbling out of my mouth. Really, I'm the guy they were talking about with the cliche, "Better to be silent and thought stupid, than talk and remove all doubt." Writing gives me a chance to get those thoughts organized without the punishment of handwriting.
So, one of my fond memories of New Orleans Public Schools was Second Grade. We were learning to write in cursive. Those of you who are younger than, say, 30, you will probably want to look this up on Wikipedia. Just saying.
As you can imagine, my teacher was a sparkling example of humanity that could only be found teaching in my little part of the world, known as New Orleans East, or Gentilly. We were given a paragraph to copy from the chalkboard (once again, under 30, this is a chalkboard) and write in cursive. The story was fascinating. I believe that it was concerning winter, and involved sledding. Sledding was something I had read about doing in snow. Snow was also something that I had never seen. I imagined snow, and sledding, and immense fun that could be had in snow on sleds. Oh, the place I went! Really a James Taylor, kind of "Carolina in my Mind" moment.
Wham! "Baby, what are you doing? Everyone else is finished!" (OK, look. I realize that immediately, many of you under 30 gasped in disbelief at the horrific sexual harassment dumped on this incredibly cute seven year old kid. It was the '70's. It was New Orleans. Laissez les bon temps roulez.)
She was right! Everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves, smiling triumphantly with their rounded scissors and paste in hand. Happily, they cut and pasted (OK, so by "cut and pasted" I mean literally cut with scissors and pasted with glue or paste. Look, maybe there is an article about the 70's you guys could just read. I'm not linking it. Seriously.) as I sadly had to continue the drudgery and abject horror of writing in cursive. Didn't this woman know how bad my hand hurt? Probably I would be disabled for life, having to copy a whole paragraph. I mean, really, what can she expect? Of all the classrooms in New Orleans, I had to be in the "speed writers" class.
"If you think by going slow you're going to get out of this, young man, you're wrong!"
Great. How in the name of Archie Manning am I ever going to finish this whole paragraph? It will be hours before I can finish. Maybe they'll lock me in the school. I won't get to go home. My little brother will never know me. I can only imagine my poor mother, telling Jason the story of the brother he once had. "I wish you could have known Jay. He was smart, funny, and incredibly athletic. If only he had finished that paragraph. He's still in second grade at W.C.C. Claiborne. Now be a good boy and finish your handwriting."
"James, you're going to need to finish, or you're getting a note sent home to your parents"
Yep. I'm A.D.D. Stick with me, and we'll talk about it.