My Son Has ADHD and It’s a Relief

My Son Has ADHD and It’s a Relief

My oldest son is 8 years old, smart as a whip, sensitive like his mom and a smart-ass like his dad. He’s imaginative and excitable, he loves to read and play video games, and he hates sports.

He also has trouble focusing and sitting still, and he often has out-sized emotional reactions to minor incidents.

After years of being frustrated by what I considered his immaturity and spoiled entitlement, I now know that much of his most challenging behavior is a manifestation of his ADHD.

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Fear and Loathing and the Momo Challenge

Fear and Loathing and the Momo Challenge

My instinct is to joke about it. To make fun of the whole thing, to poke fun at the people who fall for it, to bemoan the dumb victims and their bad parents.

But he whole thing is so twisted it makes my stomach churn. These are little kids.

No matter how desperately I wish it were funny, the Momo Challenge isn’t a joke. Real or not, the prospect is terrifying.

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Why Do We Lie About Parenting?

Why Do We Lie About Parenting?

Parenting is hard.

Everyone knows this. Parents know, the child-free know, even kids know. They don’t care, but they know.

Caring for and raising and protecting and molding and teaching another human being, from scratch, is mentally taxing, physically exhausting, expensive, boring, and stressful. Even if you think it’s the greatest thing in the world, you can’t deny how challenging it is.

So why do we lie about it?

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The Downside of Success

The Downside of Success

I had a good childhood. My parents were attentive and supportive, and we didn’t want for much.

My brothers and I had our own rooms, we had a pool in the backyard, I had a bike, we had cable, a VCR, at one point we had a Laserdisc player for some reason, and we had a big screen TV. I wasn’t spoiled; there was plenty of stuff I wanted that I didn’t get, like the latest video game system, a TV in my room, a car, a girlfriend, a social life, etc., but there was nothing I needed. It was pretty great!

Too bad it’s ruining my kids’ lives.

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Victims Are Not To Blame

Victims Are Not To Blame

Last week, my wife went to book club.

As occasionally happens when she (read: anyone) gets together with her friends, the night got away from her and she was out later than she’d anticipated. So I texted her for an update and learned that, due to a series of mishaps with the subway, she’d ended up far afield from where she wanted to be.

Enlightened Nice Guy that I am, I got irritated and scolded my wife for not having taken a car and for putting herself in harm’s way. After all, it was after dark, and SHE IS A WOMAN!

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