Pedro's Office and Other Places

“Get out of those drawers,” I cautioned my newly-wed husband. We were waiting in the examination room of his long-time family doctor, Pedro.

“There might be something in here that I need,” he rebuked me.

“Like what?” I asked. “That’s where they keep tongue depressors and other supplies they use with patients. Those are not yours to take.”

“Of course, I can take them,” he countered. “I pay for services, and if Pedro doesn’t use one of these on me, I can take it home.”

He began to pocket a couple of band-aides and a large tongue depressor. I turned my head so I would not be a witness to it.

“Oh, Lord!” I wailed inwardly. “The nurse will walk in here at any moment and catch him.”

Finally I could not contain it. “Why do you think you have the right to riffle through those things?”

“Oh, Mom does it all the time. She opens drawers and says ‘I need one of these’ and puts it in her purse.”

For some unknown reason I laughed with him, and envisioned his mother humming and nonchalantly examining potential treasures.

However, I made a mental note to talk with my Mother-in-law of six weeks.

“The other day your son was digging through the drawers in Pedro’s examination room,” I began. “He said he learned it from you, which seems to make it right.”

She turned a light shade of crimson before she laughed. “Yep, I dig around in there myself in case I find something I want.” she explained.

Now nearly 40 years later I vividly recall my sense of amazement and moral astonishment. I was reminded of it just the other day.

“What are you doing in the bottom drawer of my desk?” I asked Husband who was visiting my office.

“Looking to see what you have in there,” he casually replied as he opened a box of snacks. “This is where you keep snacks and munchies.”

I don’t expect him to ask, but a statement of intent would be nice.

He has played with others’ desk and office objects at various times and occasions throughout the years as happened at the bank last week.

This time he wrapped the chain of a pen around and around the support, then unwrapped it only to begin wrapping it again.  “Why are you twirling the chain on that base?” I asked while we waited for a banker.

“Because it is there,” he reasoned. “If they don’t want people like me to play with pens and chains on their desks, they shouldn’t have them right in front of us.”

When I attempted to explain this persistent behavior to Oldest Daughter, she gave me her standard come back, “Don’t blame it on ADHD, Mom. It is nothing but personality.”

“How can I separate behavior from his ADHD?  All decisions, all actions seem to flow through that filter.”

“It is a matter of choice. As you always tell us, life is a series of choices, and he is has learned to make such choices.”

“I see it as a social thing.  It seems he does not have the same social filters most of us have.”

“He has the social training he got from his mother,” she argued.

“Well, we strongly suspicion that she was also a person with ADHD. Thom Hartmann’s perspective on ADHD suggests persons with it are descendants of Hunters of early-day cultures."

“Humpf.”

She and her sister seem to say that to me quite often.

Had To

When the phone rang, I heard Husband pause after he said hello. “Well, we had to Mrs. Bea; she died.”

It seems Mrs. Bea began the conversation, “I heard you buried your Grandmother Lutz.”

He could have said Grandma died the week before, or he could have excused the family for not telling Mrs.B. Instead, Husband thought his comment was most fitting and rather funny.

Grandmother Lutz would have rolled her eyes and laughed at him. She never really cared for Mrs. Bea who was the across-the-street neighbor from where Husband grew up.

Mrs. Bea had an annoying habit of clicking her tongue near the back of her throat as she crocheted or knitted, two activities which she did often. It wasn’t the clicking that bothered Grandma. It was the incessant bossiness and control issues.

Then Mrs. B heard the sound of our new baby crying in the background. It was her birth that kept me from going to the funeral of a really great lady and friend.

“What’s that I hear in the background?” asked Mrs. B.

“Our new daughter. She was born three days before Grandma died.”

“I didn’t know Atha gave birth again,” was the surprised response.

“She had to. She was pregnant, and it was time for the baby to come out.”

Another “had to” statement.

Husband loves to make them when people ask questions or make comments he finds insipid.

For example, “Did you take a shower?” 

Husband may answer, “Had to. I stank.”

Or, “Did you pay the electricity and phone bills?”

He will answer, “Had to. They were about to shut off our service.”

We were a few weeks from our wedding the first time I realized this was his way of answering questions he doesn’t want to deal with. At the retirement home where I worked, a noisy nurse kept prying him for information about our wedding plans.

Originally we had planned to marry the end of October, but with school starting coupled with our eagerness to get on with our lives, we moved the date to the end of July.

“I hear you and Atha are getting married sooner than October?” Nursie asked.

Husband may be slow to social clues at times, but he thought he knew where she was going with her question.

“That’s right,” he said, to which she countered with “How come?”

“Have to,” he replied.

“Well, that’s all right. Things like that happen these days. No one is going to think anything about it.”

“What does that mean?” he asked. “Do you think she is pregnant?”

“Well, I…” she began to stammer.

“You’re wrong. When I said we have to it is because we hate saying goodnight at her front door. She is ready to have her own home away from her parents.”

Of course when he told me about the conversation, I got livid.

“That’s my reputation you are messing with,” I said. “Do you realize she is a first-class gossip?”

“I never thought of it that way,” and he was sincerely apologetic. “I just thought she was trying to find out if we are sleeping together.”

“And I bet she was delighted to think she got that kind of information out of you.”

“I told her the truth about why we moved up the date.”

“But you didn’t tell her we are not sleeping together.”

In those days, people wondered about the sex lives of unmarried couples. Today I think they just assume.

Anyway, we married because we had to. I had to be with him as much as possible. He had to get married to be loved and adored. I now understand that “had to” is a suitable way to describe us.

Never Too Late

Husband’s parents took their kids on awesome trips throughout childhood.

I once told Husband, “The McNay kids got to go to Disneyland when I was only beginning to hear about it on TV.” He asked, “So? What’s your point?”

After his mother died, Husband found reels of movies at his dad’s house.  “These home movies show us at various places around the country from Washington State to Florida, from the west coast to the east coast. Of course, these were because Dad had to travel with his job. It wasn’t as fun as it may look.”

Was he bragging or complaining?

I’ve often thought their family developed structure and cohesion on those trips, and they learned a great deal, too. Husband isn’t unconvinced by that comment.

“That’s a bunch of B.S.,” he tells me, only he doesn’t use the initials.

Earlier he had told me, “Mom and Dad would travel by car at night with us four kids in the back seat. Mom filled the floor of the backseat with pillows and told us to put our heads on the pillows and our feet up in the back window. Sleep made the drives more doable, especially for a child with ADHD.”

I’ve heard dozens of stories about their adventures, mostly ones that focus on Husband’s mother and her funny escapades.

Father-in-law received the credit for paying for trips and for exerting discipline.

From our earliest days together, Husband complained much about his dad and how he felt his dad basically rejected him.

However,  five years ago, when Father-in-law was told he would die in a matter of months, Husband and I were the ones who made faithful trips to see him and his wife every evening. Husband genuinely wanted to spend time with them and lift their spirits.

During one of the visits, Husband asked his sister to join use, and the two of them began talking about their antics growing up in the same house and neighborhood all their lives. They told their dad of adventures about which he had no previous knowledge.

The McNay kids had reputations.

 “Remember Bertha who lived across the street? She was always blaming us for the things her next-door neighbor’s kids did,” said Husband’s sister.

Husband added, “Even after I married,” began Husband. “Atha’s mom invited her to Thanksgiving Dinner, and she proceeded to tell me what ruffians we were.”

He continued, “I told her that she was so old, she’d lost her memory. I reminded her that her problems were with Deloris’ kids.”

 “Of course we did do a few things that weren’t right,” said Husband.

“Yep,” agreed his sister. “Like the time I was mad at our brother for getting me into trouble with the folks. He came to me and asked if the bright green shirt he had on matched the shade of brown in his pants. They looked terrible together, so I told him he looked great. He was on his way for a date with Theresa.”

We all laughed, thinking of how color-blind he truly is.

“What happened?” asked Father-in-law.

“He was back in about twenty minutes to change his clothes. He pointed his finger at me and called me an asshole. I guess she didn’t like his choices.”

At first, Father-in-law’s mouth flew open. Then, the three of them began to laugh. They laughed until they cried. Even the sick Father-in-law guffawed.

The reminiscence went on for hours. Later, I asked Husband if he ever thanked Father-in-law for all he’d done for them.

“Never have,” was the reply. But the day came when Stepmother phoned for our help.

Father-in-law sat on the sofa with his head down, eyes closed, not talking or moving. She said he had been that way most of the day.

As we waited for an ambulance, Husband sat next to him patting his shoulders.

“Dad, do you remember a few weeks ago when we talked about all the adventures you made possible for us as kids?”

Father-in-law slowly nodded his head.

“Well, I guess I never did say this, but thank you for all you did.”

Father-in-law jerked up his head and looked with amazement at Husband. It was if he was trying to see the alien who had taken over Husband’s body.

Then he relaxed. “We had some good times, didn’t we?”

Public Encounters of the Extrovert Kind

Public Encounters of the Extrovert Kind

We love to eat at the Bangkok Restaurant in Wichita, and over the years, we have made friends with various owners and staff there.

I don’t know the first name of the woman who currently owns it, but we have known and her late husband for a couple of years. This past summer he died while on a trip back to Vietnam to see family, so her nephew Keo has joined in helping her operate her business.

Keo is a winsome man about 25 years of age with a bright smile and heavy accent. I find it difficult to completely understand all he says, but Husband carries on lengthy conversations with him. It was Keo who told us about the death and who comes to laugh and talk as we wait for the appetizer platter we order at every meal.

Husband encourages it.

Last week, the entire family met there for Friday dinner. The adult children were seated and waiting when Husband and I walked in.

“Oh, it is you!” exclaimed an excited Keo when he saw us approach the table. Obviously he had not recognized the others in our party.

“Hey, Keo,” laughed Husband, “I guess we eat here a lot.”

Keo ran to throw his arm around Husband’s ample waist. Since Husband stands about 6 foot, three inches and Keo stands about five foot, it was a humorous embrace, coupled with the fact that Keo is noticeably thin, while Husband is noticeably not.

“How you been?” asked the host as he took our orders.

“We’re well and hungry,” responded Husband.

The rest of the conversation alluded me, since I could only understand the one-syllable responses Husband made.

Keo chattered on and on, and especially when he came to the end of table where my two beautiful daughters sat.

Back to where Husband sat, he talked with Husband about learning to speak English while in training as a Buddhist monk.

“That’s very good.  You made a good choice. I am glad you worked hard,” Husband replied.  Keo didn’t know Husband could only hear part of what he said, and only cared about the food we had ordered.

Keo probably doesn’t understand that as a person with ADHD, it takes a great deal of energy for Husband to do something like remain silent or control certain conversations.

It reminds me of when we go to malls and other public events. People with developmental disabilities we knew many years ago will spot Husband each time.

“Hi,” they yell at him and call out his name.

It doesn’t matter if it has been over 30 years since we last saw the individual. It is Husband they remember.

He carries on conversations with them as if he just saw them a few days prior.

They don’t know he will eventually ask me their names and which settings in which we knew them.

Husband’s mother was also gregarious and engaging, and I remember a specific event that took place when we had been married about two months.

We all attended the funeral of a local pilot killed in a flight test. His mistress was really broken up about his death and the fact his legal wife and children received all the words of comfort and condolence.

Later several in the group met at a restaurant, and Mother-in-law saw someone she knew sitting across the room.

She stood at her place and waved her napkin with broad strokes.

 “Hey,” she called to the other person who called back.

Without looking up from his menu, Father-in-law said, “Sit down, Bett.”

She glanced down at him and quickly took her seat. Then, she turned to the single young engineer sitting next to her.

“Pay for Debby’s dinner,” she told him, referring to her youngest daughter and his expense account.

He dutifully did so.

Mother-in-law was at her best in group situations. I think it may be because as a person with ADHD symptoms, she craved high stimulus settings. ADHD is most common among attention-grabbing people.

One Way to Get Attention ...

“What’s wrong with Dad today?” asked one of our adult children.

I had been so busy with my own work, I wasn’t aware that anything might be wrong with Husband, so I dutifully hurried to the kitchen in search of him.

Just as I heard, he sat at the kitchen table: arms folded across his chest, scowl on his face, and his lower lip literally protruding at least one inch.

Not to be unkind, but my insides flipped over at the sight of him pouting there. I mean some moments are gaggers and this was one that did not set well with me.

Without much sympathy, I asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m mad,” he said sternly.

Now, obviously he was mad. I didn’t need an interpreter for his body language.

I turned to the adult who had summoned me. “In answer to your question, he’s mad.”

This was not the first time in our many years together that I had seen Husband pouty because he had not gotten his way, and I ceased to be drawn into his emotion by it. I turned away toward my office and work. I did not have time for his pity party.

Husband called after me, “We received word today that we are to move offices back to the west side of town.”

“And that makes you mad? Why?” I literally put on my brakes when he spoke.

“Some assholes decided we had too much going for us as a group, and they are going to break us up into different sections.”

Ahh, I realized he thought this decision was made to annoy him personally, but work waited for me at my desk. There was no time to pursue the conversation.

When I returned nearly two hours later, Husband still sat in the same position while staring at the floor.

Another of my adult children said, “I think Dad is mad.” This in turn made her angry, and she stormed from the room.

“Great. Now I have two of them,” I thought. I considered talking with Husband at greater length about his anger. Did I really want to get into this?

“Did you eat?” I asked him.

“Not hungry,” he snapped, so I fixed a sandwich for myself.

“This is not fair. We have a great productive team, and it was too much for upper echelon to handle.”

“Do you really think that was the reason for this decision?”

He turned his anger toward me. “Of course,” he yelled. “They were out to break us up, and now I have to go back to the west side.”

“The drive is closer,” I offered as I ignored his tone.

“Not much,” he growled, and I noticed he had not changed his body position at all during the conversation.

Just then our third adult child came into the kitchen and asked, “What’s wrong with Dad?”

By then, the entire incident was absurd. “He’s mad because he has to move offices to the west side of town in a few week, and he totally resists that decision.”

“Oh, Daddy,” she laughed “ You are so funny. I was afraid you had lost your job.”

“And the only reason any of you would care has to do with the money I would not bring in to feed and clothe you all.”  I realized this was going to turn into an attack on us.

I insisted he straighten the kinks from his legs and go with me for a walk. Experience had taught me we were in for a long dry spell while he worked through this disappointment.

Blunders and Other Speech Patterns

TV character Gomer Pyle made us laugh with his joke of how he complimented his date: “You don’t sweat much for a fat girl”, and then, of course, he couldn’t understand why she got mad at him.

Husband makes blunders along that line much of the time. He says things and then does not understand why they do not turn out as he had planned.

In the old Sumpter Hall at Friends University, he and I and several classmates sat at one of the retro tables sipping cokes and talking. One girl at the table was my buddy whom I will call Grace, a silly,selfish adolescent in many ways, She had never been on a date, and she felt out of the social swing of life.

Husband, my then boyfriend, turned to her and asked, “When are you going out on a date with me, Grace?”

She blushed and giggled while everyone at the table turned and looked at me. I responded with, “It sounds as if he is serious. I would give him an answer if I were you.” I refused to let on how much his comment stung.

My then-boyfriend turned a bit ashen, but that began several weeks of them going out on dates.

Husband recalled the event several years later by saying, “ I can’t explain why I asked that question. I thought I would make you jealous, but it all backfired when you told her to pursue it. That was one of the stupidest things I have ever done.”

Actually, I can think of many others that were far more imprudent, bit this is not the venue to delve into them.

“I remember I did everything I could to include you in my dates with her. Remember the time we came and got you to go to the movies with us? We picked up then-pregnant Jan because Larry was at work, and then came for you. I think Grace was not too happy with that one.”

“How did you convince her to invite me?” I knew I would not have agreed to his plan at all had the situation been reversed.

“I had this spontaneous thought how to pull it off, I mentioned Jan should get out of the house since Larry was at work. Then, I casually asked ‘I wonder how Simers is doing’ as I steered the car toward your house.”

“You paid for my ticket and sat between Grace and me.” I remember how we dominated the rest of the evening with our own private conversation.”

Husband also recalled the night I went with him and Grace to count shooting stars. “Remember that August when Kjersti invited us to the farm to watch the star show?”

Of course I remember. “It seems we laid out in that field for hours, then we finally got smart and crawled into the station wagon. Didn’t it belong to Grace’s parents? You slept in the back end, had her take the front seat, and directed me to the middle seats. You kept raising your head to check on me.”

“I wanted to make certain you were still there between me and her. If she had attempted to get into the back with me, she might have tried something. I didn’t want her to smother me to death with her big boobs.”

“That isn’t a funny picture,” I said, “But the funny part was the way you kept throwing cigarettes.” 

During that period of his life, Husband smoked a great deal. On that particular August night the Kansas sky was most clear and the meteors were abundany. Each time we saw one we would count aloud. Husband must have become bored with the entire thing, so he began smoking throwing his still-lit cigarette butts into the air while counting. “Ninety-eight.There goes Ninety-nine. Look! Now we are up to 100.”

That was about the time he suggested we get in the station wagon for a bit of sleep.