WWII: They Did Their Job

I considered writing this on November 10 in honor of Veteran’s Day and my children’s grandfather. Somehow the urgency did not seem quite right, though; the timing was off. But today seems appropriate.  Possibly it’s because I know next week marks the anniversary of the day Father-in-law married Mother-in-law in 1945.

I think about them as a young couple with hopes and dreams stretching out before them. Only the war stood in their way of marrying earlier than they did.

Shortly before his death, my Father-in-law showed me pictures of himself as a young man during World War II. I mean he really was young. He was a leader and pilot at age 20, bombing Burma and landing in India, then flying back to China up and over the Himalaya Mountains.

 

“You were just boys!” I exclaimed.

“But we did our job,” he replied.

“Yes, you did,” I agreed, “And I for one appreciate your service.”

 

I always knew him to be most patriotic and proud of our country, and his funeral included military honors. He talked with my son, the Crown Prince, about his experiences, but he seldom mentioned them to his own children. He did not want to remember the horrors of war.

Today I look at the pictures of the boy who took on a man’s responsibilities to fight for freedom. His serious facial features are identical to that of his oldest grandson, my nephew.

I think of the plans he had for his future: marry his sweetheart, go to college, have a good career, and raise children. He met all those goals successfully. The GI Bill financed his education. Boeing acquired an excellent engineer and mathematician who worked loyally and faithfully for 40 years. Wichita had a virtuous citizen who paid his bills and own property.

Of course during the time he was at war, he only hoped he would live long enough to carry them through.

He didn’t know that he would father four children. And he had no way of anticipating the ADHD trait behaviors that would permit his family.

In fairness to him, he had no idea those behaviors existed; he only studied airplanes. He couldn’t guess that the manners that attracted him to his young wife had some type of label or description.

Husband thinks it wouldn’t matter. His Dad would not have wanted to know about ADHD. He might have associated it with mental illness.

After Husband was diagnosed with ADHD, Father-in-law said, “He didn’t get it from me.”

I think he was afraid of criticism aimed at his own mother, a victim of schizophrenia.

“I don’t think he inherited ADHD from you, either. His way of thinking is more like his Mother’s.”

Father-in-law successfully fought in a world war, but it was difficult for him to maneuver the battles associated with ADHD in his own home. ADHD often brings chaos into family dynamics: frustration, lack of follow-through, temper explosions, and a general lack of understanding.

I think Father-in-law would have welcomed teaching about ADHD in his younger days as a husband and father. He had certainly demonstrated his bravery in other situations, and during the years I knew him, he always demonstrated a quest for learning. He would have been curious, if nothing else.

How about you? Aren’t you curious to know more about the effects of ADHD in your own family? What types of calm do you desire in your family?

At McNay & Voth ADHD Services we offer the training and information other young fathers and mothers can use as they parent their children and teens with ADHD.  We can help you discover the strategies that lead to calm.

We invite you to contact us at www.coachadhd and let us know how we can support you.

Labor Day

This day is set aside to celebrate the working class of our nation, as well as a day to cease our labors for rest and relaxation.

I don’t understand the concept rest and take it easy. It has never happened that way for me the first Monday in September. At least, it has not happened very much since I began raising children.

It certainly hasn’t happened often since I began shoring up a spouse with ADHD.

Not that I am complaining - much. I love Husband. I love memories from previous Labor Days when the children were small.

I remember the year I hanged freshly-washed laundry on the clothes line. Husband called to me from the backyard, “I am going to smoke this steak for dinner today.”  It was one activity he enjoyed, so it was the one activity on his list for the day.

“Hey, wait. I just put those clothes on the line. The smoker stands next to it. Wait until they are dried before you light the wood.

“Too late,” he called again.

I made the mad scramble to bring the clothes indoors.

Other Labor Days we mostly puttered around in the yard or prepared food for visits from extended family.

We didn’t do much in the way of neglected chores, even though our house was that one house on the block. You know the one where the trim needed repair or paint. Other minor, copulatory chores reproduced during the darkest hours of night, and neighbors talked about us behind our backs.

One was brave enough to say it to my face, ”Rather than helping others through your church, you should stay home and take care of the repairs on your own place.”

I merely groaned inward. She had no idea. In addition to caring for my children, keeping house, mowing the lawn, and working part time as a freelance writer, I had not the time or skill to get the other things done; neither did I have the money.

Doing all I was capable of accomplishing, I certainly did not have the emotional strength to push Husband into action or force him to spend his money.

“If they had only known, or even if I had known what I do now,” I sigh.

My husband was not going to be the one who cared what others thought nor was he sensitive to my need for tidiness. He was oblivious to it all, and he didn’t intend to change.

This particular neighbor’s husband mowed the grass, repaired fences, took care of the car, and took out the trash without needing to be prompted, coerced, or reminded. She had no clue.

Families without ADHD do not understand. The spouse of the person with ADHD is often in turmoil because things do not get done. Whether it is a wife or husband with ADHD, the spouse agonizes over the incompletes.

It is a constant nag at the back of the mind. It is far from rest or ceasing to strife.

Of course none of the neighbors had the courage to speak to Husband directly. They came to me with the mistaken notion that I could make him get things done.

“Ha! If I knew how to do that, I could patent the notion and make a million,”   I often thought.

Being ever-optimistic, I hoped the Labor Day cooler temperatures and the prospect of a new school year would motivate Husband into action.

Every year I dreamed for that.

Now that we have grown older, I hope for Husband to get out of bed before 10 a.m. on Labor Day and to do something other than sit in front of the TV when he does.

I continue to hope for that.

He has the retirement concept down to an art. He has no problem with the concept of rest and cease from labor, and on this Labor Day, one of us continues to labor and the other continues to rest and relax.

 

 

 

 

 

 

One in a Million

Restaurants have become one of our more favorite haunts, and I don’t mean that poetically.

Husband and I often hang out at restaurants these days because we no longer enjoy cooking. However, this blog is not about eating out. It is about a song I heard during lunch this week.

The deep baritone voice caught my attention: “A one in a million, chance of a lifetime, And life showed compassion, And sent to me a stroke of love called you, A one in a million you.”

I stared across the table at the familiar eyes and face.

Husband stopped chewing and held my gaze, “What?”

“Who is singing?” I always ask him because he is the one who pays attention to such details.

It is ironic, I know, that the one with ADHD pays attention to nitty-gritty details, but he is the one with the interest in performers.

“Larry Graham,” came his short reply.

As I continued to watch his face, I thought how appropriate those words are to a couple who is growing old together.

Husband said, “We’re not there yet. I’ll tell you when we have gotten old.”

The song continued, “I started to believe I'd never find anyone,
Doubt had tried to convince me to give in, Said you can't win... But one day the sun it came a'shinin' through, The rain had stopped, and the skies were blue.”
“That’s me,” I thought as I remembered Friends University, how I met Husband, and how in my loneliness, I had prayed for a certain type of man to be my life partner.

I didn’t know about ADHD at that time, but knowing what I know now, I would likely have included it on the request list.

“I found a piece of happiness to call my own. For to love you, to me, is to live.” I mouthed those words at Husband.

He looked at me as if to question my sanity.

Talk about ironic. That same morning I had gone through the house muttering to myself again.

It wasn’t about happiness or living to love.

No, indeed, it was about my frustration at unfinished chores, repairs that have long been ignored, and other irritations that fill our marriage.

“A one in a million, chance of a lifetime.”
My mind raced to the unique silliness that can only come out of my Husband’s mouth.

“I go through life like an amoeba in a vat of acid, constantly pulling away from the stimuli,” Husband once told me.

And I reflected on the three children only Husband could have fathered.

“Hi, there, Sweet Thing. I’m your daddy,” he said when he first held each of our newborn babies.

“A one in a million, chance of a lifetime. And life, showed compassion,” the song said.

If you know ADHD, you know the challenges one faces as the spouse of a person with ADHD. However, you may also know the inner criticisms that go along with being that person. “I’m a failure. I can’t do that. I am totally inadequate. I will never be like that other person.”

“And life, showed compassion, And sent to me, a stroke of love, called you. A one in a million you.”

In Husband’s case, he does not realize I refused to settle for second best. To me, his humor, intelligence, and spiritual depth primarily   describe him.

Yes, we deal with his struggles with depression, lack of follow through, and low self-esteem.  When life harms him, it is extremely painful to me.

“I was lonely with empty arms to fill, Then I found a piece of happiness to call my own. And life is worth living, For to love you, to me, is to live.”

I consider it my responsibility to help him recharge and refill when he feels depleted or discouraged.

I am blessed to do so because he truly is one in a million.

 

Follow the Steps

I noticed it again this morning as I followed Husband to the front gate.

He often walks ahead of me, not to take a superior position, but to lead and protect me. I follow about two feet behind. Yes, at times, we walk side-by-side, but today’s thoughts have to do with me following behind him.

I find myself matching his rhythm and pattern of steps. He strides with his virile gait, and I imitate his pattern, only my stride is not nearly as long, and my steps are short and quick. My adult children poke fun at me. They call me “Hi-aw-atha.”

As I watched my feet in pattern to Husband’s pace, I thought how symbolically it represents our marriage affected by his ADHD. His disorder sets the pattern for many ways we do things.

When it comes to daily living, I follow him like the coxswain in a row boat.  Do you know what a coxswain does? He or she is rowing the member of a rowing crew who faces forward, steers the boat, and directs the speed and rhythm of the rowers.

I am the one who actually faces forward, thinking in terms of future plans, directing the daily chores of getting things done. “Pick up you right foot; pick up the left” is my mental mantra, which I find myself clandestinely chanting throughout each day.

Our morning routine often goes like this. “It is time for you to get up,” I approach him gently.

“What time is it?” he asks every morning. Every morning.

“What difference does it make?” I habitually reply. “Time for you to get out of bed.”

I return 10 or more minutes later. He may be sitting on the side of the bed; he may not. I share a brief run-down of what he should accomplish for the day. It is never more than three items because his brain would go into a do-loop if more.

“I am going to take you to breakfast,” I say because he really likes eating breakfast out; it is a treat he could not enjoy all the years he had to be at work.

“Where?” he always asks. He hopes I say Village Inn, his favorite.

On a number of mornings I will ask him to work in my office. We attached a chart on the wall next to his desk. Our expectations are a set routine, and after several weeks, he finally can begin without verbal prompts.

Other mornings, I ask him to complete a small number of chores while I am gone. His look tells me much, “I don’t know if I will or not.”  I usually return home to find merely one or two completed.

To be fair, I didn’t always direct him with such detail. He got up independently and went to work. He learned to work with me on financial responsibilities, and he provided excellent leadership as a parent.

He even took the go-ahead on major decisions, a few which actually worked out well. For those occasions, I took short running steps to catch up with him before falling into pace.

Last week, as three-digit temperatures continued to scorch the Plains, our air-conditioner struggled and spat to cool. We weren’t certain what to do with the ten-year-old unit that we bought at discount.  Husband sweated and turned pale each time we discussed what should be done.

He dreaded making a decision about it. He didn’t want to make a decision. I continued to inquire as to what we would do.

One evening a phone call brought us an answer. A heating and cooling business marketing group volunteered to check out the unit.

Husband said, “I have been praying about this.” Again I mentally ran to put my steps in pace with his.

When I got home from work, the A/C guy and husband were discussing a new unit. The compressor was gone on the old one.

“Sit down, so we can talk,” Husband instructed me. “I’ve made a decision. I’ve seen that the compressor really is shot, so I am talking to him about a new unit. This is what I think.”

We talked, and I asked questions. I was relieved that I did not have to carry the responsibility on this. I was proud of the thought Husband put into the decision.

So as he stepped out in front with his long, powerful steps, I ran to catch with him and match my stride with his.

In the Brain, Out the Mouth

Sunday, Husband had the rare privilege of attending church with Crown Prince, who was home on vacation.

“Dad is going to church with you tomorrow,” I told, rather than asked. Sure, our son is a man 33 years of age who has live 1800 miles away for over four years. I agree he is independent and capable, and usually I ask if either his Dad or I can thrust ourselves into one of his social events.  But this time, I made a direct statement.

“Uh, sure,” was our son’s dutiful reply. He rolled his eyes at me and asked, “What if he says something?”

“Like what? What do you mean by saying something?” I grinned

“Come on, Mom.  You of all people know exactly what I mean.”

With my most serious expression and voice, I answered, “I find it difficult to imagine what you are talking about. But if he makes a comment, then let him say it. He won’t hurt anyone or be obnoxious.”

“Well, not intentionally. But he often says things or blurts out comments, and I don’t want to hurt his feelings asking him to hush.”

Husband was eagerly enthusiastic to attend worship with his son. As far as I was concerned, that was the end of the conversation.

That is, it was the end until my guys got home from church.

Shortly after lunch, Husband began reporting on the morning’s events.

“No kidding. They have this woman on their music team, and you should have seen her.” Using his hands to gesture about three feet apart, he continued, “And her ass was this broad. I mean broad and in all directions. She could barely climb the short two steps to the platform.”

I merely waited to hear the type of comment he made.

“And I said, ‘Oh, my!’ as I saw her bouncing down the aisle past us and struggling to get to the stool they placed for her to sit on. Fortunately, it wasn’t something she needed to hoist herself on. She only had to sit down.”

He paused and frowned, “Our son told me to hush, but I told him I wasn’t mocking her.  I was just startled to see her size pass by me. Who I am to make fun of any fat person? Son told me people could hear me.”

“I didn’t know I said it that loudly.” He looked toward the floor with a genuinely remorseful expression. “I didn’t mean to embarrass him.”

I smiled inwardly thinking of the numerous times Husband has publicly blurted out comments or reactions to someone or something, and most of them were basically knee-jerk reactions. He’s correct; he usually doesn’t intend to hurt or humiliate anyone.

I laughed again at a memory from our early-dating days. As we sat in the theatre waiting for a movie to begin, a rather large individual walked up the aisle. The lady really did seem to fill the entire aisle, and I think my boyfriend was self-conscious for her. He himself had been following the Weight Watchers program for about two months losing a remarkable number of pounds. He felt like he needed to defend huge and obese people.

Turning to me, he said in a rather loud voice, “Bet she’s heading for the concession area.”

“Be quiet. People will hear you.”

“I’m only saying what they are thinking. I know; they think that about me.”

He was correct; shortly she passed by us again with a tray of soft drinks and snacks.

He gave me the knowing look. Without dropping the volume, he said, “Isn’t Weight Watchers won-der-ful?”

Years later, our son expressed it well. I, of all people, did know exactly what he meant.