I'll never forget how frustrating it was in second or third grade when I had to work with something called the SRA Reading Lab - sets of multi-colored tabs located in a special area in the back of the classroom. Everyone started at the basic level, where the tabs were dull shades of grey and brown, and as your reading skills progresses you would progress up the color scale to brighter shades of green, blue and so on, finally reaching the coveted purple. Most of the other children moved up the scale pretty quickly, and I was stuck somewhere between brown and grey. It seemed like everyone else knew exactly what to do. I needed more time but the teachers tightly supervised the assignments and ensured that we return the sheets at the end of each class. I had to find a way to get ahead, so this is what I did: Every Friday afternoon, when it was time to leave for the school bus and go home for the weekend, I would wait until everyone had left the classroom. I would sneak back in to the classroom and make my way quickly to the SRA box, take the tabs from the color I was working on and from the next color on the scale, hide them in my briefcase, and run quickly to get to the bus on time. When I got home I would secretly work on those tabs all weekend, reading them over and over again, until I felt I understood them. On Monday morning I would be the first one off the school bus, rush back to the classroom before anyone else, and quietly return the tabs to the SRA box. I never told anyone, because I felt guilty, like a thief. But I was compelled to do so because I needed to understand. Not understanding was an unbearable thought, and I did not want to be left behind.
I have a very fond memory from that period. I was about 9 years old, and I spent an entire day with my mother at a nearby University, where I was sent for a psychological evaluation. I remembered the Rorschach images and other tests, but I mostly remember feeling so very special for that one day, having my mother all to myself, just the two of us. I always felt close to her, I loved being with her, she was like a friend, you could talk to her about anything, she was warm and open and she gave you the feeling that you were special and important to her. I remember how special I felt when she took me to eat at this cavernous lunchroom bustling with scores of grownups, some of whom crowded around our table and asked what I was doing there.
A few weeks later my father told me that the results showed that I had Minimal Brain Damage. It felt like a blow to the stomach, and the experience continues to haunt me. My father dismissed it and said the whole thing was a waste of time and money and that I would "grow out of it". But from that moment on my life was about hiding this from the world, and trying to somehow overcome this minimal brain damage. All I wanted was to feel and to be normal. It was only 40 years later that I would learn that the term MBD (Minimal Brain Damage) was an earlier term for ADHD. I discovered this by accident at the age of 48, and this discovery changed my life. I felt I had arrived, I had an answer, I had figured it out. Discovering that I had ADHD had the most dramatic and positive effect on my life. I immediately plunged myself into an almost super-human effort to catch up, to learn and achieve and make up for all those lost years. My mother had died over 20 years earlier, and I knew she was concerned about how things would work out for me - would I get married, have a family, a job... I was sorry that I couldn't tell her that all the worry and trouble I had caused as a child had an explanation now, that I was taking care of myself, I was doing good, and things were going to get even better now that I knew.
It was only recently that I realized that my journey had only just begun, there was more to discover. After my professional life began to fall apart I found myself going back and taking a look at what had happened at Sultan Yacoub. I started to gather facts, go over maps and pictures, get a feel for the terrain, and tap into over 30 years experience as a parent and professional working with people, learning, understanding, and solving problems. And just like in my childhood struggles to understand myself and the world around me, I found someone who believed in me and knew how to help me. And so at the age of 55 I embarked on another journey to understand myself and the world around me.