That Rotten Kid
There once was a boy named Eddie. And
clearly there was something very wrong
with this nine-year-old. Ask anybody: they'd
tell you, with an eye roll, that Eddie was
disruptive, distracted, and inattentive in the
classroom. It was 1962 and Eddie had just
been enrolled in the third grade.
He was forever shouting out non-sequiturs,
throwing his pencils and erasers across the
room and striking other students and
teachers; constantly making his unwelcome
presence felt.
No one knew quite what to do with Eddie.
He had been held back in school and so was
bigger and stronger--and more destructive--
that his fellow students.
Though it was suspected by some school
officials that he was, deep-down, quite
intelligent, Eddie was unable--or, they
thought, unwilling--to work with other
children or to complete an assignment.
Rarely could he finish a single written
sentence before his attention wandered
again.
Other children tried to ignore him, as
they were instructed, but he was a
handful, always out of his seat, in
everybody's business and fighting with
the class bully, who couldn't quite
grapple with Eddie's size and manic
strength.
Teachers washed their hands of him. He
was sequestered to a far corner of the
room, but kept dragging his desk, like a
security blanket, back amongst the rest
of the students, on the other side of the
room. He got lonely. Teaching him, they
discovered, was impossible; he was
admonished to "just sit and be quiet." For
Eddie, however, that too was impossible.
After the third grade, Eddie ceased being
a student; once again he had failed and
been held back. No one I knew ever saw
the young man again. Word had it that he
was declared "unteachable" and "incorrigible"
and institutionalized. One teacher was heard
muttering about "That rotten kid..." Eddie's
departure came as a relief to the
teachers and the other students, but in a
sad way.
ADHD was not officially inscribed into
the Diagnostic Manual of The American
Psychological Association until 1987.
Today there are more than 6 million
children diagnosed as affected by this
condition.
Incorrigible
Bob sat at his desk in the 1st grade classroom,
blinking his eyes and rolling his head to first
one shoulder and then the next. This drew
the unwanted attention of his teacher, Miss
Edison. She stepped briskly down the aisle.
"Robert, I've told you before to cut out the
antics. You know you're disturbing the other
children." Bob sneaked a glance at the boys
and girls in his class, saw their happy grins;
at the moment, they were happy not to be
him.
Bob coughed nervously. "And that cough,"
said Miss Edison. "I've sent you to the school
nurse a dozen times but there doesn't seem
to be anything physically wrong with you." She
laid heavy emphasis on the word "physically,"
which set the other children off laughing. "So,"
she concluded unfeelingly, "if you're trying to
get out of class, you can just forget about it."
Bob's face grew hot, his skin a bright pink.
He stared down at his desk. He wished he
could sink through the floor. "Now, you sit
there and don't move a muscle for the rest
of the day or you're going to be in big
trouble.
Bob laid his hands flat on his desktop and
tried to hold himself still. Miss Edison
hovered over him and everyone was watching
expectantly. Suddenly Bob's head turned to
the left. his arm shot out straight and he
coughed hoarsely. Once again the children
exploded in gales of laughter.
Miss Edison blew out a disgusted breath and
told the class to be silent, that this wasn't
funny. The teacher intoned somberly, "A class
cut-up did no one favors." The classroom
settled down, listening to every delicious word.
This was how delinquency and a life of crime
began, she added fiercely.
Bob stole another look at his classmates, again
saw their derisive, toothy grins. "You can just
stay in class for recess and when the rest of us
go to lunch!" proclaimed the teacher. "I wash
my hans of you. You are, Robert, truly
incorrigible" And she stalked back to her desk.
Little was known of Tourette's Syndrome in the
1950s.
