He has tugged at the heart of every teacher in my hallway. Each day he arrives running and each day he leaves running. He also runs in-between. His motor is revved up, going fast, spinning out of control, making turns, making stops, revving again, rolling, pivoting, darting, and diving. He talks constantly. He is very smart, has great auditory awareness, answers, asks, demands, informs, lectures, and laughs with more enthusiasm than a cheering squad. His bright shiny face usually has a beautiful smile unless he has been scolded one too many times. Then he cries. He cries because he cannot control himself. He cries because he is exhausted. He cries because he wants to conform but cannot.
Yesterday he sat in the hallway crying when it was time to go home. He had taken his shoes off so he could put on his boots but then decided to put the shoes back on again. The laces were too tight and he could not get his shoes on. All the other students had left for the playground. He could not get there first. He could not even leave because those shoes would not go on. “What is wrong?” I asked.
“I can’t get my shoes on,” he whimpered.
“Where are you boots?”
“In my bag.”
“Put your boots on, there in snow on the playground.”
He took off his shoes, still sniffling and whimpering, and put on his boots. He picked up his bag partially stuffed with shoes and zipped down the hall with his head down. There was no good-bye. He was late. Each teacher he passed spoke to him but his head stayed down as he exited. He tugs at all of us. We want the best for this bright beautiful boy but cannot control his motor any more than he can.
Medication? Diet control? What would help him you wonder. It is not for us to decide. We are not his parents. We can only offer up options and let them make the decision. It is heart wrenching for all.