I used to wonder if I contributed anything but the egg at my children’s conceptions. It was clearly my lack of self-awareness, back then, because as they’ve grown I’ve seen some glaring similarities between myself and my offspring. When our son was young, my mother was very worried about how active he seemed. (Apparently no one in the history of our family had ever had “that much” energy.) Because of his lack of focus for most tasks, we did eventually become concerned. Instead of looking at ourselves, however, we took him to professionals who guessed at what was “wrong” and failed to help him anyway. Fast forward, twenty five years later, and he still can’t sit still for any length of time, which is a blessing since he’s got small children and is now the funnest dad ever! These days, it seems more important to gain a fancy diagnosis for what may often be our learned or innocently inherited behaviour. But … does everything need to be diagnosed when many things can’t or don’t need to be fixed, anyway? Don’t get me wrong. A timely investigation of something serious is imperative but I suspect that if my son went for “testing” now, he’d come out sporting a diagnosis that might only serve as an excuse, and certainly discount simple inheritance. I have come to accept that I work better under pressure. In fact, I sometimes purposely hold off accomplishing many tasks because I work more efficiently when I know I must stay focussed. Crunch time, if you will. For example, if I have a deadline looming I can begin the project days before and most likely could finish it … if I was placed in a padded room with no windows. Years ago, when we owned a cat, we acquired a laser pointer. Alley, who would be quietly cleaning herself in a corner, immediately attempted to catch the light when we (a family easily entertained) took turns moving the red beam. Not unlike our cat, I can also be easily distracted by anything whizzing inside my peripheral vision. If I don’t keep my eyes riveted to the computer when I’m writing, for example, but make the mistake of glancing somewhere else, I will lose my thought process immediately. This very moment proves it. I just stretched and peered out the window. There is a car honking at someone walking four dogs. Four! I stand up to watch the show. I wonder if the person on the end of the leashes is a professional dog walker. Since none of the canines are behaving perhaps he is, at this very moment, reevaluating his occupational choice. But wait! The dishwasher stopped. Since I don’t know this machine well I must check it out, but on my way I notice crumbs on the counter and feel compelled to wipe them. There’s cake! I grab a small (I’m writing that, anyway) slice. I sit again and peer at what I’ve typed, trying to refocus between bites of my snack. When I was younger I watched my mother (the very one concerned for her grandson’s lack of focus) with a judgmental eye as she flitted from one task to the next, often not completing one before moving onto another. My naive arrogance voiced that I’d “never” be like that. If you’re like me, you know that when a word like “never” falls from your lips you’re probably going to have to eat it, eventually. Long story short — I’ve had a much larger piece of that than the cake I just finished. One day I googled, “medical diagnoses for someone unable to focus.” A long list of possible “psychological conditions” came up. Anything from ADHD, possible addictions and anxiety issues spread across the screen. I started reading but very soon felt as if I heard Charlie Brown’s teacher voicing, “Wah wah, wah wah,” in my head. My inevitable conclusion: “Experts” may suggest some psychiatric anomaly but … so what? I’ve learned to function this way my whole life and so has my son who, for better or worse, is much like … his grandmother. Lol. It’s simply how we’re wired.