Attention Deficit, What?

To my readers: 

Some months after posting this story, a friend of mine posted the attached article on facebook.  As I read through the "truth" of where we are as a society today, I could not help but think of the correlated twist of this revealed truth as it related to my life experiences.  Take the time to click on this link before you engage my story.  Just might help give wise council to your children!  Please take the time to look at my most recent link posted April 12, 2017.

http://www.3gu.im/lajmett/the-man-who-discovered-adhd-makes-a-startling-deathbed-confession/

   
          On November 14, 2014 another article on facebook prompted this addition to this short story. I
          do think this substantiates a lot of what I am talking about as I reflect on my early childhood. 
          Take the time to click on this link and explore my concerns after you read my story.
 http://worldtruth.tv/psychiatrists-drugging-children-for-social-justice/

          As I moved to edit this article on April 12, 2017, I noticed the above referenced   address may not be working.  As we stumble forward in our determined efforts to de-legitimize what "we" desire vs what God desired for us, please take the time to click on this link.
http://www.theblaze.com/contributions/matt-walsh-parents-and-doctors-who-push-transgenderism-on-kids-should-be-thrown-in-prison/

Actually, here is yet another facebook post that continues to substantiate the entire story!  I hope you enjoy.

 

          I ran across a post on Facebook today that made my mind start to wonder.  It said that Liberals do everything they can to politicize medicine.  It went on to give an example of a little boy that was restless in school.  He was taken to a doctor and of course diagnosed with ADD and as is the norm of modern medicine was placed on drugs to help him suppress normal boy behavior.  Today’s medical society goes one step further as they see it necessary to question what we grew up thinking was normal behavior.  If a boy child thinks he wants to be a girl, then they take it upon themselves to respect that and help him become a girl.

          Let me see how that worked when I was little... I had a serious Attention Deficit Disorder along with an even stronger Hyperactive Disorder of which the “you will be like God” medical community was not even aware of, much less coined an acronym for.  No one knew my behavior was “abnormal” except for my parents, siblings and school teachers to include every other parent that had little boys they trusted their family linage too… Here was a reality!  Strange as it may seem and as memory recalls, every other little boy in my neighborhood and elementary school seemed to suffer from this same play disorder.  Most treatment therapy for this anomaly was simple.  Our mothers tossed us outside to play and cause mayhem.   As birds of a feather tend to flock together, it seemed that as soon as the neighborhood boys found ourselves banished to the tundra outside of the home, some type of magnetic collective bonding force was activated and all of us sort of found each other at what time we commenced to medicate our hyperactive disorders with intense activity.   We had an entire neighborhood to terrorize and we did it with such intensity, no rock was left unturned.  In the course of scant hours, we all knew which houses Mr. and Mrs. whatever their last name was, to avoid and stay away from.  The collective energies we expired in our attention deficit disorders found us up and down the Sycamore tree in my back yard on Georgia Street as many as 10 times by as many as five of my buddies!  Nope, don’t remember even one us ever falling.  But there were stories we were told by the old people we interacted with of such horrid things happening to someone else!  Walk?  What was that?  We knew two speeds.  Fast and faster!  We actually ran as fast as we could from here to there because our attention span was loosely interlaced with “what could we get into next before we forgot!”   Might I mention this was before parents could afford bicycles?

           Social discord was part of our daily lifestyle.  Bloody noses were a badge of honor if we were about the same size and age.  As our “alpha dog” mentality was being honed by trial and error upon each other, we discovered fighting was a common interaction as we tried to establish dominance in our group!  With time the pecking order had a calming affect on us as we discovered the choice of pain or compromise was as simple and just as honorable as one of us being chicken while the other one was glad of it!  Collectively now, we hated bullies and simply avoided them to the best of our abilities...  Bullies to us were usually someone's older brother and his friend(s) or the boyfriend of one of our older sisters.  We generally hated them all.

          Hide and seek was the norm, especially when it became overcast or started getting dark, and do you have any idea how many Indians, Japs and Germans I killed as a child?  This was accomplished with cowboy and army guns given to us by our parents!!  During these “wars” I hated to get shot in the head by one of my buddies!  “Bang, Bang!!  I SHOT YOU IN THE HEAD!”  Then I would scream back, “No you didn’t.  You got me in the heart!”  Unbeknown to me and my boyhood pals, these Indian fights and war games were significant.  These war games were the only time we let girls with cooties interact with us for any reason.  Every cowboy, Indian, and soldier that got wounded in these horrid battles had to have a nurse to care for them.  Didn't we?  It just seemed these “stupid girls” appeared by happenstance from the insides of their momma’s houses every time a war game was fought during our unorganized and disorderly hyperactive day.  I of course seemed to like the attention as I would be nursed back to health from a heart wound with a sip of play medicine from a plastic teacup painted with lead paint!  As soon as I felt my heart wound was healed, I was eager to re-engage the battle that was ever so important to continue if in fact we were still engaged in that particular activity...  These stupid girls… Looking back, I would never admit, but I liked them being around. Had no idea why but I sure am glad I didn’t have a doctor question me as to why I liked tea cups painted with lead paint! 

          These endless mornings of terrorism found groups of us totaling from 2 to 4 easing stealthily through selected homes to devour left over biscuits, jelly, and bacon still left on the table from breakfast.  I wonder today if that food was left out by moms of little boys on purpose?  All I do know was that as soon as whatever we could find to eat was devoured, our then unknown Hyperactive Disorders propelled us again into the wild unknown with a renewed source of sugar replenishment to stimulate us along.  It was in the open range of the neighborhood that we continued to expend this adrenalin driven hyperactivity everyone recognized but had not yet been diagnosed.  Then as the heat of the afternoon began to stifle and attic fans everywhere cooled the inside of urban homes; moms would call their little soldiers and tyrants into the house for a nap.  STAB US ALL IN THE NECK!  A Nap!  Mother!!!! 

          You see, every seasoned mother as the keeper of the nuclear family’s home knew this undiagnosed medical disorder all too well.  As we entered the “peaceful” surroundings of this dwelling that was absent the authority “Dad figure,” because he was “at work,” it was difficult for us adrenalin pumped "chaps" to, lets say, unwind from what we knew as the norm.   In my particular circumstance, as I’m sure was also played out in the homes of my buddies as well, I was escorted rather firmly toward the only bathroom in our two bedroom home where a more than likely cold wash cloth was applied firmly to my face.  The intended purpose was to remove what dirt, blood and snot had managed to accumulate in this general vicinity of what my mother knew was my face.  Next was the bare chest and back followed by the legs…  Oh yes, I remember these moments well…  A snatch here and a correct posture positioning snatch there by my mother to keep me still and to shut me up.  I now recognize this today, as a strong suggestion for me to settle down to HER standards and to let go of what SHE wanted left out side.  This cool down wash and scrub session, to most mothers, was nothing more than what we would call a “sedative” today.  What was going on in my mind was “nap resistance!”  Yes, I do recall a rather bloodied fight with one of my buddies who boldly announced to all of my gathered friends that my mother kissed me on the butt!  I was livid and proceeded to punch his lights out!  Sometime later in life, I in fact asked mom if she ever did, by chance, kiss me on the butt?  Without hesitation, she simply replied, "That was the only clean place I could find on you!"  With that one answer, the scrubbings seemed to mentally fall right into place. 

          Immediately as the cleaning subsided, I was then firmly directed to the master bedroom my youngest sister and I shared with my mom and dad.  It was in fact nap time but was also time for indoctrinational propaganda that was introduced in story form from this big red book of Bible stories complete with some of the neatest pictures.  As you have heard countless times, my two oldest sisters along with my baby sister and I had a serious drug problem that thousands of other children across the country suffered from as well.  In our case, we were drug to some Baptist Church every Sunday morning and evening and occasionally on Wednesday nights by our parents.  And here again, nap time found more of this religious stuff being forced into my little hyperactive mind.  Reflecting back, it was nothing more than God Himself protecting me from potential maternal disfigurement as the stories of David and Goliath along with countless others would lull me into a catatonic state of submissiveness which protected me from physical harm.  In the heat of any given summer day, I find it totally amazing by today’s standards, how we could actually sleep with nothing more than an attic fan drawing a rather warm breeze across our sleeping souls.

          Now, I would be remiss if I did not address the purpose of this entire story.  I  vividly recall the interaction between the mental disorder, known today as ADHD, of the then “touched” son and his Nuclear Mother which would bridge yet another gap in the process of Childhood Development.  I must have drifted off to sleep way too early during one of her stories from that big red story book that talked about “sparing the Rod and spoiling the child."  Remember now, just because I had this mental disorder that was yet diagnosed by the medical community, did not mean my mother was not aware of my inclination to test the boundaries of a mother/child relationship.  She came to realize early on, that if I insisted on learning things the hard way, she was more than willing to accommodate whatever bonding method best suited my budding personality!  Let me explain something here.  My mother was the middle child of nine brothers and sisters from a sharecropper family in Amite County Mississippi.  After losing her mother during the depression, she found herself functioning as a maid to the older siblings and caretaker to the younger ones.  She developed a pro-active resistance to attempted abuse from older brothers at a tender age and well knew how to address any “disorder” when just the thought of insurrection reared its ugly head in my brain damaged mind!  This was good medicine folks, and an effective cure with no after effects other than a few red marks when strategically applied by a master’s hand on exposed body parts...  Let us revisit the definition of the Nuclear family?  Totally different concept from what social scientist intended, but from what little I knew of atomic bombs, I came to fear my mother more than any other thing that existed.

          This mental disorder that existed in me then is medicated in today’s youth, but still I pushed that envelop more than one time too many knowing what was to become of my all to soon future!  The first warning was menial.  “Wait until your Daddy gets home, boy!”  Well now, Daddy coming home from work was like waiting for Christmas in my under developed mind.  Besides, by this point, I had this primitive understanding of how I thought this "trump card" should be played!  “Please don’t tell Daddy, Momma.  Please!”  I would scream with begging sobs!  She eventually learned way to quickly that a loving father just coming home from work was not going to rip his belt from has pants and beat the life out of his only son simply because his distraught wife implored him to!  I also knew that if I could delay this “corrective measure,” and if daddy was the one to administer the only medicine known to work on this unknown ADHD problem, it would not be nearly as bad as what a provoked Mother would do left unrestrained.  I was too brain damaged to realize the concept that moms do have a tendency to eat their young. As a result of this phenomenon, the honor of my abused past belonged exclusively to my Mother. 

 

          It always came as a total surprise like most predator attacks on unsuspecting prey.  This unknown hyperactive disease tempered with my inability to focus my attention on my immediate surroundings, meant I never saw the attack coming.  When on rare occasions, I was left to “mark territory” inside of her modest home, the only thing I would stumble upon to terrorize was my older sisters!  Upon entering there sanctuary, they scrambled to the middle reaches of their bed to escape my approach while alerting the entire jungle of my presence.  Their screams and taunts immediately alerted the predator senses in my mother, who obviously had failed to direct me properly to the nap bed.    Agitating my sisters was like scattering a litter of soft fuzzy kittens until "momma cat" focused her eyes and ears along with every other sensory power upon this act.  It was positioning she desired as I moved through her lair seemingly unrestrained.  It would be only scant moments before my hyperactive disorder put me within "pouncing distance!"   And as surely as light defines day, there came that moment when everything turned into a slow motion, black and white blur as I was snatched up and became the helpless victim of a very intense feeding frenzy surprisingly absent of the actual blood letting!  With my older sisters' taunts of encouragement, what would be known as child abuse today,  was simply one form of behavior modification for abnormal behavior courtesy of private homes.  This medical treatment, administered by hand with anything that she could grab, was acknowledged at this time in the late 50's as the most widely used treatment method on children like me.  This prescription was recognized then, by the same name it is today, an old fashioned ass whoopin!   Through a process known as trial and error, I came to find this was a very effective treatment method once I realized I was going to actually survive!   This medical application always resulted in an attitude adjustment as I slowly recovered while checking my aching body to see if both arms and legs were still intact.  During this recovery period, I never thought about anything other than total submissiveness.  On the occasional checks by my Mother to see if I was still breathing, I noticed "that look" communicating a chilling reminder that I was lucky to be alive.  I knew this look!  It was not a spoken or implied threat.  It clearly registered in my present state of existence as a promise that I could have all of that I wanted.  You see, mental disorder or not, when my Daddy whipped me, I knew he would whip me until I had enough.  Mom?  She whipped my ass until SHE had enough and I KNEW I didn’t want any more of that!  At least for a couple of days… Now you tell me if I wasn’t brain damaged?

           As the Facebook post mentions, modern medicine deems it necessary to diagnose current day parents' inabilities to deal with the hyperactive disorders of their children.  It isn’t the child mind you, it is the parents inability to deal with the children so the children become medicated?  Now, with this the norm, what in the world makes the medical community feel the need to address our sexual orientation?   Oh my word.  Haven’t we all experimented in some form or fashion with our sexuality?  I had a pretty mom and two pretty older sisters.  I don’t know why they were pretty to me and had no idea what pretty meant, but hey, I thought they were pretty. So when they asked me if I wanted to be pretty too, I thought, why the heck not!   With Daddy off at work and the academia community yet to discover unexplored Freudian theories of sexual deviances, why would I not allow them to dress little brother up complete with make up and pretty dresses?  I was game.  I must have enjoyed the attention because there is photographic proof still in existence from the days of my early sexual orientation…  I can only thank God I never told my doctor I thought I might like being a girl!   My sisters along with mom’s encouragement helped me to experience my feminine side before nature actually told me I was a boy.  As long as I was a closet case being experimented with, I was not offended.  There came that day when they thought they would walk me down the street for others to see!  My sisters discovered the difference that little brothers possessed other than sharing clothing and make up…  Oh, raising four boys of my own, I distinctly remember one of them “getting in touch” with his feminine side by strutting around the house in a girls swimsuit.  After several warnings for him to get ready for baseball practice, my wife snatched him up to take him to ball practice just like he was dressed.  I just happened to drive up to find him bouncing off the insides of the van like a caged squirrel screaming to the top of his lungs.  He realized his feminine side was going to be discovered by an existing boy verses girl world.  Now, just what would we have done had a “doctor” thought it was his obligation to help either myself or my son transition into a girl?  Well, needless to say that son would not have been here and you would not be reading these words.

          Eventually, puberty opened my eyes.  Much to my demise, I discovered that those cooties girls actually possessed were in fact an infectious disease that I would reckon with the rest of my life.  I did interact as a willing participant of course, but oh my soul, had I possessed feathers like some male bird species, I would have in fact made a total fool of myself.  Looking back, I have come to grips with the fact that I have spent my entire life trying to impress the feminine gender of our species.  This was done mostly by overtly exercising my hyperactive disorder enabling me to discover what I wanted to be.   According to societal norms discussed in liberal institutions known as Colleges and Universities, I have been defined as an abnormal adult male.  I was raised with toy guns and have a propensity towards violence.  Because I am a veteran, I am also a threat to our governments control over its subjects and even worse, I do not hate my deceased mother and dad for “abusing” me when I needed it.  Toss in the fact that I was also sexually perverted at the hands of my older sisters and not given a chance to express my suppressed sexuality.  It is even more difficult for them to grasp any remote reason why I would still love my older sisters?   I guess somewhere something went wrong because I still have a passion for silky, clingy things, especially the undergarments designed specifically with the feminine chassis in mind.  Except for one interesting detail, instead of wanting to wear them for myself except for on my head, I find it enchantingly wonderful to look upon such items with a Christmas like mentality.  I relish removing them slowly from the package they adorn.  Stimulating thoughts still today, I might add, but more of a fond memory than actual event.  Memories still alive, well, enough for me to take with me to my grave.   The liberal mindset, despite my un-medicated childhood onset, probably finds it amazing that I also find the ladies still as pretty today as I did my Mother and sisters as a child and admire them accordingly.  Strangely all of this has occurred without some Doctor trying to convince me my early interest in maybe wanting to be a girl went untreated.  To me it was nothing more than me growing up as a heterosexual species of the male gender.  Read that last sentence one more time least you stumble on my intended meaning.

            Let me further inform you that the spiritual indoctrination I was subjected as a child did in fact take root.  Yes, as many of us grew into our teens and young adult years, we did depart the ways of our parents and tried to function in what I am continually discovering is an unreal liberal world.  I was raised up as a child in the Word and find as an adult I do not want to be separated again from my foundation.  I struggle to throw off religious man-made doctrines that have made me stumble as an adult.  Liberal man continually tries to force on me his knowledge of God.  It is the God of Abraham, Isaac and Joseph that my heart yearns for and as the old covenant gave way to the new covenant, I embrace the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit to guide me as a child of "The Way."  Yes, all of this without help from the medical community.  I am who I am, and I am comfortable with it.  I have fought many battles with sin and continue that struggle daily only to discover  that I "Am Worn."  Still yet I know redemption will win…

 

          So as I close my spin on the questions posed earlier in this short story, let me remind you of this.  I am a conservative that believes in God.  I am a concealed carry permit holder and I do carry, yet I have never come close to killing anyone.  So as this modern society finds me abnormal as defined by liberal standards then let us allow someone besides you and I the task of comparing and contrasting the two.  On one end of the spectrum is this baby boomer generation I come from and on the other is this prescription minded, unisexual generation that rejects the very God who created them who further defies the laws of our fathers as they reach out to embrace social medicine and socialism itself... Only thing that bothers me about this is the fact that when I am dead I will be voting democrat.


Rod Ferguson
January 8, 2014
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