PASSING FOR NORMAL
by Andrea Krapf Little

"Lacking an understanding of their deficits, many ADDers feel compelled to spend inordinate time and energy trying to pass as normal. This is a term we've borrowed from Afro-American history. With a long history of discrimination in this country, it isn't surprising that some lighter- skinned blacks managed their lives by pretending they were white.

"In similar fashion, many of us with ADD can pass as normal (whatever normal means). We work hard at hiding our differences. We can identify with the adults in this chapter who have been somewhat successful in their efforts but who have paid dearly for fitting in.

"We spend our lives in fear, feeling like impostors who will be found out at any moment." - Kate Kelly and Peggy Ramundo, You Mean I'm Not Lazy, Stupid, or Crazy?!, pages 103-104

The sanctuary is peaceful. Organ music fills the air and I watch the little doors that cover the pipes open and close. The congregation stands and I rise, probably the last person to do so. They are singing a hymm and I have no clue as to which one it is. My daughter shoves the hymnal into my hands.

I sing along until I get annoyed with trying to figure out the tune. Then I look over the choir. I watch the mouths, and notice how each is a different shape. Only two members of the choir are not wearing glasses. How many weeks ago was it that they all wore glasses?

The choir sits down and I do too. The minister begins to pray. I bow my head and try to focus on the words. He asks us to pray for people who are in need. I cannot think of anyone who is not in need.

When I raise my head, the minister has already begun the sermon, but with no opening joke this time. I think about the latest joke I've heard and wonder how he could work it into a sermon. I realize I'm staring at the hair of the lady in front of me. She's holding a baby who stares at me with the biggest blue eyes ever. I smile at the baby and she smiles back and then hides her eyes against her mama's shoulder. The smile sends me into a reminiscence about how wonderful it is to hold a baby. I think about the smell and the feel of babies.

The sermon goes on, and I try to catch up. I like the preacher and I want to know what he says; but I've already lost track. My shoe is tight so I slip it off. I rearrange my blouse so the collar doesn't poke me. My thoughts go on like that, counting and admiring the various shades of gray hair in the pews before me, making a mental grocery list, and listening to the humming of the lights and the air conditioner.

The sermon is over and I notice my friends smiling. Later, in the parking lot, they'll ask me how I liked the sermon. Once again, I'll fake it.

I thought that everyone spent Sunday mornings in church like this. My mother was the one who first pointed out the different-shaped mouths in the choir. My daughter was the first to count the glasses on the choir members. My son reported the number of times the minister repeated himself. I assumed that everyone was just like me. It wasn't until I found out about adult attention deficit that I began to wonder about how normal I was.

I have a mirror by the front door so I'll notice if I'm appropriately dressed before I go out. I usually wear casual, comfortable clothes, with a low- maintenance hairstyle, and not much makeup. Luckily, many Southern California stay-at-home moms look like this. When people look at me they see a normal person.

No one knows that my socks and underwear are inside out so the seams don't annoy me. No one can tell that all annoying tags have been clipped off. If I don't wear jewelry or perfume, people assume it was a choice I made; they do not know that I just didn't remember to put any on. If I had a more complicated life that involved high heels and stylish hair and make-up, I'm not certain I would look normal.

When it's necessary to have an important conversation, I use the phone, so I can write down what I have to say and just read it. If I'm to talk to someone face to face, I'll often memorize what to say. Sometimes with my members of my family, I'll write a letter to explain a situation. I find I can communicate better in print than in person -- especially when there are emotions involved. I'm not sure how normal this is. But from the outside it looks normal enough, and I'm able to communicate without much trouble.

When I go to meetings or appointments, I try to arrive early so I don't miss beginnings, explanations or opening statements and put myself at a disadvantage. Arriving early gives me a chance to find my way around, and time to make friends with someone so I won't have to feel alone. Normal people have friends. Armoring myself with friends wherever I go makes me normal too.

When I teach an art lesson at my son's elementary school, or work on a project involving words, pictures or people, I am interested -- and often competent. I am punctual, prepared, and complete my task. I am efficient, organized, talented -- and normal.

When I am with friends, I can carry on an extended conversation. But still I refrain from doing things that might call too much attention to me. I try not to talk loudly, laugh loudly or make too many jokes. In larger groups I'm often quieter. I have trouble keeping track of the subject of the conversation and what is appropriate to say.

When I speak, I see the words printed in my head. I see pictures of what I say. I don't know if this is common. I do know that if I'm not careful, I'll tune in to the pictures or words in my head and lose track of what I'm supposed to be saying.

At other times, some thought will flit through my mind and I'll follow that one instead of the first. This makes my conversations difficult to follow. It's an effort to follow an idea to its conclusion. The people to whom I'm close just accept this as part of the way I am. With new people, I try not to start conversations that I can't complete -- and sometimes don't speak at all. This makes me seem shy or not very bright, but normal.

When trying to listen to people talk, my mind is often racing from one idea to another. Often, I have an idea or what to add to the conversation; and if I don't say it I'll forget it. So, I choose between the risk of 1) forgetting my idea; or 2) hanging on to it -- at the expense of following the conversation. Either way, I often have nothing to say, either because I've forgotten my idea by the time my turn arrives, or because my comment is no longer appropriate. I appear dull, but normal.

Some people who meet me may not like me. My attempts at normality keep me stiff and quiet. If encouraged to talk, I might blurt out something that comes into my mind without considering its appropriateness. Once I relax around people my differences may be threatening. Some quickly back off; others find me colorful and funny. They encourage me to be myself, express my opinions and shine in anyway I want. They don't care if I pass for normal.

Visitors to my house are sometimes surprised. While outside the house I typically appear organized and prepared, inside I'm often neither. But I've stopped apologizing for the mess and the confusion. When you come into my house, I point out the lovely view, and clear the laundry and the books from the sofa so you can sit. I turn off the radio in the living room, but you can still hear it coming from the bedroom.

New friends think they just arrived at a difficult time. They don't realize that that's how I live. Older friends chalk it up to my artistic temperament. They point to the sign that hangs on my wall: "Dull Women Have Immaculate Houses." I'm a poor housekeeper, but normal.

If I offer a guest something to eat, it's usually cold food, already prepared. I learned long ago that if I want good food, it's better to let someone else cook. The dishes I cook either lack an ingredient, or are over- or under-done. When I cook I lose track of what I'm doing, and let the food burn in the pan while I read the mail or walk the dog. Or I get impatient, and don't allow enough time.

These days, I cook only the simplest of meals. Friends smile -- and feel sorry for my family. Yet somehow (to them at least) it makes me more lovable to flounder at something they do easily. I am not a good cook, but normal.

What is normal anyway? I try hard not to be obvious in my differences. I work hard to fit in and yet maintain my uniqueness.

Recently I dreamed I was sleeping in the back seat of a car while it was traveling down the freeway. It was comfy and warm, and I felt secure -- until I "woke" and saw that no one was driving. I was terrified that I'd come so far without a driver.

Why did it take so long to realize I had less control than others did? Why didn't anyone tell me that I was missing things that they were getting? Why did I not notice that other people were being normal without having to try so hard? And so I ask the question yet again.

Can I, do I, pass for normal? I do not know.

ANDREA KRAPF LITTLE is an ADD adult who has recently moved to the Monterey Bay area. She will be starting an ADDult group in the fall and will be continuing with her ADDult coaching and online duties as a host for the ADDults Online and Parents of ADD Kids groups. Annie is the parent of children with ADD, Tourette syndrome and dyslexia.