The Truth of Consequences

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Empty Nesters

BY: By Nancy Ann Erskine

No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
~William Blake

I should have been thrilled. The journey was long and the path was bumpy, but having my daughter accepted to college was a goal worthy of the biggest sacrifices. I didn't anticipate the journey would teach me that the shortest distance between two points isn't always a straight line.

My oldest daughter, Kori, was diagnosed at age seven with severe Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD). Information on the disability was hard to come by because ADD was not well-known in 1984. Fortunately, we had a superb pediatric neuro-psychologist who guided us every rocky step of the way and helped us understand the dysfunctions she faced.

Kori's ability to prioritize was virtually nonfunctional. Put simply, everything got equal focus no matter its importance. In addition, the cause and effect processing center of her brain did not work efficiently. Punishment for a crime was never justified, because in her mind, the cause was never attached to the effect.

"Enroll her in gymnastics," the doctor suggested. "She'll experience immediate consequences for her actions."

Gymnastics was perfect. Kori excelled beyond all expectations. As a senior, she was even offered a scholarship. But the college would take her nearly three thousand miles from home.

The thought of living on her own exhilarated Kori. But fear and anxiety consumed me. Would she be able to manage her disability on her own? Who would remind her to get her paper written for English, to get her bills paid on time, and to take her medicine regularly? The Internet was brand new; we didn't own a computer or even a cell phone. Daily reminders would be out of the question.

Nevertheless, Dave and I celebrated our daughter's achievement. We knew she was old enough to live independently, and she was intellectually capable of collegiate studies. Traveling to competitions had made her street smart and socially savvy. With gymnastics as her anchor, she would have a sense of continuity and belonging that would be essential for her to thrive. Satisfied with our reasoning, we dropped our daughter at campus with a pat on her back and a reminder to call home.

After her first few weeks of school, I asked Kori if she was having any trouble with her assignments. She resented the inquiry and insisted she was doing fine. Midterm grades proved otherwise, so she promised to meet with her professors. The cause and effect of not competing in gymnastics if she received bad grades had to be emphatically repeated to her.

I sent Kori spending money to fill in the necessities, but my funds were limited. She promptly signed up for several credit cards that were much too easy to get. I had given her a prepaid card for emergencies only, but with easy access to as many credit cards as she wanted, she quickly overspent on things she deemed necessary.

The most frustrating situation I tried to deal with from across the country was her medical situation. I sent her prescription refills--along with reminders to prioritize her health concerns--and happy-face sticky notes that urged her to take her medicine. Then I discovered she hadn't been taking her medication often enough.

Concerned, I called the gymnastics coach to see if she could intervene on my behalf. She politely recommended that I leave Kori alone; it was her experience that these things tend to work themselves out.

"Let's bring her home, Dave," I begged. "She can finish college here where we can keep a watchful eye on her."

"You're pulling up the flower to inspect the roots," he countered. "Give her some space and trust the experts."

I reluctantly agreed to let her neuro-psychologist have the final say in the matter. "Let her try her wings," he advised. "She'll learn to cope on her own--or she'll completely fail on her own. Either one is better than bailing her out."

A suffocating lump crowded my throat when I hung up the phone. I felt as though I had thrown my firstborn to the hungry vultures. Over the next few years, I nearly wore out my knees with prayers on her behalf.

Kori soared. Her senior year, she was elected captain of her gymnastics team. After graduation, she performed with Siegfried & Roy in Las Vegas. Kori adapted to the world with a remarkable strength and independence.

Today, she has her Masters of Education and is teaching fourth grade. She has a unique understanding of children who learn in ways that are outside the norm. Her classroom is lively and full of innovative experiences for her students.

When her journey from home took her spiraling downward, it took all the courage I could muster to stand back and do nothing. But it was the best thing I did for Kori. I trusted she would learn to succeed on her own, and learn she did.

With ADD as a constant companion, her path isn't always straight, but she reaches her destination in her own way. And all of us are better for the journey.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2009/08/The-Truth-of-Consequences.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER