I am jerked from my daze back into the daily humdrums of activity surrounding me – my teacher has a look of discontent plastered on her face. Rocket ships swirl in dizzying loops around her head, an odd purple creature peaks from behind. She asks if I am paying attention, I take a moment before I nod. In my mind, she has relented – in reality, I will be sent home with a hastily written request for a parent-teacher conference. We all know the drill by now. A humble five-year-old I was, with no inkling as to what Attention Deficit Disorder was. If asked to describe the disorder, my explanation, to the best of my infantile capacity, would involve something along the lines of dancing apples. To my credit, I knew apples couldn’t possibly
