He was seven. The just learning cursive, starting chapter books, still-into-Power-Rangers-and-wearing-mismatched-socks kind of seven. The second grade, still a kid who thought it was cool to climb to the top of the dome at recess, kind of seven. But something changed. No longer was he the little kid he was supposed to be; now he had to sit down and concentrate. Focus. 

“Take your focus pill,” I heard my parents say every day to him before school as he sat and ate breakfast beside me. Every day from then to now. He’s 16 now. If you do the math that’s roughly 1,620 days; 1,620 pills that his body has had to process.

Growing up, I didn’t quite grasp the severity and the stigma that comes with kids who are diagnosed with ADD or ADHD (Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder) in the educational world. My parents just told me that he was going to be fine. He just needed a little extra help to do well in school and taking his “focus pills” was going to help. If anything, I thought it was kind of cool. Buddy, my brother, had something that made him special, but as I got older and older, the less and less special he became. 

Since my brother was first diagnosed, the classification for his diagnosis has changed. Instead of the dilemma being ADD vs. ADHD, both are now considered to be ADHD and fall into three subtypes under ADHD. These categories are: primarily inattentive, primarily hyperactive-inattentive, or combined. According to “ADD vs. ADHD: What’s the Difference in Symptoms?”, an article written by an ADHD Editorial Board and medically reviewed, roughly 11 percent of children and teens in the United States have been diagnosed with ADHD. 

The average age of onset and diagnosis is five to seven years old, leaving me to wonder if diagnosing and medicating at such a young age is what is best for a child’s development. Instead of medicating, we need to teach; teach control, teach restraint, teach creativity, and teach expression. Not all cases need to be solved through the suppression and standardization that prescribed medication causes. 

White walls, white tiles, a white bench and chairs. Decals from the Disney movie “Cars” are the only decorations the pediatric room holds. My brother perched on the bench, tapping his dangling feet together over and over again. I watch as my parents converse back and forth with the doctor, looking concerned and solemn. I hear phrases like “10 mg,” “No, 15 mg.” “He hasn’t been eating,” and “That’s a common side effect,” getting thrown around back and forth. And then there’s him. Completely oblivious to the conversation happening around him and too busy focusing on mouthing the words to a made up song while inspecting all of his favorite “Cars” characters adorning the walls. So innocent; so unapologetically himself. 

The years go on; nine of them to be exact. Now the dosage is 25 mg, and it has increased four times since his first prescription. He becomes increasingly dependent on his “focus pills” for everything it seems. From school work, to out of school activities, even on weekends to get chores done. Meanwhile every time he puts that orange and white “remedy” in his mouth, his gumball machine brain receives another deposit. I still see my brother, but inside he’s not the same. Yes, he is still goofy and silly and animated like always; but not in the way that I know him when he is explicitly stripped down to just himself. I wish the world could see that side of him.