ADHD, home-schooling and Dungeons & Dragons
Human development isn’t something we need to force into being along standardized lines
When educators and parents try to get a child with ADHD to go along with the prevailing tide at school, the child might be medicated to help pay attention and sit still; there might be a reward system for doing what’s been asked; a day planner that lists homework and due date; or, perhaps, the child has to sit in the front row so the teacher can more easily remind them to pay attention. My point is that the dominant principle is that of forcing the kid’s brain to conform.
I think that may be barking up the wrong tree.
In The Self-Driven Child, by Ned Johnson and William Stixrud, three points jumped out at me as particularly pertinent for parents of kids with ADHD (of which I am one):
• The brain develops according to how it’s used; children making decisions for themselves build circuits in the prefrontal cortex, where you find all the executive function mojo (judgment, focus, planning, completing tasks).
• Kids in “flow” (doing something they love so much that time flies by) are conditioning their brains to associate intense enjoyment with highly focused attention, practice and hard work. These kids are “sculpting” their brains to be motivated and focused.
• The most important thing kids can do is develop the brain they want for the rest of their life by keeping it in that state for as much time as possible.
So if a child is almost always told what to concentrate on, but is constantly fighting to fulfil that expectation, is that child being trained to associate executive functions with struggle?
ADHD can actually make kids powerhouses of laser-like, continuous concentration but only if they’re really interested in the first place. As a home-schooler, trying to make my son sit and learn basic math and writing skills was a constant challenge for both of us, filled with negotiations, bribes, threats and arguments (and we were both medicated). Attempting to force his attention into a task in which he had no interest was like herding cats. Angry cats.
Once he’d mastered what I felt he absolutely needed and had become a voracious reader, I left him alone. This was not a master plan — it was exhaustion. But I had unwittingly begun to test the wisdom of letting kids educate themselves by pursuing their passions, especially where ADHD kids are concerned.
My 13-year-old son’s passion, it turns out, is Dungeons & Dragons. This is not an easy thing for me to write. “Why are there so many battles? And what’s up with all the weapons?” I’ve asked, and he rolls his eyes. And, looking over his shoulder at one of his D&D manuals: “Why do the male characters get so much more clothing than the female characters?” More eyerolling.
His interest in D&D was piqued by its mention in a novel, and he began his research with library books, an online tutorial, and D&D podcasts. After that, he bought some dice (so … many … dice) and began creating characters (involving a surprising amount of math); he wrote backstories, drew illustrations and dabbled in a bit of Elvish calligraphy. He made maps and learned about systems of government (dictatorship, meritocracy, ETC.). He joined a weekly D&D group, and then organized his own group of kids who were new to the game — as their “Dungeon Master,” he leads them through campaigns. Now he maps out campaign terrains on a 3D computer program. There are so many skills involved here (art, geography, math, storytelling, teamwork …) but it’s the richness of the executive functioning skills that surprise me most: he starts planning these campaigns a week in advance. He parcels out his tasks over an extended period of time and works to deadline, and he spends hours a day in “flow.” Even better: he does all of this with absolutely no help or prompting from an adult.
One caveat: as Johnson and Stixrud point out in The Self-Driven Child, none of the above applies if the kid’s intense focus is on video games, because the “flow” is being manipulated by what’s on the screen, rather than coming from within the child.
Sometimes I think it’s a matter of luck that he’s found this game and is proving he’s more than capable of the kind of intense concentration, organization and self-motivation that drive success. But then I remind myself that, given the space and freedom and time, most kids could do the same. It’s not luck — it’s a matter of trusting that human development isn’t something we need to force into being along standardized lines established by educational or medical institutions, or capitalist interests. I struggle to really give myself over to this trust, but I remind myself that the proof is in the corrosive black pudding (Armour Class 7, 85 Hit Points).