A few sentences that helped change everything
Jeff Joyce, ever thoughtful and insightful, didn't see this particular epiphany coming, not with what appeared to be the vanilla task of reading a college essay. Joyce, an English teacher and wordsmith, can do that with one dangling participle tied behind his back.
And then, as if the universe was telling him he was doing this for a reason, the epiphany engulfed him like an avalanche.
“I just felt so bad,” Joyce was saying Wednesday night. “All I could do after was thank Connor for sending it.”
Connor: Connor McCrea, a senior pitcher at Fitch High, where Joyce is the baseball coach. Actually, the heretofore nitpicky baseball coach when it came to matters of McCrea, who just wasn't able to match talent with production. Suddenly, Joyce knew why. McCrea's essay, the one that would ultimately help him gain admission to Keene State, told the story of a life overcoming Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder, otherwise known as ADHD. A common ailment among many of us. But still: a label. With a stigma. And when is somebody ever going to share the story of how one conquers such a daunting daily disorder anyway?
“That essay changed me,” Joyce said. “Not only as I saw Connor, but as I saw my own children. Connor was so honest about how his ADHD and learning disability deflated his self-esteem. And how he continued to sink and sink. Baseball, the one area he excelled at, he wasn't excelling at anymore.”
This was about the end of his sophomore year at Fitch.
“The medications were impacting his physical abilities. He seemed comatose. Little did I know, he and his family were trying to regulate his medications so he could function as a baseball player,” Joyce said. “On top of that, the ADHD was impacting him in the classroom. So you've got this perfect storm.
“So I read his essay. I didn't care about the quality. I cared about the content. I felt so bad for him. I felt guilty. I went to him and said, ‘Kid, thank you so much for sending that. I don't even care what we do on the field this year. This alone was worth meeting Connor McCrea.'”
And with that, Joyce could barely continue.
“I'm getting emotional,” he said, voice teetering and eyes welling.
This is what happens when you meet kids who change you. That's McCrea. He overcame. With the support of his family and friends, sure. But with some toughness that clearly runs like a current through his innards.
McCrea has emerged as an honors student taking Advanced Placement classes. He's among Fitch's best players. And he's headed to college. ADHD? A fact of his life. ADHD? It hardly defines him.
“It started around third grade,” McCrea was saying. “I had trouble paying attention. As I went on in school, it got a little worse. It's hard to hard to explain. I had to learn how to deal with it. Even with baseball,
“After sophomore year, I just decided that I didn't like failing. It doesn't suit me well. All junior year, I started to see myself improve a lot. Just because of my mentality.”
CONNOR MCCREA