My first grade teacher is the one to blame

You might be asking why my parents decided to get me tested for ADD. I didn't actually find out the reason why until my senior year of high school.

When I was little, I definitely had my own thing going on. By that, I mean I didn't really think about what I said or did. Some might have called me odd, and I did get a few strange glances from passer-by's, but I was just independent and I marched at the beat of my own drum. I let my freak flag fly! And I still do, which is something that I have completely embraced and love most about myself.

The following is based on stories my mom has told me. I don't actually remember this happening, but I am sure that I loved every minute of it.

When I was still sleeping in a crib, nap time was party time. (Up until I started college, I had sleep problems. Now that I have discovered that not sleeping is the only way to get anything done, I have learned to grasp onto and celebrate any amount of shut-eye I can get.) This was the time of the day that I decided to be especially active compared to usual. So I could make play-time a little longer, I taught myself how to climb out of my crib. I might be wrong about this but I am pretty sure that I stacked my stuft animals inside of the crib, climbed up them, and jumped over the top of the crib.

I knew that once I got out of my crib, my room was my oyster. I don't know if I actually had toys in my room that I could access, but there were other things, like furniture and other room fixtures, to play with. Apparently, one of my daily routines was to play with my dresser. The dresser in my room was tall and white, with maybe about 6 or 7 drawers built in it. (I'm not really quite sure about exactly how many drawers were in it because we gave it to Goodwill when I was about 14.) I'm guessing that I was a pretty smart baby because what I did with my dresser is pretty advanced and I don't think a monkey could even figure it out, unless it was one of those monkeys that NASA uses to send into space; I am guessing those monkeys are pretty smart to be okay with being trapped in a small space with no gravity for an extended period of time. (I mean I would probably shit my pants if I was suddenly floating around in the air, regardless if I knew what was going on or not.)

I learned that I was able to climb my dresser if I climbed it one drawer at a time, like a set of stairs. And I would get to the top every time. I don't know what triggered what happened next, I might have just gotten bored of sitting at a height that was significantly greater than my own, or maybe I fell at one point, but one thing was for sure: I enjoyed this enough to do it the rest of my nap-taking career. I learned that if I rocked back and forth with enough force and speed, the dresser would fall and crash to the ground, sending me flying through the air at speeds too fast for a toddler to experience.

Of course my mom heard all of this happening, and naturally she came running to my rescue, only to see me sitting on the floor giggling and wanting to do it again. I'm sure she thought, "Awesome. My two year old is an adrenaline junkie."

I'm not sure if this was the first sign that I was a little too crazy, but there were many more signs to follow that indicated some sort of lack of focus and excessive amounts of energy (Such as running away at family reunions only to be found sitting with a large Mexican family that did not speak a lick of English. It's okay though. They fed me tortillas). It wasn't until first grade that my parents decided to get me tested for ADD.

I remember not liking first grade at all. Kelsey Crowder was in my class. I did not get along with Kelsey Crowder. She was mean and stole my crayons. And I had the amazingly awesome 64 pack of crayons with the built in crayon sharpener. Not only did I have the most amazingly awesome crayons in my class, but I could sharpen them too! And she went and stole them. Also, my teacher was a problem for me. My teacher liked me enough (in fact, a teacher never really disliked me until my Freshman year of college) but I did not like her; she was too strickt for my high energy personality.

One day at a parent-teacher conference my teacher informed my parents of a little habit I had. I would chew on my clothes, but not just a little bit. I would chew out the seams and the stitching on my sleeves until they were soaked through and completely stretched out. I basically ruined all my long sleeve shirts. And of course my mom noticed this, and I am sure she questioned my sanity, but it wasn't until first-grade teacher said to my mom, "Gwen, I think you need to get Meagan tested for ADD. She chews on her clothes everyday." that my parents decided to give it a shot. Why not get me tested? The worst thing that could happen would be to find out that I actually do have ADD.

My teacher was obviously correct. But I still chew on my clothes, however I save that for T-shirts that I work out in. I rip out the stitching in the collar, but that's okay. These are the kind of shirts you keep around specifically because they are disgusting.

And I still have not forgiven Kelsey Crowder for stealing my crayons.