One favorite scene was Elder Price's Scary Mormon Hell dream, wherein everything that scares him most in the world appears and haunts him in his sleep. This includes Hitler, Genghis Khan, Jeffrey Dahmer, Johnnie Cochran and giant coffee cups. It was an upbeat song-and-dance number that left us rolling in our seats.
We were still laughing the next day, when Mark complained about having to do his laundry. My mom looked at him, and uttered a phrase from the play, chiding him to "man up" and get it done.
"Really?" I asked, a bit incredulous. I'd expect Mark to quote Matt Parker/Trey Stone to her (maybe something from "South Park"), not the other way around.
"What?" she asked, innocently. Then she pointed at Mark who had indeed manned up, and was quickly loading the washer.
Our discussion was interrupted by the phone. It was an ADHD specialty institute I'd been trying to get Mark into for a couple months--they had a cancellation this afternoon and wondered if I'd like the appointment?
"Heck, yeah!" I yelled into the phone. The lady laughed at my enthusiasm and said she'd see me then.
I knew we'd have tons of paperwork to fill out, so we arrived a few minutes early. The waiting room was packed when we walked in. Parents were seated in the chairs, quietly reading or glancing down at their phones. The middle of the room was filled with boys, little boys, busy boys, all of them moving, all of them talking. They moved around each other fluidly, playing with the trashcan, bothering the receptionist, pounding on the table, yelling at the TV. Whatever movie had been playing on the TV was finished, causing great concern among the boys.
"It's done!" one boy yelled over his shoulder, to the receptionist.
"Somebody change it!" another boy yelled.
"I already told her," a third boy chimed in.
"Then why isn't it working?" a different boy demanded.
The littlest boy walked in front of the TV, and all the bigger boys shooed him away. So he walked to the door and opened it, heading back to the doctor's office, until his dad quickly retrieved him.
There were a million ADHD boys in the tiny little waiting room, doing a million different things, a million different ways, all at a frenetic, breakneck speed.
Oh my God, I suddenly realized, panicking. This is my very own scary Mormon Hell dream!
And then, just like Elder Price, I clicked it off before it all became too overwhelming. I settled down into my paperwork, and turned the busy little boys and their pandemonium off.
I wasn't the only one. All the other parents were similarly engaged, similarly ignoring their boys. It was chaos all around the room, but these parents were used to it; they were pros. They were in their safe place, somewhere the boys' rambunctious behavior was not only tolerated, but completely understood, and they simply enjoyed a moment's peace, without judgment. Nobody corrected their children's behavior or gave them unsolicited parenting advice in condescending tones. The only parents this scene would have truly bothered were parents used to quiet, well-behaved kids, or maybe polite little girls.
There was only nervous dad, and I realized he must be new to all this. His son paced the room, talking to the kids without waiting for answers, and Dad tracked him nervously, waiting to intervene. At one point, Dad took the kid outside, but it didn't help--the kid returned just as anxious and talkative.
"I have a thought," he said to the boy sitting next to him. The boy looked on, expectantly.
"What if I were in a glass elevator, and Tinkerbell was there, and we were flying around and--" The boy went on for a good two minutes, until the second boy interrupted him angrily.
"That could never happen!" he yelled. "That's not real!"
"I didn't say it was real," the first boy corrected him. "I just said I have a thought."
I couldn't help myself. I looked at the mom next to me, who'd also heard the conversation, and we both smiled at each other, stifling laughter. I can't wait to use that line in real life..."I have a thought..."
Slowly, the waiting room emptied out. Boys went in to see the doctor, or went home, and soon, we were the only ones left. I realized Mark hadn't uttered a word the whole time.
"I'm the calmest one here!" he whispered to me, loudly. I just nodded--that never happens, especially on a day like today, when he hadn't taken his meds. Clearly, Mark had met his ADHD match, and he was in awe.
Finally, it was our turn to see the doctor. Mark had a good visit, my mom and I got a lot of great information, and we all left very happy, with instructions to stay the course we were on.
I was enormously relieved and reassured by the whole visit. And though I am thankful that Mark is thriving now, I was most happy that we didn't have to come back. I'd spent already enough time in my scary Mormon dream, thank you very much.
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