The Chair

ADHD? The referral questioned, succinctly.

I perused the checklist that had been included in the paperwork.

My eyes settled on this line item;

Fidgets with hands or feet or squirms in seat.

I pondered this. Fascinating that the capacity to sit still, squirm-free, has become a KPI of modern living.

No doubt there are myriad circumstances where not sitting still is socially unacceptable, a life disrupter for the subject.

In that arbitrary social construction we call a classroom. Family mealtimes. When part of a theatre audience. Behind the wheel of a car. Umpiring a tennis match on Wimbledon centre court. Operating a high-rise crane…

I pictured warnings from teachers' past. ‘Don't rock on your chair!’. This always seemed a nanny state prohibition to me. Is it a big deal, really? Let the child rock!

I glanced at the clock (time management), snapped myself out of my reverie (redirected my attention), skimmed my notes (organisation) and invited my patient to join me from the waiting room.

Charlie, a vibrant young man of early primary school age, bounded into the room. He was followed, less enthusiastically, by his mother.

As the consultation got underway, I became aware of movement to my right. Legs bounced, tentatively at first, then with more conviction. Fingers wandered towards my computer keyboard. Charlie's upper body started to sway dramatically, like a flagpole in a cyclone.

Rising in parallel was Charlie's mother's agitation.

‘Sit still!’ she hissed.

Here we go again. Give the young man a break!

‘It's okay’ I said, with a reassuring smile.

Within a few minutes, Charlie had worked his way to the edge of his seat. He continued to wriggle. Suddenly, a tipping point was reached. Both he and the chair descended rapidly towards the floor. In belated pursuit of his mother's advice, limbs flailing, Charlie desperately attempted to regain his seat. The chair refused to co-operate, and was propelled backwards with startling velocity.

I surveyed the scene.

Charlie lay spreadeagled on the floor. His mother had fallen silent, aghast.

And the chair?

In an unlikely physical achievement, the legs of the chair had pierced the thin clinic walls, leaving it suspended firmly in place.

A transformation. No longer a mundane item of office furniture. I was now the proud curator of a thought-provoking piece of installation art.

Potential titles for the work sprang to mind.

Please Take Your Seat.

A Different Perspective.

Driving Me Up the Wall.

Charlie's mother, however, was not in the mood to appreciate the aesthetic. An extra layer of tension had been added to an already highly-strung encounter.

‘Don't worry, this sort of thing happens all the time’ I said, unconvincingly.

We wrapped up soon after, a lingering awkwardness guaranteed by the intrusion of the newly positioned chair.

Back to the criteria.

Let's see now…

Often leaves seat in situations where remaining seated is expected.

Charlie had presented a strong case.

The author declares no conflicts of interest.