My Life With Tics

For years I had made hawking noises everywhere I went. My friends thought I was doing an imitation of a lion’s roar. In fact, they thought I did it so well that they decided to join in. I’m pretty sure our kindergarten class was the first to have its own pride of lions.

My parents often tried to stop my hawking noises.

“Scotty, please don’t make that noise.”

“I can’t help it,” I said.

On occasion, my parents would get frustrated that I wouldn’t try to control my “habit.”

But what parent would believe that their child can’t help hawking up mucus?

It’s obviously just a bad habit, right?

Wrong.

Even my parents couldn’t believe it. My parents, who studied child development in college. My parents, whose two professions consisted of being a pastor and a child social worker. Even my parents didn’t recognize that I was telling the truth.

Do I blame them? Of course not.

If I were in their place, I would’ve said the same things.

***
It’s the summer before 4th grade. I no longer make growling noises. My parents and I think I might have asthma. Or perhaps allergies. The truth is, my parents and I don’t know what the problem is.

That summer, I began exhaling through my mouth as harshly as possible. I would push every ounce of air out of my body, while making a raspy, wheezing sound.

To make matters worse, no inhaler would make me stop.

My head begins to throb. I heave air out of my body again. All of the blood in my body rushes up to my skull. It’s now a full-on headache.

My parents come home from work at night, and head straight to the computer in our house or to the Cedar Roe library.

My mom has stacks of books and online medical forums on asthma, OCD, ADD and neurological disorders sitting in her office. Many of the papers are highlighted in green and pink. My mother’s messy handwriting can be seen in the margins. What could possibly cause our child to make these movements and sounds that cause him so much pain? Is there a cure for our son? These were her thoughts. Her hopes. Her prayers.

***

It’s now present day, and I’m a senior in high school. Over the summer I was accepted to K-State. I plan to study journalism. Friends of mine, and even people I don’t know practically pay zero attention to my tics. Then again, my screeches have subsided. My main tics now are squeezing my eyes shut, jerking my arms, and making quiet squeaking noises. But I’m not a freak. I’m successful. That guy in the mirror was a liar.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I breathe. I open my eyes. I feel happy. And I thank God for the many blessings in my life.

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