As I read over Natalie Angier's "Intolerance of Boyish Behavior" (Reading Critically, Writing Well page 388) I thought of three different boys I've known.
Daniel was born into a very conservative, church-attending family, the youngest child and the only boy. His older sisters thought that a fine afternoon's recreation meant sitting quietly with their hands folded, having a conversation about religious topics. Daniel liked to wrestle. I remember going to meetings at their house. Daniel and Zach (the son of another member, and just about Daniel's age) would spend the whole time chasing each other around, yelling, wrestling, and getting sweaty. The daughters would sit quietly with the adults. His parents were desperate. Fortunately for Daniel, they didn't believe in medical doctors, so he was taken to a quack chiropractor who did some sort of hair test and kept finding new things Daniel was allergic to. His diet kept getting more and more restricted until he was living on sort of a Zen macrobiotic brown rice regimen. He got skinny, lacked energy, but still was loud and competitive. At least he was spared Ritalin. Finally the parents gave up, let him eat everything in sight, and allowed him to become a teenager. When he was 14, he was in my Sunday school class, interested in boxing, lifting weights, and very proud of his new biceps.
My nephew, on the other hand, got a pharmacy full of medication for his ADHD. I remember him when he was 11 years old, nodding off at the breakfast table or giving me a glassy-eyed stare much more appropriate to a drug addict. He got lucky too. The doctors became concerned when he hit 13 and was showing no signs of puberty. His stature was about right for a boy of 10. So they took him off the meds. I saw him at Christmas. He's now bright, interesting, fun, and a little scattered. No more so, though, than most boys. He lives on a ranch in Texas, feeds his goats, rides his horse, and has an incredible fantasy life in which he's the principle actor in a very detailed saga that somehow involves Darth Vader, Indiana Jones, and a lot of minor characters. You can find him carrying his wooden sword, making his way through the back pasture, talking to himself, and carrying on his battles. At the end of things, he comes back to the house, sweaty and dirty, hard-muscled, and thoroughly boyish. Then he sits and reads for a while to get more material for his drama. Somehow I don't think the medication helped him.
