Memoirs of an ADHD (My Story in My Own Words) - by Brandon Thulon
February 21, 2007
I’m not sure where I should start, though it’s obvious to always start from the beginning. I have no recollection of my beginning, and to be honest I am perfectly O.K. with that. Who wants the vivid memory of being curled up in their mother’s uterus, then being pushed out of a screaming human being, covered in blood and other bodily fluids, attached to a slimy cord that was used to feed you while you were developing inside the woman who later is the same woman who asks if your diarrhea is still acting up when you have your girlfriend/boyfriend, standing right next to you. That, my friend, would be traumatizing; the traumatizing memory of being born into this world. Anyways I am rambling on about repulsing things, now to get to my story.
I could begin with the date of my birth and work my way up to now, but to me that sounds more like a background report, the kind the FBI and CIA go through to get to know who they are dealing with and so on. A lot of published autobiographies are written during the writer's mid-life most of the time, which makes sense, cause a lot more happens in 50 years than in just 18. I’m not sure if that is true or not, but since this is an assignment I’ll begin with Ohio….
From the moment I was born to my kindergarten year, I lived in Dayton, Ohio, a city about 30 to maybe 40 miles east of the Ohio/Indiana border. My mother was born in Bluffton, Indiana, a small town out in the country just a few miles outside of Fort Wayne. My Dad however, was born all the on the other side of the country, Washington. Being in the Air Force, as a singer, he was transferred to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, and there I guess he was introduced by a friend of a friend to my Mom. After they married in 1986, they settled down in a small house on Smithville Rd. in Dayton, and there I spent my first year in existence, drooling and waddling across the carpet like some chubby munchkin. Then we moved to another house, on Munich Ave. (Not that you know where these places are, nor care…), and there I spent the rest of my 6 years hanging out with a strange girl next door, (who was by the way the first girl I ever kissed, which was in a closet in her room where her big sister caught us red handed), and a boy named Andy across the street (he always seemed to be gone, which was a dreadful thing in those days…to not see my friend’s family vehicle in the drive way, was to spend the rest of the day staring at ants or at the TV in our basement, to me they were just as boring.) It was an O.K. neighborhood, no guns going off every night (or any night for that matter), no yellow “Police Line Do not cross” tape surrounding our neighbors' houses, or anything like that (that I was aware of, that is). I spent most of my days either hanging out with the girl next door and the kid across the street, or sitting in the house watching Batman, Back to the Future, Ghostbusters, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I would have to say 75% or more was spent playing with action figures and toy weapons. I was a ball of hyperactivity bouncing around the house making punching, kicking, and various other sound effects with my mouth while either mashing two action figures together or punching and kicking some invisible enemy. I remember I used to spend hours and hours with my action figures, making up random and crazy plots as I went along, as if it was giant super movie with everyone in it. If I wanted my Burger King Happy Meal action figure (I think I had the black kid with the crew cut, I don’t remember his name) to take over the world with an army of My Little Ponies and have Batman and the Ghostbusters, (Co-starring the armless G.I. Joe) team up to stop him and his diabolical ponies, (among a crap load of other random villains), I could if I wanted to. It was my world, my story, and my action figures! I was god! Not to that extent, but I was always in my own little la-la land of imagination. Then there were my other activities including plastic guns that made those random noises that give every parent an intense migraine, and flailing around making noises and theme music as I beat the crap out of some criminal lord or angry thugs dressed up in the same outfit with their bosses name all over it. (Like in the old Batman, remember?). A lot of this took place while I was watching Batman or some other action packed movie or show including; Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Ghostbusters, Power Rangers, Captain Planet, and so on. I would pretend I was Batman or my own made up action hero, pretending the couch was a ledge on the biggest building in the world, and if I fell I would be nothing but a pile of skin and bones! My mind was another galaxy in the universe, and my imagination was my blazing sun.
After I finished kindergarten we were transferred to Yokota Air Force Base in Japan. My dad left a few months ahead of us, and then we met him there and stayed in a small little house (or should I call it a hut? It was pretty damn small) off base. We had no cable, or for some strange reason, any TV for that matter. We had a Television Set, plugged in and everything, we got nothing but a blue screen. So my dad had a crap load of videos, and I was in awe! Though, now that I think of it, there was not that many. My dad bought me and my sister Cara, who was about 3 or 4 at that time, a Super Nintendo, and boy was I up every single morning playing Super Mario, what seemed like the world to me at that time. My mom not too long ago told me she can't stand the music, cause she was sick there (pregnant with my sister,Taylor), she would hear Super Mario in the other room, jumping on green, red, and blue turtles, playing that annoying theme song, a different kind depending on the level, and the sound it made whenever you died. I can’t really describe it, but I am sure you know what I am talking about.
Across the street lived a Philippine boy about my age who I occasionally hung out with. He did not speak English very well, it was pretty awkward, but hey…it was either him or the ants. After about 4 months or so, we moved into an apartment building (a garden house) on base, where I had a lot of friends, well not really friends, just other kids to act stupid with. In fact, one kid in particular somehow ended up in Edwardsville, Illinois years later, and during my sophomore year, I ran into him randomly. My girlfriend at the time introduced me to an old boyfriend of hers from when she was living in Edwardsville. So one day we decide to hang out together at my house, and this kid shows up with him, and I find out later, (though I had a feeling about him the second I laid eyes on him) that we used to hang out in Japan on base. It is a small world indeed. Anyways, living in Japan kind of sucked, seeing how all the buildings on base were the same color and most of my time was spent on base rather than hanging out with Japanese Samurais and eating at exotic restaurants that served shark and possibly dog, god knows. I did go to Disneyland though, which was interesting. We went into the castle where we were given this tour and the mirror dude from snow white (some sort of holographic, special effects thingy), and I remember every time the face would appear it would creep the hell out of me, because instead of looking like the Disney cartoon character in the movie, it looked like some bloated Asian guy’s head, just sort of floating in pitch black, framed like a mirror. Not only that, but it spoke Japanese which somehow made it even more unsettling. Things did get interesting though during 3rd and 4th grade, when I met the cutest girl I ever laid my precious blue eyes on. Her name was Nesha, and she lived down the street from me. We were not ever really boyfriend and girlfriend, just friends, though I had a major crush on her. We would hang out, in and out of school. At the time, my imagination was flying…I was acting out previews to movies I created (In my head that is) and I had this thing for werewolves for some strange reason, and I had an imaginary place I called Wolf Land, where I was a famous actor, singer, and football player. Now that I look back at it, it sounds so out of whack, maybe even mentally ill. Last year, when I had a MySpace account, Nesha somehow found me and sent me a message. She was living in the UK (Still is I am sure), and she actually mentioned how I always talked about Wolf Land, and pretended I was half boy half wolf. She remembered my little imaginary werewolf name I gave myself, Wolfgang. The internet is an amazing thing…
It was after 4th grade we finally left Japan, and moved to Belleville, Illinois. There I hung out with two boys (bother brothers), where we usually played pretend with plastic Nerf guns, and various other weapons and gadgets. We would always play it as if it were a movie, and I’d always want to act out the trailer to it, and make sequels to it, and pretend it was something really big. A box office hit! There was this one we used to love to play called “Man and Creature” or something like that. It was some crazy si-fi idea I came up with where three men (since there were only three of us) were sent into space, and somehow, ended up on a mysterious planet in another galaxy. We would use this little red wooden playhouse that was built in my back yard, long before we moved in, as our space ship. On this planet we were, of course you guessed it, aliens! There were different types, though, according to color. There were the black ones, the red ones, and I remember the green ones were supposed to be the most dangerous or something. The aliens' eggs were kind of like the ones in Alien, and whenever you were close to one it would open up and suck you in. We would go on for hours doing this, just as I had gone on hours creating outrageous plots for my action figures. We got up to (I think) Man and Creature 4, where the aliens came to earth and attacked us, and the three guys (the heroes), being the only ones who know how to stop them, saved the world from being infested. We actually rated them too. They were always rated R for some reason. Other than hanging out with them, I also hung out with SM, a kid I knew in Japan whose dad worked with my dad, and to this day, still does. We became best friends and still very much are. It was just last weekend I spent time with him.
We lived in Belleville until I had finished 7th grade. Belleville West Jr. High was not a happy place…way too many people. We then came here to Troy, where my parents bought a nice house on Staunton Rd. where I am at this very second. My life never really started until 9th grade. That’s when things got interesting, crazy, painful, exciting, intriguing, and so on and so on. I met a girl named CG, or whatever (I don’t know how to spell her last name). I hung out with her crowd for some time, and I went out with her for about 4 maybe 5 months….I don’t know. During this time, I also met a girl named SS…a cute girl with pretty blonde hair and a nice smile, who loved to read, and was absolutely in love with the Harry Potter series. Before I went out with C, it was she who I went to my first Homecoming with. After that, we still talked at lunch and online, but never really hung out…not until the summer before sophomore year. After my first official “break-up” I began talking to her, and, before I knew, things got all lovey dovey and I went out with her for at least a year and a half, which was until the second semester of my Jr. year. I went to all three homecomings with her. She was my first actual heartbreak. The first one I had long fights with and moments of cuddling and writing love songs about. I actually sang to her one time while she was in Drivers Ed. It was Coldplay’s “Yellow”. Mr. J ended up sending me to the office, and it was weird getting a referral for singing to what seemed the whole entire class. I guess it’s accurate to say she was my first romantic experience. Now that I look back on it, the tears and the pain were nothing but petty sidewalk scratches. I kind of just floated around after the break up, hanging out with a crazy girl named H, then breaking up with her after awhile. I had just got a taste of what we like to call a “love life”. Now I know that being 18, and only moments away from graduating, I have my whole life ahead of me, and all that seemed the entire world to me was nothing but an ant compared to life’s up-coming pains and problems.
There are a lot of things I left out, like my neighbor who I used to hang out with, some fat kid named K who was into Heavy Metal, and loved to push me around because he was bigger than me. That was the junk I left out, about 3 years worth. Then there were my sisters…Cara and Taylor…the little angels (I hope you know that was complete sarcasm). Then there was the time I was close friends with SD, and the time when I tripped over a sewer under a bush and landed my two front teeth on the edge of a slab of concrete back in like 3rd grade. Then there was the time I started coming to the realization I wanted to be a writer, and the time I went to my great grandma’s funeral, her being the first dead body I saw in person. There is a lot of stuff I left out, and I’ve only have been on this earth for 18 years, and I have got hopefully about another 78 or so to go. This is just a brief, very brief summary of my life, and a lot of the things I mentioned where things that seem to have stuck with me, and made me who I am today at this second, though there is a crap load more. Tomorrow is probably the one millionth chapter of my life, and though I have a feeling it’s going to be boring, I am still anxious to see how the story of my life continues, and where it will take me.
Tax-deductable donations may be made to The Brandon Thulon Memorial Fund, 2328 Staunton Road, Troy, IL 62294.
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How the Brain Rewires Itself - by Brandon Thulon
April 2007
Neuroscientists have come to a “revolutionary idea about the brain,” says Time magazine. Lately, experiments have shown that just thinking about doing something can have a physical effect upon the brain. Getting two groups of volunteers, one to play the piano, and the other to imagine playing the piano, neuroscientists were able to reveal with trans-cranial-magnetic-stimulation (TMS) that the region of motor cortex that controls the piano-playing fingers also expanded in the brains of volunteers who imagined playing the music – just as it had in those who actually played it. “Mental practice resulted in a similar reorganization” of the brain, Pascual-Leone later wrote.
The old saying, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks” refers to an adult brain as essentially immutable, hardwired, fixed in form and function, so that by the time we reach adulthood, “we are pretty much stuck with what we have,” says Time Magazine. But research in the past few years has overthrown this “dogma.” In its place has come the realization that the adult brain retains impressive powers of “neuro-plasticity” – the ability to change its structure and function in response to experience.
This, to me, is a good thing. I’m only 18, and I can’t understand math and physics which, to be honest, I am really interested in learning, though it’s boring learning it in a high school class. I’d love to read tons of books on it, and learn it by myself. That’s one of the weird things about me. I love to read and learn just about anything I can get my hands on; but I can’t seem to focus at school. I flunked Biology my first year. Last year I had to take a semester of the basics of science, or whatever it was called. I earned my credits, but I didn’t learn much. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I have plenty of time to rewire my brain not only to start doing physical things (something I really need to start doing), but mental things – going back and understanding what I didn’t in the past. My brain obviously has a problem with understanding mathematics, like my dad. But that doesn’t mean I’ll never be able to understand it. All I have to do is read, read, read, until I die!
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I could begin with the date of my birth and work my way up to now, but to me that sounds more like a background report, the kind the FBI and CIA go through to get to know who they are dealing with and so on. A lot of published autobiographies are written during the writer's mid-life most of the time, which makes sense, cause a lot more happens in 50 years than in just 18. I’m not sure if that is true or not, but since this is an assignment I’ll begin with Ohio….
From the moment I was born to my kindergarten year, I lived in Dayton, Ohio, a city about 30 to maybe 40 miles east of the Ohio/Indiana border. My mother was born in Bluffton, Indiana, a small town out in the country just a few miles outside of Fort Wayne. My Dad however, was born all the on the other side of the country, Washington. Being in the Air Force, as a singer, he was transferred to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, and there I guess he was introduced by a friend of a friend to my Mom. After they married in 1986, they settled down in a small house on Smithville Rd. in Dayton, and there I spent my first year in existence, drooling and waddling across the carpet like some chubby munchkin. Then we moved to another house, on Munich Ave. (Not that you know where these places are, nor care…), and there I spent the rest of my 6 years hanging out with a strange girl next door, (who was by the way the first girl I ever kissed, which was in a closet in her room where her big sister caught us red handed), and a boy named Andy across the street (he always seemed to be gone, which was a dreadful thing in those days…to not see my friend’s family vehicle in the drive way, was to spend the rest of the day staring at ants or at the TV in our basement, to me they were just as boring.) It was an O.K. neighborhood, no guns going off every night (or any night for that matter), no yellow “Police Line Do not cross” tape surrounding our neighbors' houses, or anything like that (that I was aware of, that is). I spent most of my days either hanging out with the girl next door and the kid across the street, or sitting in the house watching Batman, Back to the Future, Ghostbusters, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I would have to say 75% or more was spent playing with action figures and toy weapons. I was a ball of hyperactivity bouncing around the house making punching, kicking, and various other sound effects with my mouth while either mashing two action figures together or punching and kicking some invisible enemy. I remember I used to spend hours and hours with my action figures, making up random and crazy plots as I went along, as if it was giant super movie with everyone in it. If I wanted my Burger King Happy Meal action figure (I think I had the black kid with the crew cut, I don’t remember his name) to take over the world with an army of My Little Ponies and have Batman and the Ghostbusters, (Co-starring the armless G.I. Joe) team up to stop him and his diabolical ponies, (among a crap load of other random villains), I could if I wanted to. It was my world, my story, and my action figures! I was god! Not to that extent, but I was always in my own little la-la land of imagination. Then there were my other activities including plastic guns that made those random noises that give every parent an intense migraine, and flailing around making noises and theme music as I beat the crap out of some criminal lord or angry thugs dressed up in the same outfit with their bosses name all over it. (Like in the old Batman, remember?). A lot of this took place while I was watching Batman or some other action packed movie or show including; Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Ghostbusters, Power Rangers, Captain Planet, and so on. I would pretend I was Batman or my own made up action hero, pretending the couch was a ledge on the biggest building in the world, and if I fell I would be nothing but a pile of skin and bones! My mind was another galaxy in the universe, and my imagination was my blazing sun.
After I finished kindergarten we were transferred to Yokota Air Force Base in Japan. My dad left a few months ahead of us, and then we met him there and stayed in a small little house (or should I call it a hut? It was pretty damn small) off base. We had no cable, or for some strange reason, any TV for that matter. We had a Television Set, plugged in and everything, we got nothing but a blue screen. So my dad had a crap load of videos, and I was in awe! Though, now that I think of it, there was not that many. My dad bought me and my sister Cara, who was about 3 or 4 at that time, a Super Nintendo, and boy was I up every single morning playing Super Mario, what seemed like the world to me at that time. My mom not too long ago told me she can't stand the music, cause she was sick there (pregnant with my sister,Taylor), she would hear Super Mario in the other room, jumping on green, red, and blue turtles, playing that annoying theme song, a different kind depending on the level, and the sound it made whenever you died. I can’t really describe it, but I am sure you know what I am talking about.
Across the street lived a Philippine boy about my age who I occasionally hung out with. He did not speak English very well, it was pretty awkward, but hey…it was either him or the ants. After about 4 months or so, we moved into an apartment building (a garden house) on base, where I had a lot of friends, well not really friends, just other kids to act stupid with. In fact, one kid in particular somehow ended up in Edwardsville, Illinois years later, and during my sophomore year, I ran into him randomly. My girlfriend at the time introduced me to an old boyfriend of hers from when she was living in Edwardsville. So one day we decide to hang out together at my house, and this kid shows up with him, and I find out later, (though I had a feeling about him the second I laid eyes on him) that we used to hang out in Japan on base. It is a small world indeed. Anyways, living in Japan kind of sucked, seeing how all the buildings on base were the same color and most of my time was spent on base rather than hanging out with Japanese Samurais and eating at exotic restaurants that served shark and possibly dog, god knows. I did go to Disneyland though, which was interesting. We went into the castle where we were given this tour and the mirror dude from snow white (some sort of holographic, special effects thingy), and I remember every time the face would appear it would creep the hell out of me, because instead of looking like the Disney cartoon character in the movie, it looked like some bloated Asian guy’s head, just sort of floating in pitch black, framed like a mirror. Not only that, but it spoke Japanese which somehow made it even more unsettling. Things did get interesting though during 3rd and 4th grade, when I met the cutest girl I ever laid my precious blue eyes on. Her name was Nesha, and she lived down the street from me. We were not ever really boyfriend and girlfriend, just friends, though I had a major crush on her. We would hang out, in and out of school. At the time, my imagination was flying…I was acting out previews to movies I created (In my head that is) and I had this thing for werewolves for some strange reason, and I had an imaginary place I called Wolf Land, where I was a famous actor, singer, and football player. Now that I look back at it, it sounds so out of whack, maybe even mentally ill. Last year, when I had a MySpace account, Nesha somehow found me and sent me a message. She was living in the UK (Still is I am sure), and she actually mentioned how I always talked about Wolf Land, and pretended I was half boy half wolf. She remembered my little imaginary werewolf name I gave myself, Wolfgang. The internet is an amazing thing…
It was after 4th grade we finally left Japan, and moved to Belleville, Illinois. There I hung out with two boys (bother brothers), where we usually played pretend with plastic Nerf guns, and various other weapons and gadgets. We would always play it as if it were a movie, and I’d always want to act out the trailer to it, and make sequels to it, and pretend it was something really big. A box office hit! There was this one we used to love to play called “Man and Creature” or something like that. It was some crazy si-fi idea I came up with where three men (since there were only three of us) were sent into space, and somehow, ended up on a mysterious planet in another galaxy. We would use this little red wooden playhouse that was built in my back yard, long before we moved in, as our space ship. On this planet we were, of course you guessed it, aliens! There were different types, though, according to color. There were the black ones, the red ones, and I remember the green ones were supposed to be the most dangerous or something. The aliens' eggs were kind of like the ones in Alien, and whenever you were close to one it would open up and suck you in. We would go on for hours doing this, just as I had gone on hours creating outrageous plots for my action figures. We got up to (I think) Man and Creature 4, where the aliens came to earth and attacked us, and the three guys (the heroes), being the only ones who know how to stop them, saved the world from being infested. We actually rated them too. They were always rated R for some reason. Other than hanging out with them, I also hung out with SM, a kid I knew in Japan whose dad worked with my dad, and to this day, still does. We became best friends and still very much are. It was just last weekend I spent time with him.
We lived in Belleville until I had finished 7th grade. Belleville West Jr. High was not a happy place…way too many people. We then came here to Troy, where my parents bought a nice house on Staunton Rd. where I am at this very second. My life never really started until 9th grade. That’s when things got interesting, crazy, painful, exciting, intriguing, and so on and so on. I met a girl named CG, or whatever (I don’t know how to spell her last name). I hung out with her crowd for some time, and I went out with her for about 4 maybe 5 months….I don’t know. During this time, I also met a girl named SS…a cute girl with pretty blonde hair and a nice smile, who loved to read, and was absolutely in love with the Harry Potter series. Before I went out with C, it was she who I went to my first Homecoming with. After that, we still talked at lunch and online, but never really hung out…not until the summer before sophomore year. After my first official “break-up” I began talking to her, and, before I knew, things got all lovey dovey and I went out with her for at least a year and a half, which was until the second semester of my Jr. year. I went to all three homecomings with her. She was my first actual heartbreak. The first one I had long fights with and moments of cuddling and writing love songs about. I actually sang to her one time while she was in Drivers Ed. It was Coldplay’s “Yellow”. Mr. J ended up sending me to the office, and it was weird getting a referral for singing to what seemed the whole entire class. I guess it’s accurate to say she was my first romantic experience. Now that I look back on it, the tears and the pain were nothing but petty sidewalk scratches. I kind of just floated around after the break up, hanging out with a crazy girl named H, then breaking up with her after awhile. I had just got a taste of what we like to call a “love life”. Now I know that being 18, and only moments away from graduating, I have my whole life ahead of me, and all that seemed the entire world to me was nothing but an ant compared to life’s up-coming pains and problems.
There are a lot of things I left out, like my neighbor who I used to hang out with, some fat kid named K who was into Heavy Metal, and loved to push me around because he was bigger than me. That was the junk I left out, about 3 years worth. Then there were my sisters…Cara and Taylor…the little angels (I hope you know that was complete sarcasm). Then there was the time I was close friends with SD, and the time when I tripped over a sewer under a bush and landed my two front teeth on the edge of a slab of concrete back in like 3rd grade. Then there was the time I started coming to the realization I wanted to be a writer, and the time I went to my great grandma’s funeral, her being the first dead body I saw in person. There is a lot of stuff I left out, and I’ve only have been on this earth for 18 years, and I have got hopefully about another 78 or so to go. This is just a brief, very brief summary of my life, and a lot of the things I mentioned where things that seem to have stuck with me, and made me who I am today at this second, though there is a crap load more. Tomorrow is probably the one millionth chapter of my life, and though I have a feeling it’s going to be boring, I am still anxious to see how the story of my life continues, and where it will take me.
Tax-deductable donations may be made to The Brandon Thulon Memorial Fund, 2328 Staunton Road, Troy, IL 62294.
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How the Brain Rewires Itself - by Brandon Thulon
April 2007
Neuroscientists have come to a “revolutionary idea about the brain,” says Time magazine. Lately, experiments have shown that just thinking about doing something can have a physical effect upon the brain. Getting two groups of volunteers, one to play the piano, and the other to imagine playing the piano, neuroscientists were able to reveal with trans-cranial-magnetic-stimulation (TMS) that the region of motor cortex that controls the piano-playing fingers also expanded in the brains of volunteers who imagined playing the music – just as it had in those who actually played it. “Mental practice resulted in a similar reorganization” of the brain, Pascual-Leone later wrote.
The old saying, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks” refers to an adult brain as essentially immutable, hardwired, fixed in form and function, so that by the time we reach adulthood, “we are pretty much stuck with what we have,” says Time Magazine. But research in the past few years has overthrown this “dogma.” In its place has come the realization that the adult brain retains impressive powers of “neuro-plasticity” – the ability to change its structure and function in response to experience.
This, to me, is a good thing. I’m only 18, and I can’t understand math and physics which, to be honest, I am really interested in learning, though it’s boring learning it in a high school class. I’d love to read tons of books on it, and learn it by myself. That’s one of the weird things about me. I love to read and learn just about anything I can get my hands on; but I can’t seem to focus at school. I flunked Biology my first year. Last year I had to take a semester of the basics of science, or whatever it was called. I earned my credits, but I didn’t learn much. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I have plenty of time to rewire my brain not only to start doing physical things (something I really need to start doing), but mental things – going back and understanding what I didn’t in the past. My brain obviously has a problem with understanding mathematics, like my dad. But that doesn’t mean I’ll never be able to understand it. All I have to do is read, read, read, until I die!
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Use Bug Spray
For: “In the Mailbox” -- Troy Times-Tribune - by Steven Thulon
25 June 2008
It’s been nearly one year since Brandon Steven Thulon passed on August 7, 2007. He was eighteen years old; he had just graduated from high school and was truly in the prime of his life. Yes, many questions still loom unanswered.
What is not in question and most germane to this writing is that Brandon was working around the perimeter of our yard cleaning up the bad 2007 winter ice damage, when a tick carrying the Rickettsia rickettsi bacteria (better known as Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever) apparently bit him. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) made this determination based upon six tissue samples, all positive for this bacterium. The cause of death listed in Brandon’s autopsy report: “Complications of Rickettsia rickettsi septicemia.” We received the autopsy report as soon as it was ready in late February of 2008.
That being said, many might wonder if proper precautions were taken before embarking on work in and around the wooded part of our yard. In short, yes. But I feel strongly enough to write this down and say it out loud for others’ benefit: TAKE NOTHING FOR GRANTED.
I remember when I asked Brandon and his best friend, Steven, to take on this big task and make a little summer cash. The ice damage was not horrible, but did require some effort to cut broken tree limbs, drag them around and cut them up, etc. The task was rugged and required some safety precautions.
The first thing to do was to get the mosquito and tick protection on. These boys put so much spray on themselves I remarked that “If the bugs didn’t get them, the DEET will.” Even with the protection of Deep Woods®, a tick was ultimately able to make its way through at some point to bite Brandon. We think the tick must have traveled inside his clothing as the outside of the clothing was literally soaked with protection. (Brandon’s friend, Steven, applied the protection to his skin under his clothes, also. Brandon either did not do this, or did not do it as thoroughly.) The lesson is: Quality, not quantity. THE PROTECTION MUST BE APPLIED DIRECTLY TO THE SKIN TO BE MOST EFFECTIVE.
Amazingly, the tick, or the tick bite site, was never located on Brandon’s body. The tick does not have to imbed itself to be dangerous; the tick just has to bite the skin to infect the body. This happens rarely, but is still, obviously, very dangerous.
I feel compelled to tell this account for friends and acquaintances who may still be curious about Brandon’s sudden illness and untimely death, as well as to warn readers about the potential dangers lurking in and around all of our houses here in Madison County.
The representative who accomplished the testing of Brandon’s tissue samples at the CDC in Atlanta told me that when one Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever case happens in an area, others cases typically follow.
Be careful this summer; and always take proper precautions when planning outdoor activities in or around wooded areas.
Tax-deductable donations may be made to The Brandon Thulon Memorial Fund, 2328 Staunton Road, Troy, IL 62294.
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Post to Coldplay - 2007
This is highly irregular of me to post so – but you must humor a father who lost his 18 year old son in August 2007 to what began as a tick bite.
Brandon Steven Thulon was an amazing kid. He became a man. He died too soon. I have to admire him in so many ways as he inspired me, his father, with his persistent idealism. I believe I learned more from him than he learned from me. He had great taste in music and was VERY discriminating and mature in his tastes. He read incessantly and voraciously – he loved the classics and Shakespeare. His favorite music was that of Coldplay. I heard him listen to the songs of Coldplay over and over, especially in his many moments of pensive endeavor. The music spoke to his soul, I believe. Brandon was an artist at heart and was sensitive – the world overcame him as it presents itself politically and socially. He was troubled by this, yet never gave up hope that he could make a difference. He wanted to become a journalist, travel the world and tell his story of the big picture and make a big impact on the world stage. Yes, he dreamt very big. The funny thing is he had no idea that he did make a profound difference in the lives of those who really knew him, of whom I am one.
Not many kids talk about the song they want played at their funeral, which he told his closest friends, and I would discover later. Knowing his beloved music, I selected "The Scientist" as the song to be played at his funeral. I thought this song most perfectly described him and his view. Brandon's teacher, Ed Langen, agreed to eulogize him. I had no idea that because of this choice my wife and I would learn many different and fascinating facets of the boy we had raised to be a man. Ed had some of Brandon's closest friends over a couple of nights to tell stories of Brandon. We had a wonderful time sharing so many stories. Eventually, I asked about the selection of "The Scientist" for the funeral service. To my surprise, his friends said that this was the song he wanted to be played at his funeral.
The funeral was a very uniquely moving experience for the very many who attended. Brandon would have been both pleased and amazed at the content of the eulogy and the overwhelming attendance. He was an artist and kept himself relatively isolated – this was his nature. He lived by his rules. He was aware, sensitive and expressive, but thought he was invisible. Brandon's English teacher's account at the eulogy brought me to tears. Brandon had told her he wanted to be a writer someday, to which she replied, "Brandon, you ARE a writer!" Many more accounts from family, friends and teachers were recounted.
The night before the funeral, Brandon's best friend, Steven Metzger, came over to our house to spend time in Brandon's room to find something to put in the casket. He was there until after two in the morning. Before the funeral service began, Steven asked Ed to have a few minutes of the eulogy to say something. Steven had found a journal entry and a poem of sorts in Brandon's journal, dated just days before he fell ill. This journal entry posed certain thoughts about if he died that night, and what he would leave behind in memory. This chilled me most unexpectedly – I had no idea what to expect from this impromptu and most serendipitous moment. I chill even now. The poem mused this:
". . . Brief gusts of wind soothe the atmosphere around me, a comforting whisper in my ear. The sounds of the trees swaying seem to sing a soft lullaby; and if I close my eyes, it's like listening to the ocean, reaching its arms out over a beach, and then retiring back over the soft grains of sand, leaving its salty mark along the edge of the beach."
He wrote this 18 July 2007 and passed 7 August 2007.
I miss Brandon and our deep, candid talks. He wanted to make the world a better place. His head told him things his heart did not want to believe – this troubled him. He never gave up, though he struggled with reality, justice and the morality of political and societal behaviors on a daily basis. The words and music of Coldplay both helped to comfort him and to focus him – I believe the music stimulated his soul. The cerebral edge of the Coldplay word and sound combination aided him in his becoming, transcendence and in his emerging power as a thinker, writer and person. There is a certain honesty and, indeed, spirituality that resonated between Coldplay and him in his deepest self as he listened – and I believe he was renewed by it.
I have to say that I have found the same experience as I have "discovered" the importance of this special group after Brandon passed and in the wake of the aftermath. In my grief I listen, as my son Brandon did, to the sounds of Coldplay and find him there – in this I am comforted and feel I can know a little bit more of my son through this listening experience: It's a connection. Brandon's memory comes back to haunt me in this way. Brandon's spirit awakens in me every time I hear Coldplay – and I remember Brandon and re-discover him completely as he was, again and again.
Members of Coldplay, thank you for being such an important part of my son's life experience – and now of mine.
Cordially,
Steven V. Thulon – Brandon's Father
Tax-deductable donations may be made to The Brandon Thulon Memorial Fund, 2328 Staunton Road, Troy, IL 62294.
25 June 2008
It’s been nearly one year since Brandon Steven Thulon passed on August 7, 2007. He was eighteen years old; he had just graduated from high school and was truly in the prime of his life. Yes, many questions still loom unanswered.
What is not in question and most germane to this writing is that Brandon was working around the perimeter of our yard cleaning up the bad 2007 winter ice damage, when a tick carrying the Rickettsia rickettsi bacteria (better known as Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever) apparently bit him. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) made this determination based upon six tissue samples, all positive for this bacterium. The cause of death listed in Brandon’s autopsy report: “Complications of Rickettsia rickettsi septicemia.” We received the autopsy report as soon as it was ready in late February of 2008.
That being said, many might wonder if proper precautions were taken before embarking on work in and around the wooded part of our yard. In short, yes. But I feel strongly enough to write this down and say it out loud for others’ benefit: TAKE NOTHING FOR GRANTED.
I remember when I asked Brandon and his best friend, Steven, to take on this big task and make a little summer cash. The ice damage was not horrible, but did require some effort to cut broken tree limbs, drag them around and cut them up, etc. The task was rugged and required some safety precautions.
The first thing to do was to get the mosquito and tick protection on. These boys put so much spray on themselves I remarked that “If the bugs didn’t get them, the DEET will.” Even with the protection of Deep Woods®, a tick was ultimately able to make its way through at some point to bite Brandon. We think the tick must have traveled inside his clothing as the outside of the clothing was literally soaked with protection. (Brandon’s friend, Steven, applied the protection to his skin under his clothes, also. Brandon either did not do this, or did not do it as thoroughly.) The lesson is: Quality, not quantity. THE PROTECTION MUST BE APPLIED DIRECTLY TO THE SKIN TO BE MOST EFFECTIVE.
Amazingly, the tick, or the tick bite site, was never located on Brandon’s body. The tick does not have to imbed itself to be dangerous; the tick just has to bite the skin to infect the body. This happens rarely, but is still, obviously, very dangerous.
I feel compelled to tell this account for friends and acquaintances who may still be curious about Brandon’s sudden illness and untimely death, as well as to warn readers about the potential dangers lurking in and around all of our houses here in Madison County.
The representative who accomplished the testing of Brandon’s tissue samples at the CDC in Atlanta told me that when one Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever case happens in an area, others cases typically follow.
Be careful this summer; and always take proper precautions when planning outdoor activities in or around wooded areas.
Tax-deductable donations may be made to The Brandon Thulon Memorial Fund, 2328 Staunton Road, Troy, IL 62294.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Post to Coldplay - 2007
This is highly irregular of me to post so – but you must humor a father who lost his 18 year old son in August 2007 to what began as a tick bite.
Brandon Steven Thulon was an amazing kid. He became a man. He died too soon. I have to admire him in so many ways as he inspired me, his father, with his persistent idealism. I believe I learned more from him than he learned from me. He had great taste in music and was VERY discriminating and mature in his tastes. He read incessantly and voraciously – he loved the classics and Shakespeare. His favorite music was that of Coldplay. I heard him listen to the songs of Coldplay over and over, especially in his many moments of pensive endeavor. The music spoke to his soul, I believe. Brandon was an artist at heart and was sensitive – the world overcame him as it presents itself politically and socially. He was troubled by this, yet never gave up hope that he could make a difference. He wanted to become a journalist, travel the world and tell his story of the big picture and make a big impact on the world stage. Yes, he dreamt very big. The funny thing is he had no idea that he did make a profound difference in the lives of those who really knew him, of whom I am one.
Not many kids talk about the song they want played at their funeral, which he told his closest friends, and I would discover later. Knowing his beloved music, I selected "The Scientist" as the song to be played at his funeral. I thought this song most perfectly described him and his view. Brandon's teacher, Ed Langen, agreed to eulogize him. I had no idea that because of this choice my wife and I would learn many different and fascinating facets of the boy we had raised to be a man. Ed had some of Brandon's closest friends over a couple of nights to tell stories of Brandon. We had a wonderful time sharing so many stories. Eventually, I asked about the selection of "The Scientist" for the funeral service. To my surprise, his friends said that this was the song he wanted to be played at his funeral.
The funeral was a very uniquely moving experience for the very many who attended. Brandon would have been both pleased and amazed at the content of the eulogy and the overwhelming attendance. He was an artist and kept himself relatively isolated – this was his nature. He lived by his rules. He was aware, sensitive and expressive, but thought he was invisible. Brandon's English teacher's account at the eulogy brought me to tears. Brandon had told her he wanted to be a writer someday, to which she replied, "Brandon, you ARE a writer!" Many more accounts from family, friends and teachers were recounted.
The night before the funeral, Brandon's best friend, Steven Metzger, came over to our house to spend time in Brandon's room to find something to put in the casket. He was there until after two in the morning. Before the funeral service began, Steven asked Ed to have a few minutes of the eulogy to say something. Steven had found a journal entry and a poem of sorts in Brandon's journal, dated just days before he fell ill. This journal entry posed certain thoughts about if he died that night, and what he would leave behind in memory. This chilled me most unexpectedly – I had no idea what to expect from this impromptu and most serendipitous moment. I chill even now. The poem mused this:
". . . Brief gusts of wind soothe the atmosphere around me, a comforting whisper in my ear. The sounds of the trees swaying seem to sing a soft lullaby; and if I close my eyes, it's like listening to the ocean, reaching its arms out over a beach, and then retiring back over the soft grains of sand, leaving its salty mark along the edge of the beach."
He wrote this 18 July 2007 and passed 7 August 2007.
I miss Brandon and our deep, candid talks. He wanted to make the world a better place. His head told him things his heart did not want to believe – this troubled him. He never gave up, though he struggled with reality, justice and the morality of political and societal behaviors on a daily basis. The words and music of Coldplay both helped to comfort him and to focus him – I believe the music stimulated his soul. The cerebral edge of the Coldplay word and sound combination aided him in his becoming, transcendence and in his emerging power as a thinker, writer and person. There is a certain honesty and, indeed, spirituality that resonated between Coldplay and him in his deepest self as he listened – and I believe he was renewed by it.
I have to say that I have found the same experience as I have "discovered" the importance of this special group after Brandon passed and in the wake of the aftermath. In my grief I listen, as my son Brandon did, to the sounds of Coldplay and find him there – in this I am comforted and feel I can know a little bit more of my son through this listening experience: It's a connection. Brandon's memory comes back to haunt me in this way. Brandon's spirit awakens in me every time I hear Coldplay – and I remember Brandon and re-discover him completely as he was, again and again.
Members of Coldplay, thank you for being such an important part of my son's life experience – and now of mine.
Cordially,
Steven V. Thulon – Brandon's Father
Tax-deductable donations may be made to The Brandon Thulon Memorial Fund, 2328 Staunton Road, Troy, IL 62294.