For Joe, getting older resulted in further social isolation. When he was younger, he could play with kids his age, but more recently he’s had trouble dealing with loud noises, and his abilities don’t align with other kids’. It’s also hard for him to play with others when his play amounts to lining up twenty Matchbox cars in a specific order and making sure none of them are moved, which would result in a meltdown.
The Welters want Joe to have a future, to live a full life and be as independent as possible. So when they learned that an organization called 4 Paws for Ability provides autism service dogs that help people with the same types of problems Joe has, they were thrilled. The dogs are trained to track kids with special needs when they run off, to recognize when the kids are getting irritated and to calm them down before they can hurt themselves. The service dogs also serve as a social bridge to other children.
And then the Welters learned that, given the expense of training a service dog, 4 Paws required families to contribute $15,000 at the time, which is only a small portion of the total cost. The Welters figured that even with help from friends and family, it would probably take them a year and a half to scrape together that amount. But their son’s future was on the line, and they knew what they had to do.
“Asking for help was almost as hard as opening up to our family and friends about Joe’s situation in the first place,” Stephanie says. “But our discomfort was less important than getting Joe the help he needed.”
They began by including a letter with their Christmas cards explaining their goal. They made it clear that they didn’t want to impose but that any amount would help. At the same time, the staff at 4 Paws worked with the local newspaper to run a story about Joe’s situation. Two days after it was published, the Welters received a message on their answering machine: “I hope I have the right number. If you’re the mom of Joe in the paper, my ladies’ group wants to raise money for you.”
“I had to replay the message four times,” Stephanie says. “I was stunned. The group was from a church in the town where my son goes to school—people I didn’t even know.”
Later that week, Stephanie and her husband, John, were having breakfast when she got an email saying a company they’d never heard of had donated $2,000.
“I thought they’d added an extra zero by mistake,” she says, still clearly moved by the gesture.
And the surprises kept coming. A hardware store donated $500. Stephanie’s mother’s accordion group donated money. High school students called the house to ask if they could do a fundraiser. A woman who worked at a restaurant called to say she’d persuaded her boss to donate 10 percent of their take on a particular day toward Joe’s dog. When that day came, every one of Joe’s teachers ordered food from the restaurant. His former speech therapist put together a gift basket to be raffled off for the occasion, and another family who had gotten a service dog through 4 Paws donated a bounce house to be raffled.
When Joe and his family went to the restaurant themselves that night, they saw his former preschool teacher for the first time in years, and Joe was so excited that he hugged her, stepped back and hugged her again—not his usual behavior.
“It was wonderful—we felt like celebrities,” Stephanie says. “When we asked if the kitchen could make Joe a gluten-free grilled cheese with bread we’d brought, they said, ‘Of course—he’s the guest of honor.’ There were so many people we knew there and many we didn’t, and everyone came over to say hi.”
In the end, the event raised $800 and brought the total to $15,000. The Welters had put together lists of fundraising ideas to try, and they didn’t need any of them. Thanks to the help of hundreds of people, most of whom donated under $20, they’d reached their goal in just three months.
“I’m so happy for Joe,” Stephanie says. “Raising that money healed my heart, and I know now that we aren’t isolated and alone. People we didn’t even know sending in that $10 or $20 was life-altering for our whole family. We owe so much to everyone who helped us, and I will never forget it.”
Since getting his goldendoodle, Mulder, Joe’s life has changed radically. Like many children with autism, he hadn’t slept well. He’d wake up after four hours and take hours to go back to sleep. Stephanie and John tried weighted blankets, aromatherapy, yoga, prescription medicine, melatonin and every other sleep aid they could find, but nothing worked until Mulder came along. The day he arrived, Joe finally got his first full night of sleep. And he’s slept ten to twelve hours every night since then, which means the whole family has been able to sleep every night since then. Joe also hadn’t been reaching the yearly educational goals his school set for him, but now he’s achieving those goals. In fact, he achieved a year’s worth within two months of Mulder’s arrival, and for the first time, he’s enrolled in a class with typical kids. Most important, Joe isn’t known as the kid with autism. He’s known as the kid with a dog, and as other children have met Mulder, they’ve gotten to know and appreciate Joe, too.
To give back, the Welters now also provide a home for Hercules, a 4 Paws breeding dog, and Stephanie and Hercules volunteer as a therapy team at the local ER, a cancer center, schools and anywhere else where there’s a need. Stephanie also talks to most incoming 4 Paws volunteers so they hear firsthand the profound impact that Mulder has had on Joe’s family.
THE SANTA BRIGADE
We can’t foresee all the effects of an act of kindness. Sometimes we can’t get past the idea that our contribution would amount to the proverbial drop in the bucket. But if no one ever got past drop-in-the-bucket thinking, hundreds of donors wouldn’t have believed their $10 could make a difference to the Welters. We also wouldn’t have organizations like Habitat for Humanity, the Salvation Army and Meals on Wheels. If Mary and Alice Goodwin and Elizabeth Hammersley hadn’t seen the value in trying to develop the character of a group of “lost boys” in Hartford, Connecticut, in 1860, Boys & Girls Clubs of America wouldn’t have seen the light of day. And if Larry Stewart hadn’t met someone else in need during a time when he was just barely surviving himself, the Society of Secret Santas might not be putting black boots to the ground around the world every year.
When Larry was growing up in his grandparents’ home in a small Mississippi town, he didn’t know they were impoverished. It wasn’t until he started school that he learned what he “lacked”—the bathrooms, telephones, hot water and gas stoves to be found in other kids’ homes.
As a young adult, Larry confronted poverty again. Living paycheck to paycheck, he became homeless when his employer went out of business owing Larry more than one check. So Larry resorted to living in his car, covering himself in his laundry in an effort to stay warm and hoping to forget his hunger. By the time he’d gone two days without a regular meal, he was so desperate that he went to the Dixie Diner and ordered breakfast without knowing how he’d pay for it.
When he finished eating, he started looking around on the floor, pretending he’d lost his wallet. The cook even came out from behind the counter and helped him look.
Then, suddenly, the search was over.
“You must have dropped this,” the cook said. He was holding a twenty-dollar bill.
Larry was so grateful that he made a vow to himself: as soon as he was able, he’d do something for others like what the cook had done for him. Over time, he became financially stable, and he set out to keep his vow. Although he wasn’t well off by any means, he knew he couldn’t put off getting started.
One evening, he stopped at a drive-in restaurant and noticed that the waitress was wearing a tattered coat that couldn’t have been keeping her warm. When he handed her a twenty-dollar bill to pay for his food, he knew it was the moment.
“Keep the change,” he said.
Tears welled in the waitress’s eyes, and her hands shook as she held the money. “You have no idea what this means