A Stranger's Kind Deed

Four weeks ago over breakfast at Mimi’s, Senator Howard Stephenson fervently agreed to sponsor a bill that would require insurance companies to pay for medically necessary autism treatments. Upon hearing the tear-inducing good news, I went against all natural instincts, and instead of jumping up in my chair and doing air push ups above my head, I clenched my glass of orange juice tightly and graciously thanked him from my deepest well of passion.

Saturday morning, we, along with nine other volunteer legislative district captains from all over Utah, piled into the Original Pancake House in downtown Salt Lake City for a grassroots launch campaign. As we sat down at our table, I handed each of them their nametags complete with the autism awareness ribbon on the side. Though I had corresponded with many of these eager and equally passionate parents, this was my first time meeting them in person. Each of them shared their stories. And though each situation was unique, their pleas were the same.

“How can we afford treatment that our mainstream doctors are prescribing for her?”

“What is going to happen to him if he doesn’t get the intense treatment he needs?”

“Do you think he’ll ever talk to me?”

“I’ve had to go back to work, but I’m barely making enough to pay our regular bills let alone the treatment he needs.”

“I wonder if she’ll ever know who I am?”

As I traveled through time I heard myself echoing those same fears. I looked down at my plate. I couldn’t force another bite.

Our table grew quiet. I could barely hear the otherwise loud bursts of laughter and utensils clanking on dishes permeating from other parts of the large room.

Finally the waiter swung by and handed each of us our checks. Just as we reached for our wallets, a gentleman approached our table.

“Do you work with kids with autism?” he asked.

“Yes, we do. We’re parents trying to get some legislation passed,” someone answered.

“Your check is on me,” the man said. Then he walked around the table and began collecting our checks, which totaled around $100.

We were stunned into more silence. I looked around the table at each of them through my tear-distorted vision - their eyes were also spilling over.

This man will never know how much he buoyed us up that day. He’ll never really know that with that simple, unassuming act, he helped build my resolve to bionic strength. He’ll also never know that because he touched our lives, we in turn want to touch so many others.

And we intend to do it.

Thank you, Sir.

PS: If any of you are reading this and live in Utah (affected by autism or not), please send me an email so you too can get involved and help these kids get the treatment they need and deserve.

LeeannWhiffen at gmail dot com