My family and I had always known about the Jones’s situation. We knew that David, who is 7 years old, couldn’t talk, or even make up his own gibberish. We knew that he couldn’t do many things that other kids of his age could do. We always knew that David had autism.
We also knew that he was one of the happiest kid’s we had seen. I have several memories of playing with him when we were both little, and I remember watching him laugh as I did the simplest trick, such as pretending to pull a coin out of his ear . The green, concrete floor of the cafeteria at a summer camp used to be our playground where I would watch him and keep him from getting into trouble. He didn’t mind the environment. He would smile as brightly as he did when He was outside. I can recall memories where David’s father, Matthew, would ask me to watch him while he took care of the younger child, Sebastian. Sebastian, who is 2 years old, has always been more intelligent than any child of his age who I’ve encountered. He incessantly elaborates on how important water is to every living creature. “The grass needs water, and the tree’s needs water, and Sebastian needs water….” He would rattle on forever if someone didn’t stop him.
Although our families only saw each other a couple of times a year, David always seemed to remember who I was. With each encounter, I could see David growing more and more, and I would be extremely proud of him every time. However, my family and I didn’t know how his mother, Christina, was being affected.
We found out one day, when my mother and I went to visit the Jones family at church. I hadn’t seen David in over 2 years, so I was ineffably excited. Matthew, who is also the leader of the praise team, invited my mom to sing with him during the service. She was ecstatic. While she sang, David sat next to me, smiling his brilliant, lively smile. After church, Matthew pulled my mother and I aside to talk to us about his wife. Christina was overwhelmed with her children and the responsibilities of life. She had become slightly depressed over the years, and the church was trying to help her. Then, he proposed a solution that nearly put my mom into shock.
“Hey!” he said in an epiphany, “What if you and your kids moved in with us? I know you work online, and you’re kids have a semi-flexible schedule. You could live with us, rent free, and in exchange you could help Christina with the kids.” As soon as I heard what he said, I was ready to pack my bags and move in. Mom, however, wasn’t so enthusiastic.
“Matthew, that’s so spontaneous!” She speculated. “Can I think about it for a while?” That evening, I was in a car that was headed back to my original house. For the next few weeks, I tried to convince my mom that we absolutely had to help them. I didn’t want to take no for an answer. Her argument against moving in with them was, unfortunately, airtight. I was broken hearted. I felt that I needed to help that family, no matter what.
A few days later, my feeling was strengthened. The preacher was reading the story of the creation of the world, straight from the Bible. Seven year old David sat next to me on the soft couch in the back of the church, pen and paper in hand. Then the preacher began to read.
“Then God said, ‘Let there be light’.” David drew the sun. “Then God said, ‘Let there be an expanse to separate water from water’.” David drew the sea. “Let dry ground appear.” David drew an island. “Let there be vegetation.” David drew a tree. “Let there be living creatures.” David drew a fish in the sky. Despite the ridiculous error, I was touched. That skewed, unsightly picture was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in my life. I couldn’t sit back and let that family be alone anymore.
On the way home from church, I said to my mom, “Maybe I could move in with them. Just me.” There was silence for a long time. I didn’t dare say anything more until she answered. Finally after an expanse of forever, my mom let out a sigh.
“Ok.” She said, “I’ll let you go there, four days a week, until Christina can manage on her own.” The very next day, my bags were packed.
David led me into his house, his small hands clinging to mine, dragging me to my room. The arrangement was not permanent, but it was enough to bring our families together inseparably and enough to get Christina back on her feet. Now, as I listen to the sound of “Veggie Tales” in the background, mixed with David and Sebastian’s laughter, I can only remember the one principle belief that seems to positively dictate my life; I want to live my life in a way that will make a difference to other people, despite obstacles and doubts. I want my legacy to be that I changed lives, and I am able to do that because a drawing, created by an autistic child, changed what I will believe forever.