The situation seemed hopeless.

From the first day he entered my junior-high classroom, Willard P. Frank- lin existed in his own world, shutting out his classmates and me, his teacher. My attempts at establishing a friendly relationship with him were met with complete indifference¹. Even a “Good Morning Willar” received only an inau- dible grunt². I could see that his class- mates fared no better. Willard was strict- ly a loner who seemed to have no desire or need to break his barrier of silence.

Shortly after the Thanksgiving holi- day, we received word of the annual Christmas collection of money for the less fortunate people in our school district.

“Christmas is a season of giving,” I told my students. “There are a few students in the school who might not have a happy holiday season. By contributing to our Christmas collection, you will help buy food, clothing and toys for these needy³ people. We start the collection tomorrow.”

When I called for the contributions the next day, I discovered that almost everyone had forgotten. Except for Willard P. Franklin. The boy dug deep into his pants pockets as he strolled⁴ up to my desk. Carefully, he dropped two quarters into the small container.

“I don’t need no milk for lunch,” he mumbled⁵. For a moment, just a mo- ment, he smiled. Then he turned and walked back to his desk.

That night, after school, I took our meager⁶ contributions to the school principal. I couldn’t help sharing the incident that had taken place.

“I may be wrong, but I believe Willard might be getting might be getting ready to become a part of the world around him,” I told the principal.

“Yes, I believe it sounds hopeful,” he nodded. “And I have a hunch⁷ we might do well to have him share a bit of his world with us. I just received a list of the poor families in our school who most need help through the Christmas collection. Here, take a look at it.”

As I gazed down to read, I dis- covered Willard P. Franklin and his family were the top names on the list.