At some point when I was in college, my Dad was diagnosed with ALS, which everyone normally knows as Lou Gehrig's disease. [Gehrig gave a touching speech at the end of his career, which can be seen here (I think that's the full speech; the movie Pride of the Yankees reenacted the speech, but I think mixed it up some).] I didn't tell anyone when the news broke; first, because I didn't want to believe my Dad, the guy who I went to when physical strength was needed, was going to die of a muscular disease; and secondly, because I didn't know how to talk about my Dad dying (and arguably, still don't).
I felt alone.
The terrible thing about ALS is that your body dies but your mind stays alive. My Dad was still sharp as ever, and I spent several evenings with him near the end of his life watching the Cubs/Bears/Bulls on the TV, which was about all he could muster. Eventually, though, he lost his strength. He lost the ability to pick things up, then to walk, then to breath when he lay down. He retired before he wanted to, he stopped going to church, he stopped going outside. For several years, I watched my Dad shrink away until, as a matter of unfortunate circumstances, he passed away alone in the house.
If I felt alone, I could not imagine how he felt. Every morning he woke up being able to do less than he could the day before. He was trapped in an ever-shrinking world, and no one really understood how that must have felt for him.
After he died, my sister Brianne rallied the family to participate in the ALS Walk4Life. At the time, I didn't much see the point. I would give the money, sure, and try to raise some money, but what was walking around going to do? What point did it serve to help those with ALS? It seemed self-serving and narcissistic. "Look at me!" I felt I was screaming, "I am sad but also doing something good!"
Then I did the walk, surrounded by thousands of people who, like me, have some relationship with the disease. There were massive groups of families, communities, friends, and casual acquaintances who knew someone who had it, and there were people who were suffering at all stages of the disease.
And for the first time, I didn't feel alone.
I wish we had thought of doing this while my Dad was alive, because he might have not taken such an emotional slide had he seen all the people who, like him, were struggling. Some were doing pretty okay, cruising around in their wheel chairs or ambling along on crutches and canes. Others were only memorialized on t-shirts and signs. Regardless, those who were there understood his struggle. It was a shared moment of catharsis which, to me, was and still is priceless.
Seven years down the road, and this ALS Ice Bucket Challenge comes along, and immediately takes the Internet by storm. Predictably, once the trend (and it is a trend) hit peak saturation point, dozens of nay-sayers came out to explain how dumping ice on your head wasn't "true" philanthropy or charity. True giving, true humanitarianism comes with continued effort and money giving. Spending a few minutes taping yourself dumping water on your head was inauthentic and narcissistic.
Sure. In a year, most of these people are going to forget that this happened (hell, in six weeks it will probably be forgotten, like twerking or Ricky Martin). People will likely go about their business again, and joke around about that time they dumped water on their heads.
But I don't care. Forget the fact that ALS foundations have raised four times as much this year as compared to the same time frame last year; forget the fact that this has given more exposure to the charitable foundations who have funded research which has recently made major strides in discovering treatments and cures (which currently there is only one treatment, and it doesn't work great); forget all of the typically philanthropic greatness which has surrounded what one website called "narcissism masked by altruism."
Above all else, these videos have made people feel a little better. And this the core of philanthropy: the desire to promote the welfare of others. I imagine for those who are suffering from ALS, to see Bill Gates, several of the Cubs, Rachel Ray, Elizabeth Banks, Jesse Tyler Ferguson, Nathan Fillion and countless other celebrities briefly think about those with ALS makes the world seem, even for a minute, just a little less dark. No amount of money silently raised will ever be able to do that. I watch every video that come across both my Facebook and Twitter feeds. Every one. And every time, I smile. I don't care if that person donated ten dollars or a million dollars or no dollars. For just a moment in a person's busy life, he or she stopped and thought about someone else. Even if that thought was buried in navel-gazing, I don't care.
It was nice. If you feel good doing something nice, great. We both get something out of it.
