Joshua Santes dives into the playpen like a cannonball, and a splash of feathers spin around his feet. With a toss, his teacher triples the flurry, and an odd new texture surrounds the boy.

Seeing Joshua’s smile undone by curiosity, the teacher pinches a feather and tickles the 3-year-old’s cheek. For a child in Joshua’s position, it’s a push.

Joshua has autism, which often comes with an aversion to unusual textures. They’re as irritating as fingernails on a chalkboard.

His first day at the Kindering Center, he wouldn’t go near the sensory pen. A wad of dough lay in the center of its four padded walls, which look like propped up tumbling mats. The boy couldn’t handle even being near the sticky substance.

It’s almost two years since his first day and Joshua giggles and brushes the feathers away. He now knows that new textures can be fun.

For his mother, Issaquah’s Liz Cornejo, it’s a testament to early intervention. Her oldest son also has autism, but he wasn’t diagnosed until he was too old for Kindering’s program, which is birth to 3.

Sitting on a sofa in Kindering’s family room, she thinks of the years lost — had she only known the signs, had she only known there was help, had she only known there was Kindering.

The Bellevue organization has been providing innovative therapy for babies and their families for 50 years. It’s the largest such facility in the Northwest, serving about 1,600 children with special needs.

It’s also known for its innovation.

Before early intervention, physicians often told parents they shouldn’t take their children home, that they belonged in an institution. That changed for the Eastside, when six families decided that their children could learn and took it upon themselves to teach them.

Finding the button

Denny Wetherald was only 1-year-old when a “guru” at Virginia Mason diagnosed him with “partial retardation.” He was a bright boy waiting for the right button to be pushed, the doctor told his father, Morey.

Denny would turn 4 before he’d speak or walk.

There wasn’t much available for children with disabilities, but Morey found a group swim time at Juanita Beach Pool. The class aimed at helping enrich the youngsters’ lives.

In a few weeks the parents were meeting in living rooms and sharing ideas on how to teach the kids.

“It truly was trial and error,” Morey recalls.

They taught some to ride a tricycle by attaching their feet to the pedals and pulling the bike with a wire. For others, they used cheese puffs to bribe them into feeding themselves.

In that era, when most school districts considered kids with disabilities to be uneducable, the parents were proving otherwise.

“We realized we had a hold of something here,” Morey recalls.

However, he still was looking for Denny’s button.

It came in an unexpected form — a horse. The Wetherald children often visited the neighborhood horses, bringing them carrots. Morey would hold up Denny’s hand to pet their manes.

One day as the family drove by the pasture, Denny unexpectedly pointed at a horse and said, “hazeezus.” It wasn’t quite “horsies,” but Denny had discovered  the verbal world.

“All of a sudden the button got pushed,” Morey said. “I guess he pushed it himself.”

In less than six months it was if his jaw was unlocked and his feet unbound. He didn’t bother to crawl, he just stood up and walked.

Denny caught up with his peers by middle school; he earned his Eagle Scout in high school. He didn’t stop there. Today Hugh “Denny” Wetherald is an admiral in the U.S. Navy.

After some success, the playgroup realized that if it wanted to get serious, it needed money. It formed a non-profit and won a grant to form a school –  Eastside Preschool for the Special Child.

“You have to grow or die. All life is like that,” Morey said.

And, so what would become Kindering, grew.

Accommodating success

Mimi Siegel, Kindering executive director, peers through a round window into an activity room to watch toddlers chase each other across uneven steps.

It takes a certain amount of control to hop from one slanted platform to the next, she says.

Most of Kindering’s early intervention is play-based. Snack time is a chance to introduce new foods for those with restrictive palettes. A baby doll is an opportunity to teach students to follow two-step directions — feed the baby and put it to bed.

In the activity room, a student rolls a ball down a ramp toward Joshua. Playing with others is part of his work plan, and teacher Shafer Crissey jumps on the opportunity by suggesting he throw it back. The magic of two children with autism playing together lasts for a few rounds.

While most Kindering graduates move on to special education preschools, about a third of its graduates no longer need the extra help.

When Siegel started at Kindering over 30 years ago, she had three staff members and 11 children. Today the center has about 100 special educations, social workers and speech, occupational, physical and family therapists. They usually have masters degrees and some have doctorates.

It’s been a decade since Kindering’s facility in Crossroads expanded. In the past five years alone, the number of students has doubled, pushing the center to capacity. Half of its students only receive home visits.

“Early intervention is so critical,” Siegel says, “that we will not have wait list.”

She is studying whether the facility can open on Saturdays or start a satellite to accommodate the need.

Along with the growth, Kindering also faces financial challenges. Government funding, which provides about half of Kindering’s budget, flatlined with the economy. Fewer students have insurance and more are dependent on Medicaid, Siegel said.

Even though the organization is struggling with an influx of new kids, Siegel is adamant about the need for outreach. It is one of the first such organizations to offer a father’s support group — typically family support only included mothers. And she’s reaching out to homeless families, sending therapists to shelters to find kids needing help. She’s also hoping to help foster children with attachment issues.

“I have believed so much in our mission,” says Siegel. “The kids are so precious.”

Teacher Shafer Crissey works with Issaquah’s Joshua Santes, who has autism, at Kindering Center in Bellevue. BY CELESTE GRACEY, ISSAQUAH & SAMMAMISH REPORTER

Morey wetherald is one of the Kindering founders. BY CELESTE GRACEY, ISSAQUAH & SAMMAMISH REPORTER

Shafer Crissey tosses feathers from the sensory pen into the hair to get Joshua Santes used to the unusual feeling. BY CELESTE GRACEY, ISSAQUAH & SAMMAMISH REPORTER

Joshua Santes uses an iPad at the Kindering Center. Teacher Shafer Crissey, pictured, uses the device as an educational tool. BY CELESTE GRACEY, ISSAQUAH & SAMMAMISH REPORTER