People often ask me how I got into fundraising.
The truth is, I think I started fundraising long before I knew there was a job called "fundraiser."
I grew up poor, and on a small dairy and vegetable farm.
I was a 10-year member of 4-H, and every summer revolved around one thing: the Lorain County Fair. For a farm kid, it was the Super Bowl, Disneyland, and summer camp all rolled into one. We spent months raising livestock, preparing projects, and looking forward to a week with friends we only saw during fair season. There were competitions, late-night conversations, teenage crushes, and enough memories to last a lifetime.
There was just one problem.
The fairgrounds were packed with food vendors, and my family didn't have money for fair food.
My dad's response was simple.
"If you want to eat that junk food, raise the money yourself."
So I did.
At first, I tried yard sales. They worked okay. Next, a putt putt course with no clubs or golf balls (not sure why no one stopped to play), a flea circus (no one came), a lemonade stand (only customer was my older brother - who didn't pay), but then I discovered something much more effective: knocking on doors.
My brother and I would walk miles down a rural road asking people to contribute to our "fair food fund" Looking back, I'm not sure if people looked at my hand-me-down boys' clothes and underfed frame and felt sorry for me, or if I was already developing fundraising skills at ten years old.
Either way, people gave.
And thanks to their generosity, my brother and I spent one glorious week every summer consuming pizza subs, elephant ears, Wellington Band Booster fresh donuts, and every other food our parents never would have spent money on.
What I didn't realize at the time was that I was learning one of the most important lessons of fundraising:
People like helping people.
Fast forward twenty years.
I was working as a program manager for a nonprofit organization when the CEO called us together and delivered news that stopped me cold.
"We may not be able to make payroll."
I was a single mother. Missing a paycheck wasn't an inconvenience, it was a crisis.
After the meeting, I asked him if there was anything I could do to help.
He looked at me and said, "Can you raise money?"
I had no formal fundraising training. No certifications. No experience writing major gift proposals.
But I did know how to ask.
So I started calling people, meeting with donors, telling stories, and connecting people to causes they cared about.
And something surprising happened.
People gave.
Just like they had when I was ten years old, standing on their front porch with a dream of buying fair food.
The more I raised, the more I realized fundraising isn't really about money.
It's about belief.
It's about helping someone see a need and giving them an opportunity to be part of the solution.
It's about connecting generosity with purpose.
Over the years, I've raised millions of dollars for causes that matter. I've learned strategies, systems, and techniques. I've earned awards, titles and leadership positions.
But when I think about where it all started, I don't think about boardrooms or campaigns.
I think about a skinny kid in hand-me-down clothes walking door to door, learning that when you ask with sincerity, people often want to help.
Turns out, I've been a fundraiser my whole life.
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