For Us

20. Kindness training.

{Jon}

Jon arrived at the house with a tray full of coffees for himself and the morning staff and a flat of donuts for the meeting at nine. Angel gratefully lifted her coffee off the tray, before returning to the swathe of school forms spread out on the counter. "Thanks boss."

"How's the morning?" Jon said.

She waved her hand. "Just signing off on the paperwork for immunizations next week."

"Don't tell Dusty," Jon said. "He'll be worked up every day until he gets his shot. We'll tell him the morning of and send him to school with his stuffy."

She touched her bangs in a little salute. The fire-engine red colour looked fresh as a new coat of paint. "Got that."

Grace was curled on the sofa under the comforter from her bed, watching children and dragons frolic over the flatscreen TV.

"Morning, Grace," Jon said cheerfully.

Her wary eyes slid to him and she made a small smile.

"Anything you're looking forward to at school today?"

She shook her head, her eyes wandering back to the TV. "I don't have to get any shots." Grace didn't speak very often, but when she did Jon was always struck by how deep and raspy her voice was.

"That's right, no shots, you're the lucky one," Jon said.

"Can I have a donut for breakfast?"

He glanced at Angel, who shrugged. "Sure--you can have a donut for dessert after breakfast," Jon said. "You need protein to stick to your tummy and keep you going in school all morning."

She obligingly put her feet on the floor, wrapping her comforter around her as she walked to the table. It swept behind her little body like the train of a robe.

Jordin and Dusty were up shortly after and the kitchen was loud with the bustle of getting the children fed, their lunches packed, Dusty's shirt turned right side out, mittens located, and Jordin's hair brushed and braided.

Grace refused to let a hairbrush near her head and Jon despaired of the nest of dreadlocks forming on the back of her skull. "Grace, honey, if we don't brush your hair we're going to have to just cut it off. Those knots are never coming out," Jon said.

Grace waved her hands, fending him off with her eyes closed. "I don't care. I want Angel's hair!" It was the loudest thing he'd ever heard her say.

Jon shrugged, tossing the brush on the counter. "Done. What's your hairdresser's name?" He asked Angel.

Angel was laughing, a soft breathy sound. "I'll make an appointment. She can't have my hair colour, boss, this beauty costs a fortune."

Finally the children were out the door to the bus stop, and Jon pulled the kitchen chairs into the living room to make a circle big enough for his whole staff team. One after another, the other staff arrived, casual and full-timers, new hires and older folks who'd been at the house for more than a decade.

Jon sat on the broad couch arm, too nervous to settle into a chair, absently smiling and saying good morning while he breathed an inward prayer. He'd emailed the staff earlier in the week to let them know they would be talking about Jordin and getting orientated on how to respond to a LGBTQ+ child. He checked their faces for early signs of discomfort or resistance, but everyone just looked like he felt: like it was a little too early to be alert and in need of coffee.

Jon began the meeting with a devotional from the Bible, as usual. He often read out of Psalms, the book of prayers in the middle of the Bible, and today was no different. He'd chosen one of his personal favourites, and the staff settled, listening quietly as he read.