Page 45 of 3 Daddies to Go

I stroke his back. His breathing has returned to normal, and his sniffles are fewer and farther between. “Remember last year when we wrote letters to pen pals from a program in California?”

Brayden nods.

“We can do that with you. We’ll have your friends write you letters and send emails so you can stay in touch. And you’ll make tons of new friends in Louisiana.”

Brayden squeezes me in a hug. “I still don’t want to leave, but I’d really like it if you helped me find a place like this in my new town.”

He pulls away and wipes his face again.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Brayden nods. “Yeah. Thanks, Ms. Kendall.”

“Okay, do you want to stay in here until it’s time for lunch? We still have about fifteen minutes.”

He shakes his head. “I want to go play with my friends some more.”

Without another word, Brayden rushes out of the room and back towards the kickball field. I watch from the window as his friends welcome him back, and he takes his turn kicking.

It’s not uncommon for kids to need a minute to cry out their problems. We try to create an inclusive environment where they can take a second to themselves without judgment. I’m glad to see it’s working.

I head back to my post, but my mind is wandering.

Poor Brayden. His family’s restaurant opened long before I moved here, and I thought it would last long after I left. I have neighbors who eat at Mama’s Home every Monday night. It’ll be terrible to see it go.

This is why I want to start my non-profit. If I had the funds, I could offer Brayden’s family a no-interest loan with an affordable payment plan so they could pay off their debts and stay open. With my business model, we would work with business-owners to give them the easiest repayment plan. I bet for Mama’s Home, we would do a small payment every other month.

I sigh. I doubt I’ll ever have the funds to make my dream a reality. I would love to help Brayden and his family, and all the other families struggling in our town and around the world, but it’s just not practical.

I wipe a tear away before anyone can see me crying. I really don’t want to explain why I’m upset to any of the other volunteers. It’s silly to get upset over things we can’t change.

“Lunch time!” a volunteer yells, ringing a large bell. Kids spill out of the building and sprint in from the sports fields.

Auburn finds me, and we walk together towards the outdoor eating area.

“Is everything okay? You look sad now. You’re sure going through the gambit of emotions today.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Brayden just told me that he and his family might be moving away because the restaurant isn’t doing well.”

Auburn clutches her heart.

“Oh, no. That poor boy.”

“It’ll be okay. I’ll get him in with another program down there.”

“Still,” she says. “It won’t be the same without him.”

I have to agree. We have hundreds of kids at the Sunshine Program, but each one is important to us. Sometimes they leave because their parents get better jobs and their situations improve. That’s a happy occasion, but the balance always feels off for a few weeks when our tight-knit group gets a little smaller.

“He will definitely be missed if they move.”

Auburn nods.

“And forgive me for saying this, but I’ll be lost if Mama’s Home closes. They’re the only place in town where I can get corn nuggets, and I have been craving them nonstop since I got pregnant.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“That’s a random craving. I’ll miss the restaurant, too. I love their pancakes. No one else can make them as fluffy and delicious.”