The Kindness of Charlene's Cinnamon Rolls

I've missed the voice of kindness the last few years. Most of us hate the other side about everything, and the rest of us are keeping it civil for the sake of holding our country together. We hold it together and at the same time we - I - talk to others like they're ignorant, stupid, or evil. 

I was talking to Dad (the exact opposite of me in most opinions) about this the other day and we tried to think of a time in our lives we felt different from how things feel now - a moment of real understanding and true kindness. I kept coming back to the cinnamon rolls from Charlene Barton. 

My whole life is awkward, but no more so than high school in Cedar City. The older brothers and sisters were into sports or cheerleading and popular; I was not. I cared about reading and cutting class, plus puberty hit late. I didn't fit in. Our family was already on the outs as converts from California in small-town Southern Utah.

One Monday, the day after a particularly bad day at Mormon church, I was feeling low and hating the world in return. The doorbell rang and there was Charlene Barton, with a big smile on her face. 

"Hi Charlene. Mom's shopping and Dad's out killing." 

"Oh that's ok. These are for you anyway."

"What's for me?"

"I made some of my cinnamon rolls. I could tell you were sad yesterday."

I thanked her, and closed the door so I could cry in peace. 

She saw my pain at church, and I think she saw the pain was deeper. It wasn't just that I was awkward and my family was outside. My schizophrenic sister, who hurt all of us growing up, was released from State custody into our home again. That Sunday at church was too much: living with my schizophrenic sister again, reliving all that pain, my awkwardness, the family's precarious social status.

Charlene's husband, DeLynn (not sure of the spelling or really care) Barton, was not a particularly kind man - rigid in his world view and extremely impatient with anyone outside that world view. To my understanding, he stayed that way. The day before his wife brought me cinnamon rolls, DeLynn called me out in church. "What a special occasion, Bitty is joining us. Your family decided to make it this week?"

It's a stupid thing, both that I was upset and that bringing someone baked goods could fix it. How could that possibly make me feel better? It did though. Charlene taking the time to make and deliver those cinnamon rolls changed how I see people. I was there in my bitterness, and she went against her husband's feelings about me and my family to make me some sweet bread.  

Maybe it was DeLynn who sent Charlene over, feeling bad about the day before. It's possible. Regardless of what motivated her, I know how long it took Charlene to make them. Her random act of kindness 20 years ago still makes me happy. Anyone reading this knows I don't believe in pulling punches, or being nice just to keep face. I'm struggling to find the balance of speaking my mind and still kind. If I aspire to anything, it's to have an act of genuine kindness mean as much as those cinnamon rolls from Charlene meant to me.