General

I was proud of my janitor father, a man who held down a job for decades cleaning a school so that it was fit for the children of our community.

General

The greatest among us do the small things that keep life good and clean, and our janitor was such a person.

General

The janitor moved like someone schooled in dance. He wasn't cleaning so much as meditating, side-stepping and turning in fluid motions as if the mop were a beloved partner. We laughed until our bellies ached but he would only smile back, wink and keep on dancing. I bet when they old goat dies they'll find a juke box where his heart should be, stuck on repeat, playing the greatest hits from his long ago youth.

General

The janitor walked stiffly as if still keeping time with his long lost regiment. His shoulders were drawn back, his neck muscular and his clean shave jaw quite square. This man who had lead soldiers now cleaned with military precision. There was no hint of shame or crushed ego, he took orders from the teachers like they were his superior officers and treated to children like his own battalion. Many of them would salute him as they passed in the corridors and he never tired of saluting in return. Then come November 11th he was guest of honour at the school assembly, and on those occasions his salute was mirrored back to him by every child sitting cross-legged on the floor.