What a Custodian Actually Does

We have a family friend, Mary.

She’s been around my wife’s family forever. Raised her kids, watched them grow up - the whole thing. The kind of person who’s been part of my wife’s life for as long as she can remember.

She works as a custodian at the local elementary school, and she talks about it a lot, usually venting like we all do about our jobs.

Kids trash the place. Nothing really happens. Half the time “discipline” feels more like a break from class than anything else. She raised three kids of her own (three boys, just like us), so she sees the difference. And yeah… it gets to her sometimes.

But that’s not really what stuck with me.

We were over there the other day, just visiting like we usually do, and she was talking about the week she had taken off to stay home with her mom (this rockstar… Mem, in her 90s and recovering from surgery like it’s no big deal). And she said the thing she missed most was the kids.

Not the work. Not the routine.

The kids.

She told us how she stands out front every morning during bus drop-off. Same spot. Every day. And she watches them come in. You can tell right away, she said.

There are the kids who get out of the car and turn back for one more hug. The parents adjusting backpacks, fixing coats, sending them off with a little reassurance. There are the kids who jump out excited, barely looking back, ready for the day.

And then there are the ones.

The ones who get dropped off quickly. No eye contact. No hug. No pause.

You can feel it, she said. You can always tell.

She didn’t say it in a judgmental way. Just… matter-of-fact. Like someone who has seen enough mornings to understand what’s happening without needing to explain it.

She also told us she makes it a point to smile and say hello to every single one of them. Every day. Some smile back. Some don’t. Some are too shy. Some come up and give her a hug or a high five. And she knows which ones need it, even if they never say it out loud.

And the thing is, she knows exactly what she’s doing.

She just doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

She shows up the next morning and stands in the same spot, smiling at every kid who walks in.

Which honestly surprised me a little, given how much she deals with inside those walls.

She said being away for that week felt strange. Like something was missing. Like she wasn’t there for them.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that.

Which is funny, because it’s not exactly the kind of thing that would’ve registered with me a few years ago.

On paper, Mary’s job is to clean a building.

But that’s not really what she does.

She keeps the place functioning. She keeps it steady. And in some quiet way, she becomes part of what makes it feel safe.

It made me think about what a custodian actually does.

I’ve thought about it in the obvious ways - jobs, responsibilities, being in charge of something.

But this felt different.

Less about managing something… more about protecting it.

It’s not just about fixing things. It’s about being there. Consistently. Quietly. Without needing recognition. Just showing up in a way that makes other people feel okay.

I think about that now in my own life, being home more, being around my kids, seeing the little moments I used to miss. The good moods. The bad moods. The tired ones. The chaos.

And realizing that a lot of what matters isn’t what you do in some big, visible way. It’s just being present enough to catch what’s happening and steady enough to handle it when it comes.

I don’t think most people would think twice about what she does.

But if she wasn’t there, I think a lot of people would feel it.

Not in a dramatic way.

Just in that subtle “something’s off” way that’s hard to explain.

That kind of presence is easy to overlook.

But it’s not small.

It’s everything.