“Woah, woah! Slow down there, who taught you how to mop?”
James, an unbelievable human being and day shift custodian in a school district I worked in long ago, in my first role in central office.
“The Army?!” <– me, the eager new admin, wanting to help.
“Oh, ok then… let’s see what you got, youngblood!”
James was a baker on board a Navy frigate for a lifetime, and now tended the high school with a finetuned finesse. An experience and craftsmanship that don’t just happen.
I was trying to be helpful and get the cafeteria back in shape after a particularly challenging meal, which required some extra effort. I had, without knowing, stepped into territory I was yet to become familiar with, and welcomed in. I had to earn my place, and rightfully so.
“Let me show you, ok? Let me help with some expectations, and how I’d like it done. Ok?”
James was the consummate guide and steward to all things custodial work at the building. He ran the place like a ballet – with just the right amount of equipment stored, prepared just so, and with an attention to detail I’ve never seen matched since.
He also baked cakes. And bread. And nursed flowers and plants over the summertime for teachers and administrators.
“Want me to shape up your jade for you?” he asked in my second year there. “Yes? She’ll like it that much better. She needs a bit of pruning, too. I’ll take care of it.”
He taught me how to line trash cans, too. Pre-load them by hanging a few extra bags along the side before you line it, “so you’re ready for a quick changeout,” he’d say. I’ve never since lined another trash can without one.
James taught me more than mopping and trash cans.
He taught me about care, about stewardship, and about love. Love for a building and its people. And love for all people – staff, students, visitors, and especially, the kids that needed his connection, his gentle guidance, and his stern hand. He demanded perfection in all areas and was never idle.
I channel James every day. At work, at home, or at the grocery store. There’s always someone to help. Always someone to guide, to show love towards, and to help find another way.
It’s not about the mopping.
It’s about making it happen, about service, about selfless care, about caring enough to teach a young whippernsapper administrator how to line a trash can even though he thought he knew how to… Cause I should know how, and James was the perfect teacher.
Cleaning the floors has never been the same since. Wavebreaker included. There’s just no other way than doing it right. It’s a choice. And that’s often a lotta hard work. Here’s to hoping I’ve earned it.