“YouTube university,” he joked proudly while practicing on one of my dolls.
But there was another side of growing up as the janitor’s daughter.
Kids notice things. And teenagers notice them even more.
By the time I started middle school, everyone knew who my father was.
Not because he was important.
Because he cleaned their messes.
Sometimes I’d hear whispers while walking down the hall.
“That’s her… the janitor’s kid.”
“My dad says he scrubs the toilets here.”
It wasn’t usually loud enough to start a confrontation, just quiet enough to sting.
And when those moments happened, I learned early how to keep walking like I hadn’t heard a word.
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