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A strange sensation comes over me as I walk down the hallway from the janitor’s closet to my classroom. I have walked this same hallway thousands of times; it is not the hallway that has changed. It is me. I’m wearing the same clothes, my hair looks the same- the only difference in my appearance is the janitor’s thick purple necklace with a dozen or so keys dangling from my neck. It’s the combination of those keys and the vacuum that I roll down the hallway that makes me feel somewhat out of sorts. For the thirty or so seconds it takes me to walk down the hallway, I don’t feel like a teacher who is respected, recognized, and well-compensated. I feel like a seasoned janitor who works long, hard hours with low pay and little recognition. I almost feel like I’m wearing a cloak of invisibility. I see some confused looks on the faces of students passing by. Some don’t seem to even notice me. I feel a wave of sympathy and respect for janitors, and wonder how often they are acknowledged on any given day, for anything other than, “Please go do this” and “Go clean up that.” Do they feel like they are everyone stares right through them all day?
I make it to my classroom, and begin to vacuum up the massive amount of dust and debris that has been hiding for months under my current carpet, in order to make room for a beautiful new one. Dust flies everywhere. I begin to sneeze. I go back to the closet to get a broom and dustpan, and continue for nearly half an hour to sweep up the sandbox that has accumulated under the rug. I glance around my classroom. No matter how hard I try to keep it clean, twenty messy little six year olds and a tired teacher most often equal a dirty room at the end of the day. But every morning when I come back to my room, it is clean. And every afternoon when I leave, it is just as dirty if not dirtier than we found it in the morning. But the next day, it is clean again. I wonder if the kids assume it is cleaned magically. I wonder if I do. I think about others in the school who mostly live their lives behind the scenes. Secretaries, paraprofessionals, lunch ladies, technicians… I think about my life beyond school, and all of the people who work hard to make my life more simple and convenient for me each day. I sigh. It is not just the kids who thrust cloaks of invisibility on those around them. It is not just the kids who think the world revolves around them, who think that everyone who provides any kind of service exists solely to meet their needs. What causes such ingratitude? Is it really just oblivion? Laziness? Apathy, complacency? Is it nothing more than sinful pride? In my efforts to teach my kids to use good manners and say “thank you” to everyone who serves them, have I really just been breaking off the weed and leaving the roots? Have I done that with my own pride?
I lay down the carpet that someone designed and fabricated, someone transported to my school, someone donated to my classroom, someone will vacuum tonight.
I return the keys and cleaning supplies, and I walk down the same hallway to pick up my kids from P.E., this time as a teacher again.
I pass by a custodian and wave and smile brightly. It’s not enough, but it’s a start.

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