My dad was the school custodian, and my classmates made fun of him my whole life. When he died right before my prom, I made my dress out of his work shirts so I could carry a piece of him with me. People laughed when I walked in. But by the time my principal finished speaking, no one was laughing anymore.
It had always been just the two of us: Dad and me.
My mom died giving birth to me, so my dad, Johnny, did everything on his own. He packed my lunch before leaving for work, made pancakes every Sunday without fail, and around second grade, he taught himself how to braid hair by watching YouTube tutorials.
He was also the custodian at the same school I attended, which meant years of hearing exactly what everyone thought about it.
“That’s the custodian’s daughter… Her dad cleans our bathrooms.”
