The Keepers of Our Castles

In the quiet corners of our schools, offices, and institutions, there exists a group of individuals who are often overlooked, instead seen more as background than the bedrock they truly are. Yet, their very title tells a different story. “Custodian,” derived from the Latin custos, means “guardian” or “protector.” And perhaps it’s time we started treating them as such.

When we think of guardians, our minds drift toward mythical sentinels. Those who are loyal, vigilant, and noble. We imagine watchful figures standing at the gates, protecting sacred spaces, ensuring the safety and integrity of the realm. Now, return from fantasy and look around. The custodians in your building may not wear armor or carry swords, but they guard our spaces all the same.

They are the first to arrive and the last to leave. They navigate darkened halls when everyone else has gone home. They tend to the broken, the dirty, and the neglected. They focus on restoring order in ways few notice and even fewer appreciate. Their hands bear the proof of their labor: scrubbing, lifting, fixing, wiping away what we leave behind, both literally and figuratively.

And yet, despite this, their names are rarely learned. Their stories rarely told. Their presence rarely honored in staff meetings, newsletters, or professional celebrations.

Let's change that.

Tiffany is one of those guardians. She meets every day, and every need, with a smile and unmatched energy. She is quick to ask, "What do you need? I got you." Her positivity fills the space long before her broom or vacuum ever do. And she doesn’t just clean. She upholds standards. “Good enough” isn’t in her vocabulary, and because of her, neither is it in ours.

Aaron walks a quieter path, but his impact resonates all the same. You know he’s nearby not by footsteps, but by song. Often lost in his world of music, his melodies drift through hallways like background scores in a well-lived story. And yet, despite his gentle demeanor, he engages joyfully with students by offering high fives, smiles, and moments of connection that many will remember long after they forget the lessons of the day.

And then there’s Jeremy, my friend and ally from Plato. He was more than a custodian. He was a fixer, a builder, a magician with tools. If something was broken, Jeremy would not only repair it, he’d improve it. He saw every issue as an opportunity to make the space better for those within it. And just as important, he shared his craft with students and staff, showing them not only how things worked, but why they mattered.

These three represent a truth that often goes unspoken: custodians are more than the ones who clean up after us—they are the guardians of our environment, our community, and in many ways, our spirit.

They are the first to arrive and the last to leave. They sweep away the remnants of our days, restore what’s worn, and prepare the way forward. Their labor is quiet but sacred. Their presence is subtle but sustaining.

So let this be more than a thank-you. Let this be a redefinition. A reminder. An honor.

The next time you see a custodian, don’t just pass them by. Say their name. Ask about their day. Recognize the role they play—not behind the scenes, but at the very heart of what we do.

Because guardians deserve nothing less.