Woke Joe and the Adventure of a Lifetime: How a Custodian Helped Two Lost High School Students Prepare for Life After School

Introduction

Do you believe in guardian angels, no matter your religious beliefs? We didn’t. Even while we walked past ours nearly every day of school, for three long years. He wasn’t invisible, exactly; in fact, we both agreed he was one of our favorite adults on campus. Always there with a gleaming smile, a twinking eye, and a friendly comment. Sometimes, he’d even bust us out in laughter with a well-timed magic trick. But we tended to be so wrapped up in our little dramas and worlds that he was invisible to us most of the time.

His full name was Joseph Taira Patterson. Tristan insisted on addressing him as ‘Mr. Patterson’, out of respect. I—on the other hand—just called him ‘Joe’, and I think he liked that. During our senior year, he became our best friend. He listened, like each word mattered. He spent his valuable time with us, and generously shared his treasure store of wisdom. He showed and encouraged and guided and prodded us to grow and stand and find ourselves. Tristan and I will never forget him.

My name is Rabia, and Joe was one of our school custodians. He worked the afternoon shift at Almond High School, nestled in the sleepy, sunny suburbs of Sacramento, California.

He was a cheerful lighthouse in a stormy sea of teen insanity.

This is a story of what happened when we met and got together.

The Day a School Custodian Became Our Joe

My name is Rabia Dabashi. I am an Iranian-American mutt. I daydream a lot. I have lately discovered that I am a romantic. I was a misfit in high school; I didn’t really fit in with any cliques. I ran track and cross-country, and my favorite classes were English and History, which really made me weird. My few friends often told me that I would look really hot if I just smiled some and wasn’t so intense about politics and the environment and stuff. Talk like that just made me more intense.

One of my two best friends at Almond High School was a big, tall, hot-looking white guy named Tristan. He was a party girl’s dream; a 6’4” football player with a dimpled chin, straight teeth, and a shy smile. And money. Tons of money. He drove a new jeep and lived in one of the biggest houses in town; one that came with a pool and usually absent parents. Like I said, a party girl’s dream.

How did the Persian Misfit and the Irish Adonis ever become good buddies? Who knew? On paper, it made no sense. But lots of life makes no sense on paper. It all started when we met freshman year in an elective graphic arts class. I ended up there by mistake, of course. I was one of the last freshmen in my class to sign up for classes, and I ended up with an elective I didn’t want. Tristan? He had already been drawing at home for, like, years. He still loves to draw. Maybe more than anything else, including football. It’s one of the secrets we share. We ended up sharing four classes freshman year, and he has since told me that I was the first person in his life who would really listen to him without judging or interrupting. For me, he was the only cool person I met who didn’t treat me like a freak.           

Tristan and I met Joe one searing August afternoon, before the start of senior year. I was crawling in from a long training run in the sun, with some of my fellow cross-country team members. I remember being so wiped out that I practically collapsed against our gym wall, next to the water fountain. I was so tired I didn’t have the energy to stand up to push the fountain button and rescue my dehydrated body. Then, out of nowhere, I heard a kindly voice from out of the blue. It was saying something about needing to drink, or something like that. And then a water bottle miraculously descended from above, inviting me to imbibe. That’s how I first began to see Joe as a real person, and not just as one of the school custodians.

While I was gradually returning to the land of the living, I was surprised to see Tristan walk past in his football gear, on the way to the boy’s locker room. I called out and asked why he was wussing out on practice early. When he turned to face me, I could see some blood dripping down his forehead from a cut.

Forgetting how tired I was, I remember springing up and walking over to see if Tristan was okay. He didn’t seem okay. He was woozy and talking kind of funny, like he was a little bit drunk. Joe was right there, and asked Tristan if he had been diagnosed with a concussion at practice, according to the recent California State protocol for concussion diagnosis and treatment. Tristan said he wasn’t sure; he said something about a head-on tackle and seeing stars afterwards. Coach just told him to shake it off and leave practice early, after making a brief assessment.

Joe had listened carefully the whole time. Then, he asked Tristan a few more simple questions, like did he feel dizzy and did he have a headache. Afterwards, Joe managed to gently but firmly convince Tristan to let someone else drive him home for safety’s sake, and to get to a clinic for evaluation. When Tristan explained that his folks were out of town, Joe ended up driving Tristan to the clinic himself in his old navy blue pickup truck. I insisted on coming along, of course.

It turned out that Tristan had a mild concussion after all. One worthy of a doctor’s note and official orders to take some time off the gridiron. A turn of events that—even though they were obviously in Tristan’s best interests—did not sit too well with either our hard-driving football coach or Tristan’s hard-driving dad. Neither were thrilled to hear that Joe had been a part of Tristan’s doctor’s visit, either. But that’s a story for later. Let me tell you more about our budding relationship with Joe.

Rabia’s Life Sucks

What makes a person’s eyes twinkle, anyway? You know, what makes them seem like they twinkle, at least? My personal, very unscientific opinion is your eyes twinkle when you’ve begun to generate so much positive energy inside that it becomes uncontainable. In that event, it starts to shake your hips and legs while twitching your toes and fingers. And of course, it flows glittering from your eyes.

So how does an elderly school custodian get twinkly eyes, anyhow? That’s what I was wondering one afternoon, not long after our drive to the emergency room. There I was, trudging in after another brutal training slog, when I met up with Joe again at the gym. And there he was, million-dollar smile, those bright, sparkly eyes, and a warm pat on my sweaty, slimy back.

“Way to be, Raby! Way to get it done, young lady. You’ll turn those miles into smiles some glorious day!”

“If I don’t die first, Joe”, I protested, utterly spent in the 90+ degree temperature. “I’m not sure I’ll make it to tomorrow, the way I’m feeling.” I must have been pretty out of it, because I didn’t even notice that Joe had taken my empty water bottle, refilled it, and returned it to my side. “I’m not sure I even like running anymore, Joe”, I whimpered as I sat down against the gym wall.

“Then why keep up with it, missy?” He answered, inquisitively.

“Because, it’s about the only sport I can do without totally embarrassing myself. And I need at least one sport to round out my transcript and give me a shot at an elite university”, I sputtered, as I forlornly watched some of my more talented teammates chatting during their warm-down. They looked like they could run another five miles. It was truly depressing.

“Ahhh, I see. You’re doin’ it to pad the resume, huh?” Joe’s broad smile had transformed into a mischievous grin. It made Rabia feel vaguely uncomfortable. Obviously all this suffering was for her resume! She needed every edge to get accepted into a Yale or Princeton, or at least Berkeley or UCLA. 

“Joe, you just wouldn’t understand”, I somewhat dismissively replied. “It’s just how it is these days. It’s crazy.”

Registering her somewhat defiant response, Joe softened his tone. “Raby, I agree with you one hundred percent. It is crazy these days, the hoops you gotta jump through to get into the big-name colleges. I gotta say, it’s a lot crazier than when I was your age.”

Rabia was just about to wholeheartedly agree, when she caught herself. “Joe, what do you mean? Did you actually go to college?” Rabia didn’t mean to sound condescending, but there it was. She never would have guessed in a hundred years that old Joe went to college.

As if reading her mind, Joe broke out into a hearty laugh. “Yeah, I can see you wondering, girl. If this dinosaur janitor could truly have gone to college back in the stone age day. And I don’t blame you one bit for being doubtful. If I’d seen myself, I’d be thinking the same thing, rest assured.” Joe chuckled some more.

Rabia’s face flushed an even darker shade of red than her interminable run in the sun could do for her. “I’m so embarrassed! Sorry Joe. I didn’t mean to assume. That’s so bad of me. But really, you did? Please tell me about it. Where did you go? What did you major in?”

Joe deflected. “Are you sure you have time for this, young lady? Don’t you need to take off to dinner and your homework?”

“Trust me, Joe. I’m still cooling down, and don’t need to be home for dinner until 6:00. Please tell me about your college days.”

Joe thought for a moment, mentally processing how much more of his shift duties he had to complete. Then he took a white handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his light blue collared work shirt, lifted his feathered, porkpie hat, and wiped his brow. After a swig from his own water bottle, Joe carefully laid his mop against the grey gym wall and began to share his story.

“Well, you know, I didn’t actually go to college until I was nearly a year out of the military, at the age of 21.”

“You were in the military, too?”

“That’s right. I joined the marines out of high school in San Francisco, following in my daddy’s footsteps. He had served our country during World War II, as did my momma’s oldest brother, as did my momma herself.”

“Wow. I mean, is that why you have a limp?”

“You mean, my gimpy limp? You notice that? Yes sir, young lady, that was a result of my serving in the Vietnam War”, Joe said somewhat ruefully.

“Oh…so you got injured? You got hurt? I’m sorry Joe. So that’s why you left the military and went to college?”

“That’s the straight story but missing lots of sweet and sour filling”, Joe chuckled, almost to himself.

“Anyhow, to make a very long story short, I got some sense into my head and took advantage of one of the more intelligent programs our country has ever provided—the G.I. Bill—and got a Bachelor’s in elementary school education at San Francisco State University. I followed that with a teaching credential. And after I’d been teaching for a few years, I decided to go back to State and get a Master’s in Educational Leadership. Thought seriously about a Ph.D. in higher education too but talked myself out of that one.”

“Wow, Joe…I’m really impressed! I mean, I guess I’m wondering then, why…” Rabia realized she was putting her size 8 into her mouth again and went silent. She glanced at her running wrist watch, which was glistening with sweat.

“You mean, why I’m doing school janitorial work when I used to actually run a school? No, I don’t mind the question at all, Rabia. The reason is, I like the hours, I can use the extra income, and most of all I really like being around kids.”

“That is so…cool, Joe. I don’t know what to say…you really like being around teenagers? That is so weird. I’m not sure I even like myself.”

“Come on now, young lady. You don’t really mean that, do you?”

“Oh yes I do. Honestly, Joe, life kind of sucks right now”, Rabia said plaintively, surprised by the emotions that surfaced up as she said this.

Joe witnessed quietly. Then he gently reached out. “It sounds like things are really messed up. I’m all ears if you want to talk about it. I know what it’s like to feel like the whole wide world is coming down on top of you.”

“Really, Joe. You? You’re so cheerful all of the time.”

Joe let a hearty guffaw rip. “Hah! Rabia, it took a long, loonng time for old Joe to figure things out! A lot of bone-headed moves, a lot of growing up, a lot of help from a whole bunch of angels, all the strength I had, and an enduring faith. So, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to hear what you feel like sharing.”

“Well, you’re probably going to think I’m just being a dumb teen-ager, with stupid teenage drama issues. And I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Try me. I dig teenage drama issues. That’s why I choose to be around here.”

“Well…okay. You asked for it, Joe. Let’s see, first of all, even though I’ve got a 4.45 GPA and have never gotten worse than a B+ in my life, I’ve really realized this summer just how much I hate high school. The constant, never-ending pressure to get A’s…the pressure to ace my SATs, ACTs, and AP exams. Every day, every week is all about just cramming for another stupid test! It’s just a fucking grind! Oops! Sorry, Joe, didn’t mean to swear…”

“Oh no, young lady. You just go ahead and let that anger and frustration out! It de-toxifies the soul, that’s what I say. Tell me more, now.”

“Well, there’s lots more,” wailed Rabia, eyes reddening. “I’m so tired all of the time, and school hasn’t even started! I never really had a summer vacation at all this year, for one thing. Had to waitress all summer to help my mom out with our money issues, and we still ended up losing our house two weeks ago…now we live in a stupid little duplex, where my room is the size of my old closet!”

Joe whistled sympathetically. “I’m really sorry to hear that. Sounds like it’s been a real rough patch for your whole family. Losing your home can be like losing a part of yourself. I’ve moved around enough to know myself.”

“I apologize for complaining so much, and for crying like a little kid…but it’s been so tough. My mom is more depressed than ever…she’s never really gotten over my dad’s death five years ago. Losing our home has really put her over the edge, and I’ve ended up having to look after my younger brother more than ever.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened with the house?”

“Our landlord had some health problems or something and decided to sell it. He was a really nice guy too…I guess he couldn’t help it. Mom says he could have charged us a lot more rent but didn’t to help us out. It had been our home sweet home since, like, I was in 3rd grade. Anyhow, the only place we could hurry and find and afford in the school district was this horrible duplex. I think our next-door neighbor is a drug dealer, and all he does is smoke pot all day. And now I think he’s turned my brother into a stoner! I am so embarrassed to invite friends over now; I seriously think we live in the worst house in town. And now, just listen to me! I sound like a privileged first-world brat, don’t I!”

Joe could see that Rabia was becoming increasingly agitated. She had taken off her yellow visor and was beginning to tap it against her right thigh, repeatedly. He paused for a moment, letting silence envelop the moment. Then he took a deep breath and lowered his voice to almost a whisper.

“Listen to me, Rabia. It sounds to me like you are doing your best to cope with some pretty challenging life circumstances. You hear what I’m saying? The things you’re dealing with would be hard for most anyone to deal with. You need to understand that and not be so tough on yourself. Okay? You hear that? And meanwhile, do you got someone you can talk to when you’re feeling down? Your mom? Brother? Friends? School counselor? Spiritual advisor?

Rabia shook her head, sadly. “Not really. My best friend Francine has been away to her grandparent’s home in China most of the summer. We Instagram and Skype sometimes, but we’re in such different time zones it’s been tough to coordinate. My mom is so worried and tired all the time, the last thing I want to do is stress her out further with my stupid problems. And my brother is too young; he’s only a freshman and usually acts likes he’s still in junior high school. My aunts, uncles, and cousins all live out of the area. That pretty much just leaves Tristan, and he’s been super busy with camps, football, and a summer job too. And then there’s Ashleigh Andersen, who’s been trying to ruin my life lately…”

“Ruin your life? That’s a pretty strong statement, you know. What’s going down between you and her?”

Rabia’s voice hardened. “Ashleigh Andersen is basically Miss Cheerleader perfect. Gorgeous, smart, rich, and a super bitch! She hates me!”

“Whooaaa young lady. It has been my long experience in being around young people that they rarely hate a specific person. Rather, they hate what they associate with that person, without really taking the time and effort to get to know that person, you know what I’m saying? Once they get to know the real you, and you the real them, things usually smooth themselves out. How much do you two really know each other?”

“Sorry, Joe. You’re right, I don’t really know her at all. I guess I’m kind of jealous of her too. But the thing is, she’s been tormenting me lately on social media.”

“Why? Why would she do that? You’re one of the nicest people in school, in my humble opinion. I have noticed how you often say hello to other kids, encourage your fellow runners, say hi to teachers, that sort of thing.”

“Thanks, Joe, but honestly, I think it’s because she’s decided to go after Tristan, and she’s jealous of our friendship. I think she thinks Tristan and I are a thing, you know? Boyfriend-girlfriend. But we’re actually just good friends. So she’s been trying to spread rumors about me on Snapchat! And she’s dragged my family into it, including my dad. I am so angry with her!”

Joe nodded his head in sympathy. Good lord, he thought, social media seems to have made life so much more rich but stressful for kids. “Rabia, to me that is really crossing the line, casting negative aspersions about you and your family. It sounds very hurtful. These rumors…hmm. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay Joe. It is tougher being a teen these days, I guess. That’s what my mom keeps telling me. But in a way, the rumor thing is partially my fault, I have to admit.”

“How’s that? Do you feel okay sharing?”

Rabia stood up straight now, to her full 5’8” height. She gazed out across the school parking lot to the tract housing and oak-dappled hills in the distance and reflected for a moment while running her fingers through her light brown bangs.

“Yeah, sure. You see, I am actually half-American, half-Iranian. It’s kind of a secret. My dad left Iran with his parents just before the Iranian Revolution. He was a Muslim, but not really orthodox about it. He met my mom—who’s white—at UC Davis and they fell in love, got married, and had me and my brother. Dad got in big trouble with his family, though, by marrying my mother. It was a huge mess, and really split up the family. To try to protect me against all kinds of prejudice, my dad and mom kept our Iranian background really quiet. If anyone asked, we just explained that my brother and I were ‘Persian’, you know? And anyway, most kids just assumed I was maybe white or part-Hispanic and thought my nickname of ‘Raby’ was short for ‘Roberta’ or something. I didn’t bother to correct them. Over time, I became kind of ashamed of my Iranian background, which is horrible. It does my dad such a disservice, you know? But, somehow, Ashleigh found out.”

“Whew, your rain just turned into a full-blown monsoon, hasn’t it young lady? And so, these rumors Ashleigh is spreading about you…sounds like they’re related to your Iranian background?”

“Yes! She’s been saying some really mean, toxic shit…like I hate America, and that my dad might have been associated with ISIS…crap like that. A lot of people who know me well just kind of laugh it off. But others…some people really look funny at me now, and whisper behind my back. It’s really, really hurtful. And it’s begun to affect my brother and mother too, in different ways. Sometimes, I just want to go over to Ashleigh’s house and break her pretty little teeth!

At this point, Rabia looked spent. She was trembling a little and looking down at the asphalt. Joe lightly touched her arm after a moment, to gain her attention. Then he embraced her, giving her a long, warm hug, as Rabia’s body began to shake with uncontrolled sobs. Joe held her gently, until she began to calm down. Then he pulled a second white handkerchief from his left trouser pocket and proffered it for Raby’s use.

“Rabia, it sounds like you really miss your father. I’ll bet he was quite a special man.”

“Yes, he really was, Joe”, she replied, emotionally spent now. “He was kind and patient, and always remembered my birthday. He didn’t say much, but when he did you just knew he cared, you know? And mom says he really loved this country too. He worked hard as an engineer to provide for us. We all miss him so much, but I think my brother the most.”

“Well, you know, when school starts in a couple of weeks, I think you may have cause to report Ashleigh’s social media activity to our school administration, as an instance of cyberbullying. What do you think?”

“Oh...I don’t know Joe. That might cause even more trouble for my family and I. You don’t know how popular Ashleigh is around school. I think she could just crush me if she wanted to.”

“Hasn’t she already? What do you really have to lose, at this point?”

Rabia took a moment to consider Joe’s words. “Hmm, maybe Joe. We’ll see. I don’t want to be pressured into it. Let me think about it, okay?”

“Absolutely, it’s a deal. Now, get home to your family, and try to relax with something that makes your worries go away, you hear?”

“Yes, sir, Joe!” Joe could see that Raby was starting to seem like her old self again. As she hugged Joe one more time before dashing off to her car in the student parking lot, Joe felt a pang of deep compassion for her and her issues. He was also vividly reminded what a challenging time your teenage years could be. Seeing her rapidly disappear down the school driveway, he turned and deliberately picked his mop off of the wall, grabbed the handle of his janitorial cart, and headed towards the gym double doors to finish his afternoon duties. [END]