A Daughter’s Tribute to Her Father, and to the Dignity of Honest Work

Today, what was meant to be a simple photo carries an entire world of meaning.

The man standing beside me is my father.

He wakes before dawn, long before most people open their eyes. He leaves the house quietly, careful not to disturb anyone, because he has always been afraid of being a burden. He returns home tired, his hands worn, his face marked by sun and rain—and yet, he still smiles.

My father works in cleaning.

I grew up watching him do something many people overlook or undervalue: making the paths of others cleaner, safer, and more dignified. His work is not glamorous, but it is essential. Streets, buildings, and public spaces are better because he shows up every day.

There is, however, a quiet pain that comes with this job.

Some days, people walk past him as if he does not exist. Some see the uniform, the reflective vest, the broom—and decide, without a word, that he matters less. As if honesty had a social class. As if work came with a rank. As if dignity depended on a title.

But I know the truth.

Behind that uniform is a man who went without so there would be enough at home. A father who returned exhausted, yet still asked, “Are you okay?” A man who never complained about life, who only asked God for the strength to keep going.

And today is his birthday.

So I ask for something simple, from the heart. If you respect workers—if you understand that cleaning is not humiliation, but service, care, and dignity—leave him a message. It does not need to be long. A “Happy birthday,” a “God bless you,” or a “Thank you for what you do” is enough.

Sometimes, a small sentence becomes the fuel someone needs to make it through another day.

And if you have ever thanked a cleaner, a street sweeper, or a janitor, thank you. Truly. You may never know it, but your words can change someone’s entire world.