Alexis Yoder

VCU Center For Sport Leadership | PSU Alum | Taylor Swift Stan

[swiftie wins @swifferwins]

this is my roman empire. this is my white smoke. this is my royal wedding.

[Philadelphia Flyers @NHLFlyers]

IT'S A PARTY IN SOUTH PHILLY. 🎉

[Barstool Philly @BarstoolPhilly]

CAM YORK OVERTIME WINNER

FLYERS ELIMINATE PENGUINS

[Philadelphia Flyers @NHLFlyers]

He's done miracles on us.

#IgniteTheOrange | @BankofAmerica

[Barstool Philly @BarstoolPhilly]

CAM YORK OVERTIME WINNER

FLYERS ELIMINATE PENGUINS 4-2 IN THE SERIES AND ADVANCE TO THE EASTERN CONFERENCE SEMIFINALS

PLAY THE SONG

[Travis Akers 🇺🇸 @travisakers]

A message from a Kindergarten teacher:

After forty years in the classroom, my career ended with one small sentence from a six-year-old:

“My dad says people like you don’t matter anymore.”

No sneer. No malice. Just quiet honesty — the kind that cuts deeper because it’s innocent. He blinked, then added, “You don’t even have a TikTok.”

My name is Mrs. Clara Holt, and for four decades, I taught kindergarten in a small Denver suburb. Today, I stacked the last box on my desk and locked the door behind me.

When I started teaching in the early 1980s, it felt like a promise — a shared belief that what we did mattered. We weren’t rich, but we were valued. Parents brought warm cookies to parent nights. Kids gave you handmade cards with hearts that didn’t quite line up. Watching a child sound out their first sentence felt like magic.

But that world slowly slipped away. The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe.

My evenings used to be filled with construction paper, glitter, and glue sticks. Now they’re spent filling out digital reports to protect myself from angry emails or lawsuits. I’ve been yelled at by parents in front of twenty-five children — one filming me with his phone while I tried to calm another child mid-meltdown.

And the kids… they’ve changed too. Not by choice.

They arrive tired, anxious, overstimulated. Their tiny fingers know how to swipe a screen before they can hold a crayon. Some can’t make eye contact or wait in line. We’re expected to fix all of it — to patch the gaps, heal the trauma, teach the curriculum, and document every move — in six hours a day, with resources that barely fill a drawer.

The little reading corner I once built, full of soft beanbags and paper stars, was replaced by data charts and “learning metrics.” A young principal once told me, “Clara, maybe you’re too nurturing. The district wants measurable results.”

As if kindness were a weakness.

Still, I stayed. Because of the small, holy moments that no spreadsheet could measure —
a whisper of, “You remind me of my grandma.”
a shaky note that read, “I feel safe here.”
a quiet boy finally meeting my eyes and saying, “I read the whole page.”

Those tiny sparks were my reason to keep showing up.

But this last year broke something in me.

The aggression grew sharper. The laughter in the staff room turned to silence. The light went out of so many eyes. I watched brilliant teachers — my friends — vanish under the weight of burnout, their joy replaced by survival.

I felt myself fading too, like chalk on a board that’s been wiped one too many times.

So today, I began my goodbye. I pulled faded art off the walls and tucked thirty years of handmade cards into a single box. In the back of a drawer, I found a letter from a student from 1998:

“Thank you for loving me when I was hard to love.”

I sat on the floor and cried.

No party. No applause. Just a handshake from a young principal who called me “Ma’am” while checking his notifications.

I left my rocking chair behind, and my sticker box too. What I carried with me were the memories — the faces of hundreds of children who once trusted me enough to reach out their hands and learn. That can’t be uploaded. It can’t be measured. It can’t be replaced.

I miss when teachers were partners, not targets. When parents and educators worked side by side, not in opposition. When schools cared more about wonder than numbers.

So if you know a teacher — any teacher — thank them. Not with a mug or a gift card, but with your words. With your respect. With your understanding that behind every test score is a heart that cared enough to try.

Because in a world that often overlooks them, teachers are the ones who never forget our children.

[Jason Cabinda @jasoncabinda]

And for those of you all in my DM’s with the Fire Franklin Fire Franklin mantra’s just remember we aren’t talking about some coach who has all the talent in the world but for some reason can only win 4-8 games a year and we’re questioning why. This is someone who consistently wins 10+ games a year and has a tough time with the top 5-10 matchups. Understand that if we fired coach Franklin and hired someone else that you also have to be willing to be open to that new coach not even being able to turn in a 10 win season at all. You’re all acting as if coach franklins are just lying around waiting to be hired. Reality check they are not and although firing Franklin for some coach that’s going to get us over the hump and get us to a natty SOUNDS good the reality is there’s a more likelihood that said new coach wouldn’t even be able to do what Coach Franklin is able to year in and year out so no I’m not entertaining that conversation and I still stand by Coach Franklin.

[Taylor Swift @taylorswift13]

Tonight all these lives converge here
The mosaics of laughter and cocktails of tears
Where fraternal souls sing identical things
And it’s beautiful
It’s rapturous.
It is frightening.
———
I can’t tell you how proud I am to share this with you, an album that just feels so right. A forever thank you goes out to my mentors and friends Max and Shellback for helping me paint this self portrait.

If you thought the big show was wild, perhaps you should come and take a look behind the curtain...

The Life of a Showgirl is out now.

https://t.co/VetltwlcoJ

Album Producers: Max Martin, Shellback and Taylor Swift
📸: Mert Alas & Marcus Piggott

[aims ⸆⸉ 🦋❤️‍🔥 @shimmeringtay13]

my bank account seeing a new countdown on taylorswift dot com

[aims ⸆⸉ 🦋❤️‍🔥 @shimmeringtay13]

my bank account when i go onto taylorswift dot com

[august @winestainedtay]

being an eldest daughter looking at a track five by taylor swift titled eldest daughter

[Taylor Swift @taylorswift13]

And, baby, that’s show business for you. New album The Life of a Showgirl. Out October 3  ❤️‍🔥

https://t.co/rIaG2Ezo7Z

Album Producers: Max Martin, Shellback and Taylor Swift
📸: Mert Alas & Marcus Piggott

[Philadelphia Flyers @NHLFlyers]

Welcome to the Era of Orange. 🧡

[Audrey Snyder @audsnyder4]

In April, The Athletic decided it no longer wanted to cover Penn State football. I was out of work ahead of the most anticipated PSU season in two-plus decades.

Well, I'm back and would love to have you along for the ride! https://t.co/78n2w4iQgo is the new home for my work.

[Jon Sauber @JonSauber]

James Franklin’s father was in and out of his life early on. And when Franklin was in 11th grade, he ended a vicious cycle of abuse.
“I got in between it. And I didn’t really think, I just reacted.”

On his upbringing and becoming the father he never had:
https://t.co/1g0BLXlIBP

[ESU Warriors @ESUWarriors]

‼️😱ARE YOU KIDDING ME😱‼️

With the bases loaded and down one run. Jack Rothenhausler hits a grand slam to win the game for the Warriors. This marks the first World Series win for @ESU_Baseball in program history!

Insta: @ dct.ix

@ESPNAssignDesk
#SCTop10
#WhereWarriorsBelong

[Mollie ⸆⸉. With an IE : ✨20 Years of TS 💚 @swiftarmy1989]

Me going to bed tonight knowing Taylor Swift owns all of her music 🫶🏻

[faith ❤️‍🔥 @SmileItOff]

one thing about taylor swift is that she always wins