MIKE BURNS @Who_MikeBurns - Twitter Profile

"I’m 79. My name’s Agnes. I walk to Oakwood Elementary every Tuesday and Thursday at 2:45 p.m. Not for my grandkids, I don’t have any. I go for them. The kids waiting for parents who are late. Again. It started three years ago. I saw Miguel sitting alone on the school’s concrete steps, tracing math problems in the dirt with a stick. His mom worked double shifts at the canning factory. His homework was smudged with tears. I didn’t say much. Just pulled a folding chair from my tote bag (I carry it everywhere, bad knees) and sat beside him. "Show me where you’re stuck, mijo," I said. He flinched like I’d startled a bird. But he showed me. I was a teacher for 42 years. Fractions, state capitals, how to hold a pencil, I know them like my own heartbeat. That day, we solved 3 problems in the dirt. When his mom finally rushed up, breathless and apologizing, I just nodded. "He’s got a good mind," I told her. Her eyes got wet. Not from sadness. From being seen. Next week, I brought my old teacher’s stool and a clipboard. Set up under the oak tree across from the school gates. No sign. No fanfare. Just me, my red pen, and a jar of butterscotch candies. Kids started coming. Not all at once. First Miguel. Then Aisha, whose dad’s truck broke down again. Jamal, who whispered, "My grandma’s sick." I never asked why parents were late. I just opened my clipboard. Some days, I only helped one child. Other days, five crowded around my stool. I taught multiplication tables while braiding Maya’s hair. Showed Leo how to write his name in cursive on a foggy window. Never took money. Never called the school. This wasn’t their job. It was ours. Then came Mrs. Chen. She stood at the edge of the sidewalk for weeks, watching her daughter Linh hover near my bench but never approach. One rainy Thursday, Mrs. Chen finally walked over. Her hands shook. "I failed school," she admitted in broken English. "I can’t help her." I slid my stool aside. "Sit," I said. "Today, you do the math. I’ll hold the umbrella." Last month, the principal found me packing up in the rain. "We’ve had complaints," he said gently. "About ‘unauthorized tutoring.’" I braced for the end. But then Linh ran over, dragging her mother. Aisha brought her little brother. Miguel stood tall beside his mom, the one who once cried on the steps. Twelve parents and kids formed a circle around my soggy stool. "This bench stays," Miguel told the principal. "Or we all leave." Today, the PTA provides the folding chairs. Retired nurses check kids’ ears for infections. A barber gives free trims. But the homework bench? That’s still mine. Last Tuesday, Linh placed a college acceptance letter on my clipboard. "You taught me numbers," she said. "But you taught Mama something bigger." She pointed to Mrs. Chen, now helping a boy sound out words. "You taught us we’re not broken." I packed up my red pen that night, my hands steady for the first time in years. Here’s what nobody tells you about growing old, The world doesn’t need your savings or your spare room. It needs your stubborn, ordinary love. Show up. Sit down. Make space. The rest will grow around you like wildflowers through concrete.” Let this story reach more hearts.... By Mary Nelson

MrPitbull07's tweet photo. "I’m 79. My name’s Agnes. I walk to Oakwood Elementary every Tuesday and Thursday at 2:45 p.m. Not for my grandkids, I don’t have any. I go for them. The kids waiting for parents who are late. Again.

It started three years ago. I saw Miguel sitting alone on the school’s concrete steps, tracing math problems in the dirt with a stick. His mom worked double shifts at the canning factory. His homework was smudged with tears.

I didn’t say much. Just pulled a folding chair from my tote bag (I carry it everywhere, bad knees) and sat beside him. "Show me where you’re stuck, mijo," I said. He flinched like I’d startled a bird. But he showed me.

I was a teacher for 42 years. Fractions, state capitals, how to hold a pencil, I know them like my own heartbeat. That day, we solved 3 problems in the dirt. When his mom finally rushed up, breathless and apologizing, I just nodded. "He’s got a good mind," I told her. Her eyes got wet. Not from sadness. From being seen.

Next week, I brought my old teacher’s stool and a clipboard. Set up under the oak tree across from the school gates. No sign. No fanfare. Just me, my red pen, and a jar of butterscotch candies.

Kids started coming. Not all at once. First Miguel. Then Aisha, whose dad’s truck broke down again. Jamal, who whispered, "My grandma’s sick." I never asked why parents were late. I just opened my clipboard.

Some days, I only helped one child. Other days, five crowded around my stool. I taught multiplication tables while braiding Maya’s hair. Showed Leo how to write his name in cursive on a foggy window. Never took money. Never called the school. This wasn’t their job. It was ours.

Then came Mrs. Chen. She stood at the edge of the sidewalk for weeks, watching her daughter Linh hover near my bench but never approach. One rainy Thursday, Mrs. Chen finally walked over. Her hands shook. "I failed school," she admitted in broken English. "I can’t help her." I slid my stool aside. "Sit," I said. "Today, you do the math. I’ll hold the umbrella."

Last month, the principal found me packing up in the rain. "We’ve had complaints," he said gently. "About ‘unauthorized tutoring.’" I braced for the end. But then Linh ran over, dragging her mother. Aisha brought her little brother. Miguel stood tall beside his mom, the one who once cried on the steps. Twelve parents and kids formed a circle around my soggy stool. "This bench stays," Miguel told the principal. "Or we all leave."

Today, the PTA provides the folding chairs. Retired nurses check kids’ ears for infections. A barber gives free trims. But the homework bench? That’s still mine.

Last Tuesday, Linh placed a college acceptance letter on my clipboard. "You taught me numbers," she said. "But you taught Mama something bigger." She pointed to Mrs. Chen, now helping a boy sound out words. "You taught us we’re not broken."

I packed up my red pen that night, my hands steady for the first time in years. Here’s what nobody tells you about growing old, The world doesn’t need your savings or your spare room. It needs your stubborn, ordinary love. Show up. Sit down. Make space. The rest will grow around you like wildflowers through concrete.”

Let this story reach more hearts....

By Mary Nelson

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Who_MikeBurns retweeted

Jim Ferguson

@JimFergusonUK

8 months ago

🚨 BRET WEINSTEIN ON JOE ROGAN: “This is clear fraud.” In one of the most explosive exchanges yet on the Joe Rogan Experience, evolutionary biologist Bret Weinstein laid bare what he calls “the greatest medical scandal in modern history.” Weinstein didn’t hold back: “Taking the mRNA COVID shots off the market should have been an easy decision. They should be embarrassed — horrified — by the harm they caused.” Then came the bombshell: “The product that was actually injected into billions of people involved DNA plasmids — and there is massive contamination in the shots, including the SV40 promoter — a known carcinogenic element.” He explained that what was tested was not what was injected: “For you to put one product through safety testing, and then inject people with something different — that’s fraud.” The SV40 promoter, originally from simian virus 40, was discovered in leftover vaccine vials by independent scientist Kevin McKernan, and Weinstein warned it could enable genetic integration inside human cells. “We were told there’s no DNA — that integration was impossible. That was a lie. There is DNA, and not just any DNA — but DNA with a carcinogenic promoter.” If proven true, this would mean safety testing was bypassed, regulators were misled, and the immunity from liability collapses. “The immunity from liability is dependent on there having been no fraud,” Weinstein said. “And there clearly was fraud.” This isn’t just about science anymore. It’s about truth, accountability, and justice for billions who were never told the full story.

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MIKE BURNS

@Who_MikeBurns

9 months ago

@SouthDallasFood Thanks for sharing!

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MIKE BURNS

@Who_MikeBurns

9 months ago

@AdamBreneman81 So cool.

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MIKE BURNS

@Who_MikeBurns

9 months ago

@Sarahhuniverse For everyone that has been able to achieve the egg cooking method in this video is the heat hi, medium or low? They always leave that part out.

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