This image is from today. A Black woman sits on the DC metro as masked white nationalists prepare to march on our nation's capital.
This is America's 250th anniversary. REUTERS/Cheney Orr
A country’s vitality is deeply tied to the value it affords to human life in every form and condition, acknowledging the dignity endowed upon every human person by virtue of their very existence. The moral greatness of a nation is manifested, above all, in its capacity to support, protect and cherish the lives of all, especially the most vulnerable and those whose worth is questioned.
Dear writers, we need your imagination, your narrative creativity and your lively thinking. We need these to create spaces of freedom and authenticity, within which divine grace can make the promise of consolation and peace resound. https://t.co/FEmCrdQ392
It means so much to Barack and me to open up the Obama Presidential Center on the South Side of Chicago. This is where I grew up, where Barack got his start, and where we raised our girls. So having a place where kids from our community can see themselves, connect with each other, and channel their hope—there’s nothing more powerful than that.
We miss you, and think of you often.
Session is wrapped. Spring is in bloom. I’m retiring soon. You two would have thrived in retirement. I trust you’re living it now.
We have our arms wrapped around your kids. They’re remarkable. We love them.
.@JamesTalarico: There's been a lot of talk in this race about what it means to be a real man.
Recently on the campaign trail I told the story of my adoptive dad, Mark Talarico. Every Saturday morning, he would mow our lawn, and then without anyone asking him to, he would go next door and mow our neighbor's lawn because she was a widow. My dad never talked about it — he just did it, because that's what a man does.
A man takes responsibility, upholds his commitments to his family and his neighbors, and does what's right, even when no one is watching.
Here's what real men don't do. They don't lie and cheat their way through life, sell their soul to the highest bidder, or steal from other people in order to enrich themselves. Real men serve others. Weak men serve themselves.
I welcome this debate about what it means to be a man, and I don't think Ken Paxton or Ted Cruz are in a position to tell anybody what a real man is.
🥹🥹👏🏾🎊
A student just made school history with a full ride to Brown University, and the celebration is WELL deserved!
"HUGE congratulations to Olivia who made HSLA-BK history in receiving a full ride scholarship to Brown University!”
🎥: IG/sa.hslabrooklyn
Trump is a 34 count felon, brags about sexually assaulting women, has cheated on all 3 of his wives, has said that ICE hasn't gone FAR ENOUGH in their violent attacks, been supported by the KKK, incited an insurrection, & is a bully
He’s not fit to lead - he never was.
Donnie is refusing to comply with a federal court order to fund SNAP with emergency funds.
Donnie isn’t a King - he’s just a man. He has to answer to the other COEQUAL branches of government.
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.
#DonaldTrump is hosting a "roundtable on #ANTIFA" right now. Reminder that ANTIFA is not an organization, it's an ideology. An ideology that literally means ANTI-FASCIST. They must all align with #fascism...
These two people were standing there talking, non-violently, not a threat to anyone, before they were VICIOUSLOY blasted in the face with pepper spray by trump's cosplay goons.
THIS IS WHY WE CALL THEM FASCIST.
Mark Kelly: “lf you are undocumented in our country, you cannot get healthcare from the Affordable Care Act exchange. You are not eligible for Medicare. You are not eligible for Medicaid. They’re just making that up. They just like to blame brown people.”