Courtney💋

X Brand Partner✨🫶🏼

[NCAA Softball @NCAASoftball]

"While this chapter may be ending, the person you helped shape will stay with me forever."

Jordy Frahm writes a heartwarming letter to softball.

#WCWS x @HuskerSoftball

[Amie Just @Amie_Just]

NEWS | Moving forward, Nebraska softball will be playing on the Rhonda Revelle Field.

Troy Dannen surprised Revelle with the news after today’s senior day win over Iowa.

[Reggaeton Crave @ReggetonCrave]

Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl Halftime Show officially becomes the most watched Halftime Show of all time with 135.4 million viewers, breaking the all-time record.

[Jamie Bonkiewicz @JamieBonkiewicz]

I know what I saw on January 6, 2021

I know what I saw on January 7, 2026

[HuskGuys @HuskGuys]

As expected, Duke and Nebraska at the top

[The Biblical Man @Biblicalman]

My father once told me the secret to a happy marriage.

“Stay out of the kitchen. Let her handle the holidays.”

I was 19. He was in his recliner.

My mother was cooking for 14 people.

She’d been up since 5 AM.

He’d been up since the football pregame.

I didn’t think anything of it.

That’s just how it was.

Fast forward 20 years.

I’m in the recliner.

My wife is in the kitchen.

She’s been up since 5 AM.

I’ve been up since the pregame.

My daughter walks by and I see her watching.

Not the TV.

Her mother.

Then me.

Then her mother again.

That’s when it hit me:

She’s taking notes.

My father taught me that holidays were for men to rest and women to work.

He didn’t say it.

He showed it.

Every Thanksgiving.
Every Christmas.
Every Easter.

The recliner passed from him to me like an inheritance I never asked for.

This morning I woke up at 4 AM.

Not for content.

For the turkey.

My wife found me in the kitchen at 6.

She didn’t say anything.

She just stood there.

Then she cried.

Your kids are taking notes.

Not on what you say.

On where you sit.

The recliner is an inheritance.

Be the generation that stands up.

[HuskGuys @HuskGuys]

Hahahah Huskers fans are the absolute best. Last week Emmett wasn't even available to vote on this list. Now he is 2nd and has 23% of all votes.

Best fans ever

[Nebraska Huskers @Huskers]

AMERICA, MEET EMMETT JOHNSON

[We’re Back Co. @wereback_co]

NOT ANYMORE YOU DON’T 😏

KEEP THE VOTES COMING

https://t.co/tgvnhF8rvb

@HeismanTrophy

[Courtney💋 @courkerface]

🫶🏼🥰

[Nebraska Football @HuskerFootball]

EARNED.

Congrats K-Dub 👊

[Nebraska Football @HuskerFootball]

Checking in at #25 in the @AP_Top25

[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.

[evan loves worf @esjesjesj]

Trump stopped the most promising cancer research in history

[🇨🇦CoffeyTimeNews🇨🇦 @CoffeyTimeNews]

Charlie Kirk was the 18,533rd American shot and killed in 2025.

Why is he the only one people are talking about?

What about the 18,532 before him?

What about the roughly 400 hundred who were shot and killed since then?

Does anyone know any of their names?

[Liberal Lisa in Oklahoma @lisa_liberal]

Let me get this straight.
Charlie Kirk was allowed to say whatever racist, misogynistic, anti-LGBTQ BS he wanted, because of free speech, but we aren’t allowed to say anything negative about Kirk for fear of retribution from Republicans, because we aren’t allowed free speech.

[The Black Tucker Carlson Jr 🇺🇸 @B1TuckerCarlson]

So the killer of Charlie Kirk is:

Tyler Robinson:
White boy,
Right Wing,
Republican,
Wealthy Family,
Born and raised in Utah

This is bad week for MAGA

[Protect Kamala Harris ✊ @DisavowTrump20]

Flags should have been flown half-staff for her too.

[💖💜💙The Bi and the Beautiful Kolleen CH💙💜💖 @KolleenCarney]

Wonder what all those kids killed in their classrooms could have been