Erica

Mother of 3! Music & books are my addiction!

[NEW YORK KNICKS @nyknicks]

THE GREATEST COMEBACK IN NBA PLAYOFF HISTORY.

[Rev. Dr. Boudyka @bdk1521]

These folks’ lives were just as important as Renee Good’s and Alex Pretti’s. They also were killed by ICE.

[Haters_gonna_hate @princess_kim_k]

JUSTICE FOR ALEX PRETTI!

Repost if you are with me!

[Amanda Litman @amandalitman]

“Please get the truth out about our son.”

[John Cleese @JohnCleese]

Good bye, Donald

[Yanna Thee Astrologer 🩷 @AVenusianVirgo]

There needs to be awareness brought to this.

This black woman is screaming in agonizing pain and instead of taking her straight to a room they had her in the waiting room for more than 30 minutes. Her son was born 12 minutes after this video cut off.

@dallasregional this is fucking RIDICULOUS

[Not Your Average Liberal @NotAvgLiberal]

ICE Agent in Chicago pointing a pistol at civilian who took his picture.

This is one of Trump’s fucking Nazis.

[ChiChi Greenblatt @ChiChiGreenblat]

Jeff Bezos paid $50M for a wedding.
He just got a $16B tax break.
He laid off 60k people.
And you’re furious about a kid getting a free school lunch.

[𝕰𝖒𝕲 @Emilio2763]

“Average Day on the NyC Subway”…

[Protect Kamala Harris ✊ @DisavowTrump20]

RETWEET if you stand with George Stephanopoulos against JD Vance!

[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 The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe.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.

[Pope Leo XIV @Pontifex]

No one should be forced to flee, nor exploited or mistreated because of their situation as foreigners or people in need! Human dignity must always come first!

[Joe Walsh @WalshFreedom]

I’m Roman Catholic. Baptized as an infant. This is embarrassing.👇

[Protect Kamala Harris ✊ @DisavowTrump20]

This is Craig Erwich, the President of ABC Entertainment. He has the power to put Jimmy Kimmel back on air.

RETWEET to demand @ABC reinstate Jimmy Kimmel!

[Billy Baldwin @BillyBaldwin]

Not Black.
Not Trans.
Not Muslim.
Not an Immigrant.
Not a Democrat.

Meet Charlie Kirk assassin Tyler Robinson.
A white Christian, Conservative, Republican male with a gun... again.

[E X X ➠A L E R T S @ExxAlerts]

ALERT: 🚨 X users are asking for the image of the woman who DEMANDED a ball from a father and his LITTLE BOY at a Phillies game tonight to go viral, so she may be held accountable.

HERE SHE IS.

[Jason Scheer @jasonscheer]

This woman has no idea how her life is about to change