Actor John Lithgow on Donald Trump: “Things are getting so grave it’s getting harder and harder to make fun of the subject without feeling like you’re normalizing it. I’m very worried about America. I think it’s a critical moment for democracy on the most basic level”
The Oregon national guard general says if the Oregon National guard were to be deployed they would be instructed under his leadership to protect the protesters not ICE.
This is leadership. Drop a 👏 for the General
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 The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe.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.
Govt. shutdown adding even more chaos to farmers!
Soybean farmer shares struggles amid Trump's tariffs: 'Everybody is scared to death' https://t.co/tT8FgYLjmF
NO, as Democrats, Republicans, Independents or whatever, stop them all from dismantling our country in real time! Stand united America and bring back our pride and integrity! VOTE for us and future generations like our forefathers and foremothers fought for us!🇺🇸❤️
Freedom is not about saying nice things or agreeing with those in power.
It is not flattering the President of the United States.
It is the right to express your point of view without government interference.
We must not allow anybody to take that freedom away from us.
.@RepRobertGarcia: "If President Trump wants to run Washington, DC he should resign as president and run for mayor...the worst crime and corruption in DC is actually found at 1600 Pennsylvania, Ave."
NBA legend Alonzo Mourning built a 37 million dollar senior living complex in Florida, called Astoria on 9th. It has 120 apartments, with one and two bedroom homes that are between 635 and 900 square feet.
Rent is only 322 dollars for those with very low income, and even the highest rent is around 1316 dollars, which is still much less than most places in Florida. To qualify, seniors must be 55 or older and have an income below certain levels, so it is made for people who really need affordable housing.
The community is not just about cheap rent. It has a cyber café with internet and a kitchen, a gym for exercise, a clubhouse where people can gather, and even a dog park for pets. Everything was designed to look modern and welcoming, just like expensive apartments, so that seniors feel proud of where they live.
This project gives seniors a safe and beautiful home at a price they can afford. Alonzo Mourning showed all rich people what giving back really looks like, building something that changes lives in a real and lasting way.
USC President Kim asked me for my thoughts about Charlie Kirk at USC’s Democracy Day celebration.
There’s something more important than my message in this video. It’s what you don’t hear. No heckling. No disrespect. No shouting.
I know that social media shows us the worst of humanity, and a few people celebrating a death will get more attention than hundreds of respectful people.
Don’t let these companies and the rage influencers that profit from them convince you the worst of us are the most of us. They are a tiny minority that gets too much attention because anger makes you post, repost, and like.
This was an audience of almost 500 students, and zero disrespect. That’s how most of the real world outside of the internet is. If you find yourself falling for the anger, go out in the real world and make yourself human again.