Leola Gee

I wanted to be universally loved so I became a journalist and then a high school English teacher. Score!

[Jon Root @JonnyRoot_]

Norway's World Cup team photo may be the greatest team photo of all time.

📸: 433/David Yarrow

[🎶𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗠𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗲𝘀 ✨ @Old_But_Gold50s]

Father and daughter Piotr Janowski (viola) and Alma Serafin Kraggerud (violin) performed Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" medley in less than 3 minutes, with a playful, energetic, and expressive style.
The two instruments created a rich sound, combining high technical skill with humorous interaction between father and daughter, making classical music more accessible and engaging.

[Jonah Goldberg @JonahDispatch]

This captures my mood well.

[Jake @JakeCan72]

Nate Bargatze's "Washington's Dream" on SNL is the funniest history lesson you'll ever get.

George Washington reveals America's future: Rejecting metric for pure chaos—

• 12 inches = foot
• 3 feet = yard
• 5280 feet = mile ("a silly number you'll remember")
• 16 ounces = pound
• 2000 pounds = a "ton"

Deadpan genius. Confused troops. Revolutionary mic drop.

This is why we won independence. 🇺🇸😂

#SNL #NateBargatze #WashingtonsDream

[Leola Gee @leola_gee]

@elonmusknews30 👍

[Linzi 🖤🤍 @RightNUFC]

The legend that is Melani is back with the latest We Do Not Care Club announcement.

Absolutely ON POINT as usual!
It is true, cleaning your phone with your boobs DOES work. 😅
#WDNC

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 The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe.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

[Leola Gee @leola_gee]

@SlowToBelieve @ThrillaRilla369 He did. He mentioned to Buddy Hayes (bass player) that his niece wanted to play the violin, and Buddy sent me one. No charge. I still have it. Many lovely people in that orchestra. Swell memories.

[Leola Gee @leola_gee]

@SlowToBelieve @ThrillaRilla369 Myron was my uncle, and he enjoyed playing for neighbors in the living room as much as a TV audience. He loved music and was a truly decent and joyful man.

[Leola Gee @leola_gee]

@skipheitzig “Jesus Loves Me, This I Know.” For 72 years and counting.

[Leola Gee @leola_gee]

@w_terrence This is the story the NYT should have run today. Lovely tribute.

[Terrence K. Williams @w_terrence]

My first Father figure from my first Foster Home! His name was Mr. Solomon but I called him “ Paw Paw "

When I left his home, This man drove from Mississippi to Oklahoma the same day he got the call I was back in the children’s shelter, showing family is love, not blood. He spoiled me rotten, called me Clarence (never got my name right!), taught me to ride a bike, cut grass, and made me do yard work young to build character.

Every time I got a haircut, he’d grin and say, “Who are you? I don’t recognize this handsome young man in my house!” When I brought home good grades, he’d beam and buy me a sharp new church suit. He was born in the early 1930s so his old-school wisdom and love still guides me.

We reconnected after years in the summer of 2009 when I was in high school and I took a bus down to see him and his wife, who I called Maw Maw. He was so happy to see me again, hadn’t changed one bit—waking me up early, saying he doesn’t believe in a man sleeping in, telling me to go feed the fish and help kill those ants outside at 7am lol.

He’d brag to random strangers, saying, “This my old foster boy; he came all the way down here to see me and his Maw Maw.” He passed months later and I’m so glad I got to reconnect with him

Happy Father’s Day to him and to all the great fathers in the world

[Leola Gee @leola_gee]

@oldbooksguy The Screwtape Letters

[Leola Gee @leola_gee]

@Oceanbreeze473 I find that scenario unfathomable. 😂

[Leola Gee @leola_gee]

@oldbooksguy The Light Princess by George MacDonald. My ADD princess sat through the entire novel as I read it aloud—three times, as child, teen, adult. I’ll read it again if she asks. Witty, poignant, insightful, short.

[Leola Gee @leola_gee]

@data_republican Person of Interest

[𝕃𝕚𝕖𝕦𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕝 ℙ 🪖 @TheLtColUSMC]

Master Gunnery Sergeant Peter Wilson—You haven’t truly felt the Star-Spangled Banner until you’ve heard it played by him on his violin. 🎻 🇺🇸

Trust me, nothing else even comes close. Goosebumps guaranteed. 🫡

[Leola Gee @leola_gee]

@native_history_ It’s wonderful! My mother made many quilts, and I love looking at the mismatched squares because they were recycled from family members’ clothing. Yours is quite artistic and lovely. A treasure.

[Leola Gee @leola_gee]

@Brink_Thinker Simplicity patterns and Singer sewing machine