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 The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe.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.
That moment when someone says, "I can't believe you would vote for Trump.”
I simply reply, “I'm not voting for Trump.”
I'm voting for the First Amendment and freedom of speech.
I'm voting for the Second Amendment and my right to defend my life and my family.
I'm voting for the next Supreme Court Justice(s) to protect the Constitution and the Bill of Rights.
I’m voting for the continued growth of my retirement and reducing inflation.
I’m voting for a return of our troops from foreign countries and the end to America’s involvement in foreign conflicts.
I'm voting for the Electoral College and for the Republic in which we live.
I'm voting for the Police to be respected once again and to ensure Law & Order. I am tired of all the criminals having a revolving door and being put back in the street.
I’m voting for the continued appointment of Federal Judges who respect the Constitution and the Bill of Rights.
I’m voting for keeping our jobs to remain in America and not be outsourced all over the world - to China, Mexico and other foreign countries. I want USA made.
I’m voting for secure borders and have legal immigration. I can’t believe we have actually have flown 380,000 illegal immigrants into our country.
I am voting for doing away with all of the freebies given to all of the illegals and not looking after the needs of the American citizens.
I'm voting for the Military & the Veterans who fought for this Country to give the American people their freedoms.
I'm voting for the unborn babies that have a right to live.
I’m voting for peace progress in the Middle East.
I’m voting to fight against human/child trafficking.
I'm voting for Freedom of Religion.
I'm voting for the right to speak my opinion and not be censored. I am voting for the return of teaching math, history, and science instead of indoctrination of our children and pronouns.
I'm not just voting for one person, I'm voting for the future of my Country.
I'm voting for my children and my grandchildren to ensure their freedoms and their future.
What are you voting for?