Masoonami @masoonami

@LePapillonBlu2 This is what America is all about. Eagerly looking forward to a return to normalcy in two years.

@krassenstein This is outrageous! Consequences are needed now!

@mehdirhasan Unbelievable that a sitting US senator would say “let’s get back to killing” during an asymmetrical war like this. This sweatshirt moron should be a bartender not a senator.

Trump is named in the #EpsteinFiles after all. Is anyone surprised? The sad truth is that his supporters don’t care. csmonitor.com/USA/2025/1112/…

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 The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe.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

@AdameMedia Completely agree. We are all equally valuable. It is precisely this type of xenophobic thinking that results in genocides.

Netanyahu’s regime keeps claiming that Hamas is fabricating claims of mass starvation in Gaza while blocking all independent press from reporting from Gaza. Something doesn’t line up.

Mamdani literally cooking Cuomo and America need such leaders as Mamdani for a better future

Israel, Israel. America third!

@AVindman @realDonaldTrump Thank you for speaking the truth.

I hate sitting in a metal tube in the sky not knowing what’s happening outside. Do you agree—a window shades be open or shut on flights? liveandletsfly.com/window-seat-sh…

@FalconryFinance How does one come back from that…? ;\

politics in one picture

this is still one of my favorite things on the internet

🏆 to whoever came up with and coordinated the No Kings protest at Ocean Beach, San Francisco. Don’t miss it…absolute fire.

If that’s what they do to a United States Senator with a question, imagine what they do to farm workers, day laborers, cooks, and the other nonviolent immigrants they are targeting in California and across the country. Or any American that dares to speak up. I will not stop fighting to demand accountability on behalf of the people of California.

President @JoeBiden standing with you as you go through this difficult time. I am grateful for your leadership the past few years. Wishing you a complete recovery.

You’d fight back too

@AVindman Agreed!

@RonFilipkowski Absolutely revolting. This is not a presidency. They are not America.