I never wanted to be a teacher. But, like many people clawing their way through the post-graduate job market, I took what I could get. Substitute teaching wasn’t something I was excited about–it was nothing more than a side hustle that could help me save a few extra dollars. I didn’t see myself in school as an educator, and I certainly didn’t see myself as a one-on-one paraeducator responsible for supporting a neurodivergent child through his school day. But sometimes taking

The world erupts when Charlie Kirk dies.  A name. A face. A headline.  Suddenly, outrage floods timelines. No one deserves to die at the...

Grief is a strange thing. It doesn’t come in waves like people say—it comes in scenes. A knock on the wall. A skateboard under an arm. A...