Teachers are some of the most important people in our community, and yet they are one of the most undervalued.
It takes a special person to dedicate their life to educate others, serve as role models, give advice, and mentor the younger generations.
We often hear about how teachers have gone above and beyond to help others and, more specifically, the children in their care.
One such hero is Jonathan Oliver – a phys-ed teacher at WG Nunn Elementary in Valdosta, Georgia – who was recognized for his kind act towards a kindergartener while coaching a basketball game.
After one of his students came to him for assistance, he was only more than happy to help her.
When one of the kindergarteners on Oliver’s basketball team, Kristen Paulk, asked him to help tie her hair back in a ponytail, the coach sprang into action.
Taking a knee on a basketball to get down to little Kristen’s level, Oliver appeared concentrated as he worked on tying her braids back away from her face. Though, unbeknownst to him, he was being recorded.
In fact, Kandice Anderson, another teacher at the elementary school, filmed the coach’s sweet gesture — eventually posting it on YouTube, where he received heartfelt support from the public.
The title of the viral video read: “When your job goes beyond teaching!”
The footage eventually made its way to Good Morning America, who contacted the 34-year-old dad-of-three for an interview.
“It was sh.ocking to me that it got that much attention because we all do it,” Oliver Good Morning America, adding that he didn’t realize he was being filmed.
“We [teachers] want to make them feel likе they’re at home and that they enjoy being here,” he added. “We try to love on them as much as possible. To me, it was just a ponytail.”
The caring coach told the outlet that Kristen had asked him for help with putting a ponytail in her hair during a basketball game, but that his expertise sadly does not extend beyond that – even though he often helps with styling his daughter’s hair.
“It was a good thing she asked for a ponytail. Anything else, I’d say, ‘You better ask your mom,’” he joked.
Kristen’s mom, Miyah Cleckley, told the outlet that the video really touched her, saying: “I always know that Kristen is in very good hands with him. I thought it was really cute because her father he does their hair a lot. We have five girls and one son so when I’m working he has to pick up the weight of doing their hair.”
This story is just one of many stories about teacher’s going above and beyond for their students. They truly are heroes!
What did you think of this sweet story? Let us know in the comments!
My 81-year-old grandma started posting selfies on Instagram with heavy filters.
The notification popped up on my phone, another Instagram post from Grandma Rose. I sighed, tapping on the icon. There she was, her face smoothed and airbrushed beyond recognition, a pair of oversized, cartoonish sunglasses perched on her nose. A cascade of digital sparkles rained down around her. The caption read, “Feeling my vibe! #OOTD #YOLO #GrandmaGoals.”
My stomach churned. At first, it had been a novelty, a quirky, endearing quirk of my 81-year-old grandmother. But now, weeks into her social media blitz, it was bordering on unbearable.
It had started innocently enough. She’d asked me to help her set up an Instagram account, intrigued by the photos I’d shown her of my travels and friends. I’d thought it was a sweet way for her to stay connected with the family, a digital scrapbook of sorts.
But Grandma Rose had taken to Instagram like a fish to water, or rather, like a teenager to a viral trend. She’d discovered the world of filters, the power of hashtags, and the allure of online validation. Suddenly, she was posting multiple times a day, each photo more heavily filtered than the last.
The captions were a whole other level of cringe. She’d pepper them with slang I barely understood, phrases like “slay,” “lit,” and “no cap.” She’d even started using emojis, a barrage of hearts, stars, and laughing faces that seemed to clash with her gentle, grandmotherly image.
The pinnacle of my mortification came when she asked me, with wide, earnest eyes, how to do a “get ready with me” video. “You know, darling,” she’d said, her voice brimming with excitement, “like those lovely young ladies on the internet. I want to show everyone my makeup routine!”
I’d choked on my coffee. My makeup routine consisted of moisturizer and a swipe of mascara. Grandma Rose’s “makeup routine” involved a dusting of powder and a dab of lipstick.
The worst part was, my entire family was egging her on. They’d shower her with likes and comments, calling her “amazing,” “inspiring,” and “a social media queen.” They were completely oblivious to my growing dread.
I was trapped in a vortex of secondhand embarrassment. What if my friends saw these posts? What if my coworkers stumbled upon her profile? I could already imagine the whispers, the snickers, the awkward attempts at polite conversation.
I found myself avoiding family gatherings, dreading the inevitable discussions about Grandma Rose’s latest post. I’d scroll through my feed, wincing at each new notification, my finger hovering over the “unfollow” button, a button I couldn’t bring myself to press.
One evening, I found myself sitting across from my mom, the glow of her phone illuminating her face as she scrolled through Grandma Rose’s profile. “Isn’t she just the cutest?” she gushed, showing me a photo of Grandma Rose with a digital halo and angel wings.
“Mom,” I said, my voice strained, “don’t you think this is… a little much?”
My mom looked at me, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean? She’s having fun. She’s expressing herself.”
“But it’s not her,” I argued. “It’s like she’s trying to be someone else.”
“She’s adapting, darling,” my mom said, her voice gentle. “She’s embracing technology. She’s living her best life.”
I knew I wasn’t going to win this argument. My family, in their well-meaning attempt to support Grandma Rose, were completely blind to the awkwardness of the situation.
I decided to try a different approach. The next time Grandma Rose asked me for help with her Instagram, I sat down with her and gently explained the concept of “authenticity.” I showed her photos of herself, unfiltered and unedited, her smile genuine, her eyes sparkling with wisdom.
“You’re beautiful just the way you are, Grandma,” I said, my voice sincere. “You don’t need filters or slang to be amazing.”
She looked at the photos, her eyes softening. “Do you really think so, darling?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“Absolutely,” I said, squeezing her hand.
Grandma Rose didn’t stop posting, but she did tone it down. The filters became less intense, the captions more genuine. She even started sharing stories from her life, anecdotes that were both heartwarming and hilarious.
And slowly, I began to appreciate her online presence. I realized that it wasn’t about trying to be an influencer; it was about Grandma Rose finding her own way to connect with the world, to express her joy, to simply be herself. And in the end, that was more than enough.
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