Anthony Schmitt. 21.
avitalrachel:

Miriam Monsonego. She was eight years old when she was cornered in a schoolyard by an assassin and shot in the head at close range. She was on her way to the Chabad Rashi Elementry school in Toulouse, France, where she was a student. She was murdered along with two other children and their father Rabbi Yonatan Sandler. Miriam died in her father’s arms Rabbi Yakov Monsonego, as medics tried to resuscitate her. 
Let the world see the faces of the lost, of those innocents killed in hatred and in cold blood.

Don’t ever fucking bully anyone and just so you know, Karma has everybody’s address and a motherfucking stamp!

— Lady Gaga
designchick:

Banksy
zooeydeschanel:

WOW!
hellogiggles:

Happy Birthday @zooeydeschanel from @barackobama @thewhitehouse ! Thank you @ronniecho @hellogiggles (Taken with instagram)

One teachers approach to preventing gender bullying in a classroom

togetherforjacksoncountykids:

“It’s Okay to be Neither,” By Melissa Bollow Tempel

Alie arrived at our 1st-grade classroom wearing a sweatshirt with a hood. I asked her to take off her hood, and she refused. I thought she was just being difficult and ignored it. After breakfast we got in line for art, and I noticed that she still had not removed her hood. When we arrived at the art room, I said: “Allie, I’m not playing. It’s time for art. The rule is no hoods or hats in school.”

She looked up with tears in her eyes and I realized there was something wrong. Her classmates went into the art room and we moved to the art storage area so her classmates wouldn’t hear our conversation. I softened my tone and asked her if she’d like to tell me what was wrong.

“My ponytail,” she cried.

“Can I see?” I asked.

She nodded and pulled down her hood. Allie’s braids had come undone overnight and there hadn’t been time to redo them in the morning, so they had to be put back in a ponytail. It was high up on the back of her head like those of many girls in our class, but I could see that to Allie it just felt wrong. With Allie’s permission, I took the elastic out and re-braided her hair so it could hang down.

“How’s that?” I asked.

She smiled. “Good,” she said and skipped off to join her friends in art.

‘Why Do You Look Like a Boy?’

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