Some parents on the sidelines at their children’s athletic events behave quite badly.
Also, the sun sets in the west.
In other words, the fact that parents get out of hand at their kids’ games isn’t exactly groundbreaking news.
As a father of four children and grandfather of four, I was personally shaken by the testimony of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford yesterday. I thought about my kids growing up, and what they might have experienced or observed and never told me, my wife, or anyone.
Last night I had a hard time sleeping.
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Here’s a weird fact.
Until about six or seven years ago, the term “bullying” was pretty much absent from everyday use.
Previous research has found that about 1 in 4 young teens admits to “sexting”—the sending of nude or semi-nude images or sexually explicit messages over an electronic device such as a mobile phone.
The frequency and intensity of hurricanes and other natural disasters have increased in recent years.
The ability to have and recall memories is what makes us unique individuals. Each of us has a distinct and irreplaceable store of information that affects our feelings, perceptions, and opinions. In general, memory is our ability to use information from the past in the present.
After September 11, 2001, lots of little kids across the nation asked some variation of the same question:
“Mommy, why did the bad guys attack us?”
Kids tend to look for patterns, especially when they’re frightened, so some kids likely took this inquiry even a step further:
“Daddy, why do the bad guys hate us?”
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Parents are the true experts when it comes to knowing their children, and often the first to notice any changes in their kids’ behavior:
Colin was a happy youngster.
I have never been good at standardized tests. In fact, I’m horrible.
The problem is that in standardized tests, as opposed to general knowledge or understanding of a particular problem, you need to know what the specific question is looking for. But I just don’t think that way. I overthink every question.
Lots of things crossed my mind as I cringed and smiled my way through Bo Burnham’s amazing new film, Eighth Grade.
First – and this particular sentiment was a near-constant refrain – I found myself swimming in gratitude that I was no longer in 8th grade myself.