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Elementary school teacher Alice Yates does hair for student who lost a parent.

Teachers play a much larger role than simply being educators. And elementary school teacher Alice Yates (@missaliceinteacherland) understands what it means to go above and beyond for her students, especially those in need.

In a new video shared on Instagram, Yates shared an emotional video about a student who recently lost a parent. After noticing she was coming to school with her hair unbrushed most days, she decided to step in with kindness and help take care of her by doing her hair everyday.

In the start of the video, Yates shows herself brushing out a little girl's hair as she tells her story in the captions. "A few months ago one of my student's parent died pretty suddenly...she was coming to school with her hair not even brushed most days," she writes. "I just wanted to help where I could. So I bought a cheap comb and hair ties so that I could at least do a basic pony for her to get her hair out of her face."


The small act of love did not go unnoticed. Her other students noticed Yates doing the student's hair, and wanted to get their hair done, too. "Then the other girls in the class started asking if I'd do their hair too. Now during breakfast, we have chitchats while we do hair! I wouldn't trade this time for anything. It has helped us all become so much closer.❤️"

She goes on to explain that she wasn't sure if parents would be okay with it, but was put at ease after getting a thankful message from one.

"I was a little nervous some parents might take it the wrong way that I'm doing their kids hair, but then I got this message: 'I just FaceTimed with [student's name] and saw her hair. It was adorable. Thank you for being extra sweet to my girl while I'm away. I don't even know what her hair looked like when she came in lol."

Yates offered more details as to why she treasures the personal interactions with her students. "I love being the teacher that I needed growing up...when I was a kid many of my teachers didn’t take the time to get to know us. They didn’t really show us love, tell us about their family, or even ask about ours," she writes. "They showed up, taught from a McGraw Hill Teacher Guide and went home. I think back on school and I hated it most years. I can count on one hand the teachers that I felt safe and happy with."

It was that experience that made her want to be a different teacher. "School filled me with so much anxiety and I think it’s a huge reason why I pour my heart and soul into teaching now," she writes. "I find so much comfort in looking into a parents eyes and telling them that I will take care of their baby, and they look back and me and know I mean it. ❤️"

Yates' emotional video got an incredibly supportive response from viewers. "And that’s a vocation right there & exactly the teacher our children need 💕," one wrote. Another shared, "This is beautiful bc when I was in 3rd grade my dad almost died in a motorcycle accident. Needless to say with no family nearby, most days I was barely dressed much less brushed. My teacher would bring barrettes to put up my hair and ill never forget the difference it made in my life ♡." And another viewer added, "They will never forget you and the time you took for them ❤️."

If you would like to contribute to Miss Alice's classroom, you can shop her Amazon Classroom Wishlist here.

It's a scary feeling to see a loved one's cry for help. Oftentimes, we're left feeling powerless and questioning if, or how, we should act.

Many of us, unfortunately, know what that gut-wrenching moment feels like. Especially in the age of social media. You're scrolling through your feed — past the baby pics and food photos — and you spot it: a post from a friend that doesn't feel ... right. Your stomach churns, your heart begins to beat faster, and you ask yourself: Is my friend about to hurt themselves?

Should I call him? No, I don't want to offend. Should I tell her mom about this? Probably not. It's none of my business anyway...


Photo via iStock.

We live in a world where posts from friends concerning self-harm, depression, and suicide aren't all that rare. The good news is that Instagram recognizes this, and it's doing something about it.

As part of its #PerfectlyMe initiative celebrating the strength of support networks, the photo-sharing app is rolling out new features to help users anonymously report a friend they're worried about if they see one of those scary posts or messages.

After the post is reported, that friend will get a message from Instagram that notes, "Someone saw one of your posts and thinks you might be going through a difficult time. If you need support, we'd like to help."

The feature will then offer your friend a few options, like the ability to contact a help line directly or read tips on getting support and accessing help.

Photos via Instagram.

Instagram is also aware that what a person seeks out through its hashtag search — such as #ImNotOK — can say a lot about what's on their mind. To address this, the app has a new feature that will send a message to a user if they search for a hashtag that's associated with self-harm.

Photo via Instagram.

Instagram worked with experts from groups like the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline and the National Eating Disorders Association to make sure the language being used in the feature was appropriate and helpful.

"We listen to mental health experts when they tell us that outreach from a loved one can make a real difference for those who may be in distress," Marne Levine, Instagram's chief operating officer, told Seventeen magazine. "At the same time, we understand friends and family often want to offer support but don't know how best to reach out."

Photo by Ed Jones/AFP/Getty Images.

Instagram's new feature is social media at its finest: connecting people around the world and giving them tools to help one another.

Social apps like Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram can get a bad rap. Sometimes, they provide a platform for bullies. Other times, they're used to spread hate and bigotry by those with the wrong ideas.

But these same platforms also connect long-lost friends, unite marginalized groups in solidarity, and, yes, allow us to make sure we're looking out for our friends and family.

"These tools," Levine explained, "are designed to let you know that you are surrounded by a community that cares about you at a moment when you might most need that reminder."

On June 12, 2016, the deadliest mass shooting in American history unfolded at an LGBTQ nightclub in Orlando, Florida.

Photo by Gregg Newton/AFP/Getty Images.

At least 50 people were killed with dozens more injured. The terrorist act — committed by a homophobic, religious extremist — sparked reactions from President Barack Obama and leaders from around the world.


Unfortunately, a knee-jerk response from some people was to condemn the violence with misinformed fear — to blame all Muslims for the ideology a very small group promotes.

It's a dangerous response to have — especially if you're a presidential hopeful with a platform — because implying all Muslims are capable of committing (or sympathizing with) such an atrocity only further divides our communities and justifies prejudice.

That's why one Florida man's viral Facebook post in the wake of the tragedy is all the more important.

Mahmoud ElAwadi, a Muslim who lives in Orlando, shared a photo of himself giving blood on Sunday. In the post — which within a day was shared more than 110,000 times — ElAwadi points out several truths every American should keep in mind while processing what happened.

Here is ElAwadi's post in full:

-Yes my name is Mahmoud a proud Muslim American. 

-Yes I donated blood even though I can't eat or drink anything cause I'm fasting in our holy month Ramadan just like hundreds of other Muslims who donated today here in Orlando. 

-Yes I'm angry for what happened last night and all the innocent lives we lost. 

-Yes I'm sad, frustrated and mad that a crazy guy [claiming] to be a Muslim did that shameful act. 

-Yes I witnessed the greatness of this country watching thousands of people standing in 92 degree sun waiting on their turn to donate blood even after they were told that the wait time is 5-7 hours. 

-Yes this is the greatest nation on earth watching people from different ... ages including kids volunteering to give water, juice, food, umbrellas, sun block. Also watching our old veterans coming to donate. And next to them Muslim women in hijab carrying food and water to donors standing in line. 

-Yes together we will stand against hate, terrorism, extremism and racism. 

-Yes our blood all [looks] the same so get out there and donate blood cause our fellow American citizens are injured and need our blood. 

-Yes our community in central Florida is heart broken but let's put our colors, religions, ethnicity, sexual orientation, political views all aside so we can UNITE against those who are trying to hurt us.

Here are three crucial reminders ElAwadi highlighted in his post.

1. This terrorist's actions do not reflect Islam in the slightest.

Like the vast majority of Muslims, ElAwadi is "sad, frustrated, and mad that a crazy guy [claiming] to be a Muslim did that shameful act."

Muslim leaders in the U.S. were quick to condemn the motives behind the ISIS-inspired massacre. Nihad Awad, national executive director for the Council on American-Islamic Relations, said these extremists "do not belong to this beautiful faith."

Photo by Saul Loeb/AFP/Getty Images.

2. Muslim Americans are just as devastated by this attack on our country as anyone else.

"I'm angry for what happened last night and all the innocent lives we lost," ElAwadi wrote. "Together we will stand against hate, terrorism, extremism and racism."

ElAwadi is not the exception. You don't have to look far to spot Muslims showing their support for the victims and rejecting the senseless violence. 

Photo by Daniel Munoz/Getty Images.

3. America is at its greatest when all of us — regardless of skin color, religion, or sexual orientation — rally together to help those in need.

"I witnessed the greatness of this country watching thousands of people standing in 92 degree sun waiting on their turn to donate blood even after they were told that the wait time is 5-7 hours," ElAwadi wrote. He noted that people of all ages — including veterans and women wearing hijabs — pitched in to do their part.

Photo by Mandel Ngan/AFP/Getty Images.

As ElAwadi's post demonstrated so well, the more we stomp out hate and replace it with solidarity, the better off we'll all be.

"Our blood all [looks] the same," ElAwadi concluded. "Yes, our community in central Florida is heartbroken, but let's put our colors, religions, ethnicity, sexual orientation, political views all aside so we can unite against those who are trying to hurt us."

Seeing as love tends to conquer all, I'd say that's a pretty good plan. 

Beth Atkinson died. She was one of the best first dates I ever had.

It was a long time ago, so we met the old-fashioned way — on Match.com. We had coffee at Mercury Cafe on Chicago Avenue. We laughed so loudly we made the other patrons blush. You could tell they were merely pretending to study or work, peering up from their books and laptops to witness the splendor of a first date gone well.

After that, we rode our bikes to a taco place and talked about our dreams. She wanted to move to France someday. I did this thing I sometimes do where I look at someone I’ve just met and mentally picture what they might look like in 30 years. Where will the wrinkles settle around that smile? Then we went to my place and made out on my couch.


"When can I see you again?" she asked me. This was what I liked about Beth. Most people were too busy protecting themselves to be direct. Beth made unflinching eye contact when she spoke to you. I envied the congruence she conveyed between her internal and external worlds.

I was moving to another apartment in a couple of days. So, we’d have to wait until after that.

We exchanged text messages for a couple of weeks, delaying our second date due to minor inconveniences and somewhat-full schedules.

Then, Beth stopped responding.

Beth’s roommate, Julia, happened to be a barista at a cafe I frequented. "I haven’t seen you for a few weeks. Did you take a vacation?" I inquired. I fought through the embarrassment that Julia probably knew I had gone out with Beth and that she knew what horrible thing I must have said or did — or what gaping personality flaw or physical deformity I must have had — to make her stop returning my messages.

While removing a biscotto from a jar, tongs in hand, Julia froze and turned ghost white. "You didn’t hear about Beth?"

I hardly knew Beth. But I knew her in ways that her closest friends didn’t know her.

Normally, when someone you care about passes away, you have friends and family in common to commiserate with about the departed.

I didn’t have those outlets as I grieved Beth. The funeral had passed. It seemed perverse to try to talk to Julia because she had been riding with Beth during the bicycle accident. It felt selfish to seek solace from a near stranger who had known her so deeply and experienced the tragedy so closely.

As I sat in my dark apartment with a glass of gin by my side, I read Beth’s mother’s wailing Facebook updates. The contrast in loss was cartoonish. How much of my grief was for Beth, and how much of it was just grief for myself?

I wrote to Match.com to let them know what had happened to Beth. Her profile was gone within 30 minutes. I wondered about the other guys who might be disappointed to see her disappear.

When I see people treat each other flippantly, like e-commerce items they can customize with a swipe, I wish they could learn what I learned from Beth:

Whenever I’m tempted — by what I think I want from the world — to forget someone’s humanity or to fool myself into shying away from a real connection, I remember Beth’s blazing blue eyes, patiently locked with mine, awaiting my response.