Educators are vital pillars of our community, yet their contributions are often underestimated. It takes a special person to dedicate themselves to teaching, mentoring and motivating young minds.
Jonathan Oliver, a physical education teacher at WG Nunn Elementary in Valdosta, Georgia, is one example of this commitment. He recently earned recognition for a touching moment of kindness during a children’s basketball game.
When kindergarten teacher Kristen Paulk asked for help with her ponytail, Oliver didn’t hesitate. He knelt on a basketball to be at eye level with her and carefully tied her pigtails to make sure her hair didn’t fall into her face. This tender gesture, captured on video, was shared on YouTube by Kandice Anderson, a fellow teacher
The video, aptly titled “When Your Job Goes Beyond Teaching!” quickly went viral and captured the hearts of many. It eventually caught the attention of Good Morning America, which interviewed the 34-year-old father of three.
“I was surprised by the attention because that’s exactly what we do,” Oliver told Good Morning America, unaware of the recording. “We want students to feel at home and loved. For me, wearing a ponytail just helped.”
Oliver mentioned that while Kristen’s request was for a ponytail, his hairstyling expertise was otherwise quite limited. “If she had asked for something else, I would have said, ‘You better ask your mom,’” he joked.
Kristen’s mother, Miyah Cleckley, expressed her appreciation for Oliver’s gesture. “I always know that Kristen is in excellent hands with him. It was especially touching because my husband helps us a lot with our daughters’ hair, as we have five girls and a son.”
There are many stories of teachers going the extra mile, and Jonathan Oliver’s story is a beautiful example of everyday heroes in education.
We would love to hear your thoughts on this touching story, share them in the comments!
MY HUSBAND SPENT OUR FAMILY’S SAVINGS FOR A CAR ON A PARIS TRIP FOR HIS MOM — SO I TAUGHT HIM A LESSON ABOUT FINANCES.
The weight of the betrayal settled in my stomach like a cold stone. Three years. Three years of sacrifice, of pinching pennies and foregoing simple pleasures, all for a car that would keep our family safe. And he’d squandered it. On a whim. On a trip to Paris for his mother.
David, bless his oblivious heart, seemed genuinely surprised by my reaction. He’d always been a mama’s boy, and I’d tolerated it, even indulged it, to a point. But this? This was beyond the pale.
“It’s my money too!” he’d protested, his voice rising in that familiar defensive tone. “She deserves it! You can’t put a price on gratitude.”
I’d simply stared at him, my mind reeling. Gratitude? What about gratitude for the sacrifices I’d made, for the countless hours I’d spent juggling work, kids, and household chores? What about gratitude for the safety of our children?
I knew arguing would be futile. He was locked in his own world of justifications, and I wasn’t about to waste my breath. Instead, I retreated, a quiet fury simmering beneath my composed exterior.
Over the next few days, I played the part of the understanding wife. I smiled, nodded, and even helped him pack his mother’s suitcase. I listened patiently as he recounted his mother’s excited phone calls, her plans for sightseeing and shopping.
But beneath the surface, I was plotting. I was determined to teach him a lesson about finances, about responsibility, about the true meaning of family.
First, I contacted his mother. I explained the situation, the crumbling van, the precarious state of our family finances. She was mortified. She’d always been a sensible woman, and she was appalled by her son’s impulsive decision. She offered to pay for the trip herself, but I declined. Instead, I suggested a compromise. She could still go to Paris, but for a shorter period, a weekend getaway rather than a full week. The difference in cost would be returned to our car fund.
Next, I tackled the issue of David’s “my money too” argument. I opened a joint account, separate from our everyday expenses, and deposited the remaining car fund, along with the money his mother had returned. I then created a detailed budget, outlining our household expenses, including the cost of a new (used) car. I presented it to David, highlighting the glaring discrepancy between our needs and his impulsive spending.
I also introduced him to the concept of “family meetings.” Every Sunday, we would sit down together, discuss our finances, and make joint decisions about spending. The kids were included, too, learning about the value of money and the importance of saving.
Finally, I decided to address the issue of his mother’s constant demands. I didn’t want to create a rift between them, but I needed to establish boundaries. I suggested that we set aside a small portion of our budget for gifts and experiences for both our families, to be agreed upon by both of us.
The changes weren’t immediate. David grumbled about the budget, about the “unnecessary” family meetings. But slowly, he began to understand. He started to appreciate the sacrifices I’d made, the careful planning that kept our family afloat. He even started to enjoy the family meetings, seeing them as an opportunity to connect with the kids and make joint decisions.
The day we drove our newly purchased (used) car home, David looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere. “For teaching me.”
I smiled. “We’re a team, David,” I said. “And teams work together.”
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