NOTE: The following article is satire, not a statement of fact. Treat it as such.
Dr. Jill recently decided to appear at a school and give a speech on the state of education in America, which was likely meant to give her the opportunity to do photo ops with young kids and make her husband’s administration look more human and caring after the disaster that was his Hawaii response. It ended poorly when she started yelling at a young child.
Beginning, she started off by doing her usual, bragging about how wonderful she is and how much she has helped everyone. She said:
Each new school year we stand on the precipice of possibility. Hallways once again overflow with the roar of life—shrieks of excitement shattering the summer calm. Even now, almost a month into classes, that bright, boundless energy still hangs in the air.
But there are some students who can’t seem to call upon that same wonder, whose sadness sits just behind their smile, who may be wrestling with anxiety or isolation. I saw this in my classroom after the pandemic, when it seemed as if so many of my students were struggling to connect more than ever. I couldn’t stop thinking about their distance. It stayed on my mind. How could I help them?
I’m sure a lot of the educators in the room know that feeling. This isn’t a job you walk away from at 3:15, is it? One day I was reading the paper and stumbled upon an article on connection and its importance in our lives. It talked about small choices we could make each day to open ourselves to the world and to others—to reach for joy. And it got me thinking: how could I bring this into the classroom?
So now, we begin each semester talking about the relationships in our lives: How we can reach out to our friends and strangers alike. How we can ease the stresses we’re carrying. How we can find community together. How we can actively reach for joy. What I’ve found is that when one person begins to share—others join in, and story after story spills out. And our little community suddenly becomes so much stronger than any of us could ever be alone.
That’s when she got interrupted, with a young girl from the Kindergarten at which she was speaking asking, “Mrs. Biden, how did you learn to love America so much? Was it because you fought for Civil Rights?”
It was a painfully obvious planted question, a softball delivered right into her lap intentionally. But she didn’t knock it out of the park. Instead she yelled at the girl, snapping, “First, don’t interrupt me! Second, it is “dr.” Biden! Not Mrs. Biden! You better learn to respect your elders, girl!”
Jill then went back to speaking, much to the shock and horror of her staff, many of whom were shocked and furious that she yelled at the girls instead of playing along with the softball.