‘Rude’ Sign On Daycare Door Goes Viral After Mother Snaps Photo Of It Check first comment👇👇

Juliana Farris Mazurkewicz went to pick up her daughter from daycare in Hockley, Texas when she noticed a very blunt sign on the door that left her stunned.

The sign did not ask parents to bring in supplies or make sure their children did not talk back. Instead, the sign asked the parents to change their own behavior.

Though some found the sign offensive, Juliana completely agreed with it prompting her to snap a photo and posted it on social media.

The sign stated:

“You are picking up your child! GET OFF YOUR PHONE!!!!

Your child is happy to see you! Are you not happy to see your child?? We have seen children trying to hand their parents their work they completed and the parent is on the phone.

We have heard a child say, ‘Mommy, mommy, mommy…’ and the parent is paying more attention to their phone than their own child. It is appalling. Get off your phone!!”

“I was a bit shocked, but I didn’t feel any negativity towards the daycare,” Juliana told reporters. “I know that the staff has the best interests of the children in mind, even to the point where they are willing to offend the parent.”

Some social media users did not find the sign appropriate as Juliana did.
“This is ridiculous,” one social media user wrote. “Who is anyone to tell a child’s parent not to use their phone? They might be working? Or have an emergency or anything else that’s none of their business.”

Do you agree with this sign, or do you think the message was rightfully offensive to parents? Let us know in the comments section.

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Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son\’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I\’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high school janitor taught me to keep my emotions locked down tight. But when that first Harley rumbled into the cemetery parking lot, followed by another, then another, until the whole place vibrated with thunder—that\’s when I finally broke. My fourteen-year-old boy, Mikey, had hanged himself in our garage. The note he left mentioned four classmates by name. \”I can\’t take it anymore, Dad,\” he\’d written. \”They won\’t stop. Every day they say I should kill myself. Now they\’ll be happy.\” The police called it \”unfortunate but not criminal.\” The school principal offered \”thoughts and prayers\” then suggested we have the funeral during school hours to \”avoid potential incidents.\” I\’d never felt so powerless. Couldn\’t protect my boy while he was alive. Couldn\’t get justice after he was gone. Then Sam showed up at our door. Six-foot-three, leather vest, gray beard down to his chest. I recognized him—he pumped gas at the station where Mikey and I would stop for slushies after his therapy appointments. \”Heard about your boy,\” he said, standing awkward on our porch. \”My nephew did the same thing three years back. Different school, same reason.\” I didn\’t know what to say, so I just nodded. \”Thing is,\” Sam continued, looking past me like the words hurt to say, \”nobody stood up for my nephew. Not at the end, not after. Nobody made those kids face what they did.\” He handed me a folded paper with a phone number. \”You call if you want us there. No trouble, just… presence.\” I didn\’t call. Not at first. But the night before the funeral, I found Mikey\’s journal. Pages of torment. Screenshots of text messages telling my gentle, struggling son to \”do everyone a favor and end it.\” My hands shook as I dialed the number. \”How many people you expecting at this funeral?\” Sam asked after I explained. \”Maybe thirty. Family, some teachers. None of his classmates.\” \”The ones who bullied him—they coming?\” \”Principal said they\’re planning to, with their parents. To \’show support.\’\” The words tasted like acid. Sam was quiet for a moment. \”We\’ll be there at nine. You won\’t have to worry about a thing.\” I didn\’t understand what he meant until I saw them the next morning—a sea of leather vests, weathered faces, and solemn eyes. The Hell\’s Angels patches visible as they formed two lines leading to the small chapel, creating a corridor of protection. The funeral director approached me, panic in his eyes. \”Sir, there are… numerous motorcycle enthusiasts arriving. Should I call the police?\” \”They\’re invited guests,\” I said. When the four boys arrived with their parents, confused expressions turned to fear as they saw the bikers. Sam stepped forward and…. Check out the first comment to read the full story

Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high…