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The Dangers of Confident Idiocy

We are idiots. Every single one of us. Not all the time, but enough of the time. Most of us don’t intend to be idiots; we just are. Because humans are prone to make mistakes. Humans are prone to make poor choices. Humans are prone to indecision that leads to negative consequences. Even if you’re smart, well-educated, mature, and wise, you have and/or will come across a moment that you will look back on someday and declare, “Boy, I sure was an idiot when _______.” Possibly more than one. It’s really part of the human condition. Idiocy can be the very thing that leads us to wisdom, IF we’re willing to learn, to grow, to accept our own limitations and either work to overcome them or accept help. But that can be a tough thing, “willing to…” In a country like the United States, where so many in the populace pride themselves on a myth of self-reliance and individualism, a “by my own bootstraps” mindset that often ignores and avoids admitting mistakes and seeking help, it’s no wonder that wisdom and maturity end up in short supply. What replaces them is often unwarranted confidence mixed with a large dose of ignorance, or worse, just a tiny bit of knowledge. It becomes an almost poisonous mix that isn’t likely to lead to anything good. And the confident idiot that decides to forge ahead armed only with their own self-assurance and misconceptions tends to wreak havoc on themselves and possibly others.

We have all met these people. My own life has been littered with them, among family, co-workers, acquaintances, and even, occasionally, people I call friends. Although to be fair, I try to be a good friend who gently challenges my friends’ notions when they’re confident in their own idiocy. Because friends don’t let friends be idiots. Friends don’t let friends embark alone on some project for which they are massively unqualified. A friend honestly asks, “Do you have the background and experience to make that work?” Friends don’t watch each other looking pale and worn out, stopping to catch their breath while simply walking, and say nothing, especially if it’s something unusual. Friends don’t let friends ignore the pain in their side, or in their knees, or especially in their head. A friend notices the change in behavior and says, “Maybe you should see a doctor.” Better to be safe than sorry, to be prepared than overmatched, to seek help when it’s appropriate.

Health issues are commonly where we all experience, and possibly engage in, confident idiocy. When’s the last time you had a physical exam complete with tests of at least your blood and urine? I know that might be a sensitive question, but the answer often reveals this behavior pattern. I will admit that I had been resistant to the annual physical exam prior to entering my 50s, but I am happy to say I got over my trepidation, found a doctor who I believed would give me the kind of direct, no-nonsense advice I need, and committed to regular checkups. More importantly, I follow his advice and make the adjustments to diet, exercise, lifestyle, etc., that he recommends. I’m not going to be the guy who assumes “when you go to the doctor, it’s guaranteed they’ll find something wrong.” I’m not going to be the guy who hears the doctor but only listens selectively because “I was a pre-med major during my freshman year in college.” (Who-knows-how many years ago…) I’m not going to be the guy who arbitrarily decides that all doctors are just stooges of big pharma, looking to prescribe unnecessary medications. Sure, if you think your doctor is over-medicating you, then seek out someone new. But drawing conclusions about all doctors, especially if you have no medical training, is irresponsible and irrational. And no, watching stuff about medical professionals on YouTube doesn’t qualify as medical training. Consulting a doctor only when you’re sick, ignoring regular exams, and especially ignoring standard medical advice isn’t a smart path to a healthy and productive life. Why ignore or even actively defy the opinion(s) of experts who have spent years training and practicing their craft, which is designed to help you?

Therein lies a key to the confident idiot. Expertise. Or rather, lack of expertise. The confident idiot doesn’t subscribe to needing experts. They don’t think they need assistance. They don’t want your fancy “book learning.” “They’ve done just fine with their finances, or their health, or their emotions, or their vehicles, or their home, or, or, or…” And therefore, they believe they have no need of “so-called experts.” Anytime you hear someone use that phrase, you can expect to encounter confident idiocy, because the phrase “so-called” intentionally attempts to belittle the experts, thereby elevating the apparent knowledge of the confident idiot, at least in his/her mind. “So-called” is nothing more than an attempt to dismiss expertise — of the doctor, the nurse, the physician’s assistant, the attorney, the legal assistant, the teacher, the principal, counselor, the therapist, the auto mechanic, the industrial engineer, the architect, the urban planner, the government worker, the realtor, the HVAC technician, the plumber, the roofer, the musician, the videographer, the photographer, the sound engineer, the contractor, the electrician, the construction worker…heck, even the server at a restaurant. Think of any profession that requires a measurable amount of training and experience, wherein the individual develops any level of expertise on a subject over time, and there is a confident idiot out there who will refer to that person as a “so-called expert.” That’s the mental game that’s played. And in this era of social media and YouTube, too often the mental game leads to content creation designed to belittle expertise on a global scale. And confident idiocy spreads like a virus.

That virus does damage, and plenty of it. Sometimes the damage seems minor, like when an obstinate husband insists that he knows where he’s going, so he refuses to ask anyone for directions or consult GPS and ultimately gets lost, or at least arrives late to the destination. Sometimes the damage is major, like the parent who rejects routine vaccinations on behalf of her children for eradicated diseases like measles, only to spark an outbreak of measles later on. “But I saw a video on YouTube explaining the dangers of childhood vaccines.” What did your doctor say? “I don’t trust doctors.” Uh-huh. Sometimes the damage is downright catastrophic, like the lifelong smoker who refuses to quit, who eats unhealthy much of the time, and who doesn’t heed tiny warning signs until it’s too late. “If only we knew.” You could’ve known, except for the confident idiocy that assumed everything would just be fine and avoided routines scans and checkups. Sometimes the damage has a ripple effect, like the parent who insists on “home-schooling” her child despite being wholly unqualified to do so, then attempts to enroll that child as a high school freshman only to learn the student is several years behind academically. “Can you still help her get into a good college?” Let’s try to ensure she can pass high school classes first, let alone graduate. College is the least of her worries right now. Or perhaps it’s the person who died without any kind of will, or a will that hasn’t been properly prepared and/or vetted by a licensed attorney, so the estate goes through more hassles and legal fees than necessary. All because a confident idiot just decided that attorneys’ fees are merely attempts to siphon off cash with no benefit. Uh-huh. Instead, that person passes more expensive burdens onto the survivors in the name of self-reliance. “I can do it just fine.” Can you?

And therein lies the real question: How well can you, the person in the mirror, succeed without help, and in what ventures? Maybe you are the kind of person who can learn with incredible ease, and a few trustworthy videos online and perhaps a book or two are all you need to learn what you need. Or maybe you’re not. Or maybe you have no idea what you really need. I’ve observed both types of people many times, both in the education world and in the voiceover world. And the truth is, even the people who can figure it out easily on their own usually shouldn’t because they don’t have to. There’s always someone available to help, and they’re not always cost-prohibitive, especially when you consider the greater cost of insisting on individuality, failing spectacularly, and being forced to seek help, sometimes in desperation. For every person who is adept at using YouTube to figure out how to complete a complex project, there are many more that mess it up and spend more money calling in an expert to clean up the mess. The education world is riddled with teachers who struggled or failed unnecessarily because they refused help. The voiceover world is riddled with talents who were forced to work harder because they refused to seek quality coaching and/or sent out a terrible DIY demo. But seeking out help when you don’t even know you might need it requires a significant amount of introspection. It requires you to take a truly honest look in the mirror, at your own skills, at your own experience, and at your own goals, and admitting that maybe, just maybe…you, too, are an idiot in the context at hand. But at the very least, you don’t have to project false confidence about yourself in spite of it.

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Get Busy Living

What matters to you? I don’t mean abstract philosophical concepts like peace, love, and happiness. This isn’t a pageant interview. But I’ll ask again: What matters to you? More specifically, what aspects of your life matter to you? What are your personal and professional priorities? Who do you care about? Whose company do you enjoy? Whose presence do you value? Who and what make you better, as a professional, as a family member, as a parent or child, as a human being? What people, thoughts, items, attitudes, habits, foods, routines, and experiences help you live a better life?

Yes, that is a lot of introspection heading into a holiday weekend in the middle of summer. But don’t forget, the second half of 2026 just began, so it’s a great time to re-evaluate the year’s progress, and these questions serve a deeper purpose tied to a simple concept: Life Is Short. If you prefer, “life moves pretty fast, as Ferris Bueller famously quipped. Or pick another favorite maxim — Live Life to the Fullest. Make Every Moment Count. Dance Like No One’s Watching. Time Waits for No One. Carpe Diem. These are all actually uplifting sentiments, geared toward personal progress. For me, they’ve been incredibly comforting of late, because I’ve recently been cataloging the losses I’ve experienced, either personally or vicariously, over the past few years.

Out of nowhere (not really, but it felt like it), I received the news recently that my high school graduating class is having its 40-year reunion this fall. Yes, I graduated high school in 1986; I’m old. I never attended my 10-, 20-, 25-, 30-, or 35-year reunions (most likely because I was involved in some kind of PA announcing gig or something similar), but I’ll actually be free to attend this year, and I really want to go. One of the requests made by an organizer was an update on all the members of our class that we know have passed away. They want to have a tribute featuring photos of those who are no longer around to join us, and I love the idea. Trouble is, researching for those kinds of projects is tough, not because the information is difficult to find, but because you have to learn or relive news about all the people who have died with whom you literally grew up. It’s a bit of a gut-punching exercise. Sometimes I’ve run across old stories about people who passed away tragically in an accident. More often, I’ve learned that several people in my class suffered with disease before passing away. I learned during this search that one of my friends whom I first met back in junior high had died suddenly in 2013 due to complications from the flu. I came to learn she had devoted her adult life to nonprofit service benefiting impoverished youth and homeless adults, and that her unexpected passing impacted many beyond her family. Empirically, I understand that tragedies like this are a statistical likelihood, but still, when it’s someone whose face, voice, and demeanor you remember perfectly, it hits you. When you learn about the things they accomplished in life before dying, and read tributes offered by those who knew them as adults, it can be heartbreaking.

The process became even more difficult as the layers I peeled back during this exercise revealed or reminded me of losses that weren’t in my graduating class. You come across news like this, and you fall down the proverbial rabbit hole, recalling loss after loss. I had a friend who graduated in 1985, who I had even encountered at a 5k race in 2019. I learned that he passed from cancer two years later. I remembered two different former teaching colleagues I knew from working summer drum major camps who had passed away in 2020 and 2022. I recalled another teaching colleague who had battled cancer tenaciously since 2019 but finally succumbed in the fall of 2025. A man I knew from my church died suddenly of a heart attack last August, literally days after I had spoken with him. I also learned recently that my supervising teacher from my student teaching experience had passed away in October 2024. Of course, there have been losses in my family in recent years, including my father in 2020 and my mother just this past February. Sure, death is a part of life, but it can be really sobering to explore it consistently.

But while it can be an easy trap to lament the fragility of life and offer a morose monologue like Billy Crystal at the beginning of City Slickers, what I realize more deeply after exploring these passings is that each day we have on this planet really IS a gift. We’re therefore called to do something with each day, aren’t we? I believe we are, regardless of whether one believes in God or not. But what we are specifically called to do isn’t necessarily some grand gesture, some massive project that revolutionizes things, or some miraculous achievement that will live in the proverbial record books for years to come. Sure, those are great, but there’s real beauty in life to be found from day-to-day activities, even if they might seem mundane. Beauty in being genuinely nice to others, not for any type of appearance or advantage, but just because we should. Beauty in doing certain things because they’re necessary, or helpful, or just the right thing to do. Beauty in being a decent human being. There’s beauty in just about everything around us, too, including nature and man-made things. I consider incumbent upon us to have at least marginal appreciation for the beauty of each day, and of this world, and to show it at some level.

Does this mean we all need to spin around every day like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music and sing? Of course not, although if that’s your thing, you do you. My point is that daily life is all about priorities. Just as we are called to certain things, we are NOT called to other things. We’re NOT called to drive angry, and gripe at other drivers. For that matter, we are NOT called to drive cluelessly, without regard for the rules of the road, mindlessly focused on ourselves, our phones or some other distraction. We are NOT called to obsess over every negative person at our work, or every menial task, or every annoying element. We are NOT called to negative emotions about things we see on the internet, annoying or offensive as they may be. We are NOT called to jealousy or judgment over things we see on social media. We are NOT called to obsess over political matters, nor are we called to wrap our own identities in affiliation with a political party or any politician. We are NOT called to wrap ourselves in isolation, constantly viewing the world only through the lens of video games, or YouTube, or other video sites, or social media, or even simply broadcast or cable television. Granted, some of the things I’ve just described can be unavoidable. Everyone has “one of those days” at work or at home. Everyone enjoys a little time in front of a TV or a computer. Everyone has encounters on the road, or at work, or at a store, that are challenging due to a disagreement, a misunderstanding, or just plain stupidity. These things will happen. But if your day is consumed or “ruined” by these things, you are missing an opportunity.

Every day is an opportunity for each one of us. We can notice the beauty of nature — blue skies, cool cloud formations, healthy vegetation, birds in the air, ducks on a pond, even dogs on walks with their owners. We can marvel at the intricacy of the network of roads we’ve managed to develop, even if we’re stuck in traffic or have to avoid bumps and potholes. Most importantly, we should acknowledge how fortunate each of us is to live and breathe in an era where life expectancy is as long as its ever been, and where so many of our “problems” are issues of inconvenience. Is it a perfect world? Far from it, but even as we work to resolve real problems like food insecurity, homelessness, and healthcare inequity, we can acknowledge good fortune, good works, and most importantly, good people.

At the end of the day (literally), the question becomes, on-balance, are we fulfilled? In other words, did the positives of our day outweigh the negatives? We know we’ll encounter negatives; it’s inevitable. Sometimes we have to seek out the positives to outweigh the negatives and achieve fulfillment. Daily fulfillment slowly adds up. At the end of our lives, we can look back not in anger, but in peace. This is why people say no one ever laid on their death bed wishing they could spend more time at work, or in traffic, or watching the news. Instead, they wish they could watch a sunset or sunrise, pet their dog, walk in the park, or have more time with their loved ones. It’s at the heart of “Get Busy Living, or Get Busy Dying,” from The Shawshank Redemption. I’ve written about this mindset before. In fact, I reposted those thoughts on the brevity of life with an audio version just last week. Knowing we will encounter negative stimuli in this world, knowing that fulfillment will ultimately come from the positives outweighing the negatives, it’s imperative every day for us to seek out that which enriches us and avoid that which strains us. To take the Shawshank metaphor a step further, we have to leave behind the prisons (often of our own making) that confine us, and seek something better. For many of those friends and colleagues that are gone too soon, I take comfort in the knowledge that they served others, that they didn’t die easy or angry, that they were surrounded by love and support, not jealousy, politics, bitterness, sloth, cowardice, or entitlement.

When I was in the classroom teaching economics, I always approached the concept of scarcity — unlimited needs and wants juxtaposed against limited resources — with a personal exercise for students: everyone has their time, talent, and energy, and the economics of an individual’s life hinged upon the choices they made with those resources. Students had to answer A) what they sought from their economic lives and B) how they might intend to achieve it within the confines of their time, talent, and energy. And the lesson always came back to this: Talent and energy can be manipulated, grown, and developed, but the only truly fixed quantity in our lives is time. And we waste way too much of it on things that don’t take us where we wish to go. (Talent and energy, too.) Given that reality, that frame of reference, why would we spend another minute thinking about people who do nothing but bring us down? Why would we care at all about what someone says about us online, or in a text, or even in a conversation behind our backs? Why would we engage with anyone who is fundamentally dishonest, or self-absorbed, or perpetually angry? Why would we worry about what someone else thinks about what we’re wearing, or watching, or doing with our time? Why would we remain working at jobs we hate that offer no redeeming qualities, moments, or co-workers? Granted, as I mentioned earlier, some things are unavoidable — all but a select few of us will have to work to earn money, we all have to clean and maintain our living quarters, we all have to complete menial tasks. But outside of what’s necessary, we are not obligated to immerse ourselves in the negative. And it really doesn’t matter if you’ve worked at this place for 10 years, or you’ve known this person forever, or your parents did things this way, or even if that person is a family member. If the day-to-day balance is negative, then sometimes habits, things, places, and even people need to become part of the past. Too often, we are overcome by the negatives and fail to immerse ourselves in the positives of life. We don’t make time for those things, people, and experiences that will fulfill us. Mohandas Gandhi famously said, “You must be the change you wish to see in the world.” But before you can do that, you might have to facilitate the change you need to see in yourself. Feed the parts of yourself that need to grow. Spend your time doings the things, cultivating the habits, being around the people who make you, and your life, better. So I ask again: What matters to you?

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When It’s Not About You

It’s been a fascinating two weeks since my last blog post, with several happenings that might seem disparate at first, but which have elicited some thoughts for me when juxtaposed against each other. I’m still basking in the glow of graduation, one of my favorite live-announce jobs of the year. Father’s Day is approaching, so I take heart in having helped raise two wonderful young men, and I know that one of the favorite annual traditions of my earlier years is also near: drum major camp. (More on that further down the post.) Against the backdrop of those very positive things lie some decidedly difficult observations. First, I came across a fellow PA announcer who posted video of himself introducing the visiting team in a comical, derogatory manner, which is 100% disrespectful, not just to the visiting team, but to the game on the field. I came across another fellow PA announcer who recently booked a high-profile job and posted a photo of an actor on-stage while referencing “my biggest stage yet.” And just this week, I learned of someone who passed away suddenly in his sleep, and now a family member of his is trying to upstage everyone’s shock and grief apparently to hog the proverbial spotlight. What do all of these more troublesome events have in common? Call it what you wish: Egomania. Narcissism. Solipsism. Conceit. Self-Infatuation. Vanity. Characteristics that sit in stark contrast to what makes both voiceover and education fulfilling.

This post was originally intended to discuss my thoughts on and memories of drum major camp, so let’s begin there. Forty years ago (!!!), I auditioned for and captured a position as Drum Major with the University of Texas at Arlington Marching Band. It was the spring following the cancellation of football at UTA, in preparation for the band’s first season as “Ambassadors of the University” later in the fall. I’ve written about it before in two parts, so I won’t spend any time in this space providing background. But I can say that this achievement literally changed my life. I had initially planned on leaving Arlington to attend college, but seizing this honor meant I would stay in-town and attend college while living at home. Over time, my involvement with the band would eventually take me toward the world of voiceover. But before that, my role as drum major would lead me to teach the UTA Drum Major & Leadership Camp, eventually inspiring me to enter the world of education. The UTA Drum Major Camp began then, and still begins, on the Sunday coinciding with Father’s Day. It’s a week filled with hard work on a variety of topics pertaining to the role of the high school drum major: conducting, marching instruction, leadership & group dynamics, and showmanship. Mornings outside in the heat working on physical activities, afternoons inside for conducting and discussion, evenings featuring light work and usually something more fun. I taught exclusively at the UTA camp for 3 years before expanding my involvement to include East Texas State University’s (now East Texas A&M) camp. I eventually stopped working the ETSU camp, but I remained with the UTA camp for a total of 16 years, including serving as the Principal Instructor for 8 years. For those final 8 years, I was in-charge of developing a revised curriculum that brought the camp into the 21st century. You might be surprised how much the typical high school marching band evolved from 1986 to 2001, and the nature of a band’s leadership had to evolve with it.

I learned at drum major camp that I love teaching. I love inspiring students to find skills and strength deep within themselves. I love breaking down complex ideas for students to assist them in accessing and mastering those concepts. I love helping students tap into and hone physical abilities they didn’t previously have. I love exploring both philosophical and practical approaches to leadership, and assisting students as they determine what will work for their personality and/or the personalities within their ensemble. I love the camaraderie of working with an elite team of instructors, collaborating in ways that enhance the learning of an entire group. Many of the cool buzzwords and ideals that you hear from educational administrators when they discuss teaching and learning were right there in action for me at, of all places, drum major camp. It made sense, really. High school bands sent us their best leaders, we hired people who were excellent leaders and teachers in their own right, and everyone gathered together for an unforgettable week growing together. Students didn’t just learn; they bonded with leaders from other schools, with so-called “competitors.” It probably sounds too-good-to-be-true, but it actually wasn’t. It was 100% a fulfilling week, every year. Even after I started teaching in a “normal” classroom, where I wasn’t always working with the best and brightest, I looked forward to drum major camp because it showed me just how cool and productive the education process can be when bright, committed individuals come together and cooperate in service to something bigger.

One underlying idea during every camp was the drum major’s true role in the ensemble. Sure, the average observer of a band sees the drum major as the public leader. The student(s) wear a different uniform, they salute the judges, they stand on the podium and conduct, they show all the visible signs of leadership and showmanship. But the real value of a drum major to a band is established behind the scenes, in how the drum major carries him/herself off the podium, in rehearsal, during warmup, on the bus, at school. Some of the most critical leadership a drum major can exhibit might happen on a random Tuesday in September, when the band is struggling through an afternoon rehearsal on a day that’s hotter than it should be. The public never sees that. But the drum major sets the tone for how everyone in the band is expected to act. When I led the UTA camp, we even had an oath: “I am the band. What I do, the band will do. What I say, the band will say. What I am the band will be.” And even though the oath literally says, “I am the band,” the irony is that if you’re the drum major, it is never about you. It’s about the band. Sure, the drum major gets to be out-front, salute the judges, acknowledge the crowd, etc. But a drum major who looks phenomenal doing the showy things in front of a poorly-performing ensemble doesn’t garner nearly as much respect as a drum major who might be less proficient as a showman leading an ensemble that performs impeccably. In the end, the drum major cares most about the show on the field, and the performers creating it. That’s what it’s about.

You know who else should care most about the show on the field? The PA Announcer. I’ve written about this before. The person announcing a contest, or a halftime, or any other event has one job: Make the ensemble on the field look good. Speak at the right time. Pronounce any names correctly. Show same enthusiasm for this group as you have for every other group. It doesn’t matter if it’s the defending champions of this festival, or even of the state marching band contest, or simply a small school performing its first contest show in five years; the ensemble on the field deserves your professionalism in this moment. Those students deserve your best work. And yet, no one actually came to hear you speak; they came to see and hear those students perform. Now, let’s take those same principles and apply them to a sporting event…High school softball. College baseball. Pro basketball. International football. There may be 70 people in the stands, or 70,000. They came for the event, not you. To your credit, you booked the job and are in the booth, but make no mistake: you are decidedly not “on-stage.” People actually pay to see the stage actor. For this event, they paid for an experience. You were hired by the organizers and ultimately can contribute to the fan experience IF you take the right approach. Are you exposed? Absolutely. Just an open mic and perhaps a script. So don’t suck. Say the names correctly. Do your best work. But realize this: Only a chosen few in the crowd will make note of how good the PA announcer was. Most attendees or viewers will only remember you if you’re bad, or if you do something disrespectful, like intentionally trying to make fun of the visiting team by playing cartoon music under their introductions, using some silly voice, or saying their names in a mocking style. They might notice you if you deliberately call attention to yourself, but that won’t be a good thing. It’s not about you unless you make it about you. And if you make it about you, the memories made will be unpleasant.

You know when else memories become unpleasant if you make it about you? Milestones of living. Often times, those are graduations, weddings, holidays, or other big occasions. Sometimes, it’s death, and funerals. And I get it: everyone grieves differently, and sometimes irrationally. In the case of the death I mentioned at the outset of this post, the primary emotion of the family is basically shock. This death was unexpected; the cause of death has been revealed by medical professionals, but no one knew beforehand about any impending risks or problems. Everyone in that family is simply trying to process the event more than anything right now. [This section now hidden to protect some fragile feelings.] … It simply happened. Right now, the concern is about the untimely death itself, and the immediate family working through the aftermath. Read the room, respect the situation, and above all, don’t make it about you.

Now, this post isn’t meant to suggest it is never about you. There’s certainly plenty of room for things like self-care. Take time off from work, get that message, have that dinner with friends, go on that vacation. Do something for you, especially if you’re working a daily grind for a long time. And there are definitely days, and events, and situations, where each of us, as individuals, truly do “take the stage.” We may literally star in a show. We get married. We receive awards and achieve other milestones. We celebrate birthdays and anniversaries. And on those occasions, yes, it is entirely about you. And of course, we live in a capitalist economy, where self-interest is the driving force behind our economic choices. But capitalism has always been about “win-win,” where both parties in a transaction receive benefit. Mutual self-interest generally means cooperation and collective growth. In the past half-century, the system appears to have evolved to a point where self-interest comes at the expense of others; a “win-lose” mentality. And too often, we seem to be living in an era where people seek the spotlight in a gratuitous or performative manner. They misinterpret circumstances or ignore them outright in an attempt to gain notoriety. For attention. For social media likes. To “build the brand.” Or perhaps because the individual is simply selfish and entitled. Perhaps All of the Above. Either way, I am not here for it, at all. Individualism isn’t absolute. Branding has its place, but sometimes that place is elsewhere. Sometimes self-interest and self-advocacy interfere with what’s necessary. That’s the hallmark of both of the careers which I have pursued. In education, it’s obvious, because the teacher, administrator, counselor, or other individual involved in the profession does their work to serve the students. An educator on a power trip or a journey for recognition is typically bad at the job, because the job is about the students. Similarly, a voice actor who is primarily interested in the limelight is looking in the wrong place. Voiceover is about the message, the story, the event…in other words, anything but the VO talent. The voice actor serves the project and brings life to it without ever overshadowing it. I think that’s a major reason I gravitated toward VO as I wrapped up three decades in education. I’d rather play a part in service to something bigger, because it provides a great outlook on life. When the point is the overall group, or someone else, or something bigger than yourself, taking a step back and simply serving offers far more satisfaction than looking for a way to seize any spotlight.

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The Serenity and Insanity of Summer

Ah, summer. Evenings by the lake. Trips to exotic lands, or national parks, or simply to visit family and friends. Baseball. The French Open, Wimbledon, and the U.S. Open. This year, the World Cup. Sleeping in. Idyllic times spent simply enjoying. For teachers and students, it’s all about the chance to relax, refresh, and regroup between one school year and the next. Phineas and Ferb know all about it. One of the greatest things about any school year is that it ends, as I wrote recently. The general nature of each school year is not unlike anything with a seasonal approach: The “in-season” time is filled with intensity and activity, and at times it may seem like things are teetering (perhaps on the brink of something?) and unstable. And yet, despite any adversity or tension found at given times in the previous ten months, the end always arrives. Summer is at hand.

Sure, astronomical summer isn’t officially here until the Summer Solstice later this month, and that’s fine. Frankly, those remaining 3 weeks of astronomical spring actually improve the phenomenon, because it allows everyone a chance to appreciate the days as they continue to lengthen. Stay out later, soak in the sun as it extends to its latest point, setting at nearly 9:00pm. If your life has been consumed by school for the past 10 months, whether as a student or as a teacher, right now, it’s not. Get out there and live. Do all the things for which you don’t have time during the school year. Read something you genuinely want to read, perhaps on a beach, or maybe at the park or even in your backyard. Listen to music. Play music. Play a sport. Just play, and stop worrying so much about what you have to do — assignments, grading, planning. Immerse yourself in things you enjoy. Therein lies the beauty of summer, particularly for teachers who’ve been on-edge for around 250 of the past 280 days (allowing for holidays). After the relative fervor of a given school year, the release of simply existing — no commute, no lessons, no activities, no updating Canvas, no meetings, no e-mails — can be downright cathartic.

Before you say, “Teachers have it easy; I’m at my job every day in the summer and only get 2 weeks of vacation each year,” step back a second and realize that your job is probably not nearly like teaching. Everyone that works 50 weeks a year without a week off for Thanksgiving, two weeks for Christmas and New Year’s, and a week for Spring Break also isn’t having to deal with the pressure of the school year, the deadlines, the children, or the parents. Anyone who goes into teaching does so with an interest in helping children of various ages, but even for someone who “loves kids,” 36 or more calendar weeks of working with them — and dealing their parents — can be exhausting. You have to keep them safe and engaged while trying to impart some knowledge, wisdom, critical thinking skills, and content that you hope will last in their brains beyond the next 72 hours. Tack on test prep, extracurricular activities, and general well-being, and we’re talking a whole different demand on your psyche than the average 9-to-5 job.

And don’t even start with the nonsense of “summers off,” or the even more insulting “3 Reasons for Teaching: June, July, August.” Take August completely off the table, because teachers will already be gearing up for and starting the new school year during that month. Technically, the teachers at your kid’s school are currently unemployed (officially termed off-contract) even though most have received what’s called a “letter of reasonable assurance” that they will be employed again when they are asked to report for the coming school year. “They’re getting paid to sit around all summer.” FALSE. Teacher contracts are based on a daily rate multiplied by the number of workdays, usually the instructional days plus five (for “staff development” prior to the beginning of the year). Daily Rate x Duty Days = Total Salary, which is divided by 12 to determine the monthly paycheck. So the teacher “sitting around” as you read this is receiving deferred payment during the months of June, July, and August. They will report this coming August but will not actually be paid for the time worked in August 2026 until after September 1. So spare me the notion that your tax dollars are paying them for nothing. They’re simply patient enough to accept the payment after it’s remained in the public coffers for an extra month or two. Beyond that, teachers are also expected to seek out and earn “professional development” (PD) time on their own during the summer. Sometimes districts host their own conferences during the summer to allow these requirements to be fulfilled, but the bottom line is that teachers have to seek out their opportunities, at their own expense.

Having said that, I still consider summer to be a wonderful respite for teachers…at least through June and July. Sure, they’ve got to earn their PD time, but they actually get to choose where and how to earn them. It’s not always a matter of heading to a district venue for 2 days of “death by PowerPoint.” When I was a classroom teacher, I used to attend a 2-day conference offered by the Federal Reserve Bank of Dallas. Two days heading into downtown Dallas (and learning to appreciate my own short commute to campus), featuring excellent food and knowledgeable speakers while communing with my colleagues from other places. I always enjoyed listening to speakers from the world of economic research talking content, as opposed to educators talking pedagogy or classroom management. Honestly, it hardly felt like work, so I never felt like my summer was interrupted; this was simply part of the summertime release for me. Even during years when I spent an entire week at TCU or UTA attending a Summer AP Institute, I still felt like I was recharging myself personally and professionally. The serenity of summer remained.

It actually wasn’t until I moved into administration that I realized that summer also holds a fair level of insanity for some educators. It turns out, some districts don’t offer much freedom for their teachers when deciding how to earn PD hours. Some districts require teachers to participate in their district-led PD conference. For someone who was used to enjoying my little high-tone events at the Dallas Fed, this realization was jarring. Are we really expecting teachers to spend an additional two days listening to the same central administrators who cannot keep their attention at PD meetings during the school year? “Oh, we’ll have guest speakers.” I suppose that’s true, but the guest speakers are often central administrators from other districts…who also cannot keep their teachers’ attention at PD meetings during the school year. (Many of these people have no clue about the principles I outlined in my post about presentation skills last year.) Sometimes, the guest speakers are independent consultants, but that can be a very mixed bag. For every guest consultant who’s engaging, there are at least three that are either still “finding their voice” or are just not very good. You get what you pay for, especially when it comes to guest speakers on topics like curriculum, teaching strategies, and lesson planning. Good Luck. And yet, some districts still schedule these sessions and require them of their teachers. Insane.

Want to ramp up the insanity even more? Let’s talk about administrators, who get paid a higher annual salary, yes, but often only because their contracts include more days than those of teachers. A teacher may work 180 days (175 instructional + 5 extra). An administrator might be contracted to work 210 days, or maybe even 226 or more. So your typical assistant principal, or someone in central office, is NOT off work right now; they’re on-campus literally as you read this. What are they doing? Excellent question. Often, they’re working on things that weren’t quite finished during the school year itself — cleaning up records, managing files, day-to-day office duties. They may be working on projects related to the physical status of the building that are best handled without students and teachers roaming the halls all day. Many administrators are working on the campus master schedule for the coming year, processing new enrollments, planning for August staff development sessions, and similar activities. Still…are there days when a given school administrator is essentially staring at the ceiling waiting for the day to end? No one likes to admit it openly, but everyone knows it happens. “Well, they should be fired for wasting my tax dollars.” Calm down. It’s the nature of nearly all work that is compensated on clock hours, whether in public school or at a store inside your local mall. Sometimes time simply passes without massive productivity. When you consider that some of these administrators are actually making a lower daily rate than some teachers and only have a higher salary due to the extra days, it shouldn’t surprise or anger you. Also, factor in all the extra duties and sh** these administrators contend with during the school year. Having said that, the requirements of many of these contracts is still insane.

But the supreme insanity of summer is found in a place you probably already expect, if you’ve previously read my blog: Testing. Yes, Virginia, the State of Texas requires student assessment every summer. The good news is that the old Student Success Initiative (SSI) for elementary and junior high/middle school students has now been retired for 5 years. There was a time when students in Grades 5 and 8 would be required to pass all their STAAR tests for automatic promotion to Grades 6 and 9. So they would test in April, again in May if unsuccessful, then again in June if still unsuccessful. The campus would be required to jump through hoops…“provide accelerated instruction” between test administrations. If a student failed for a third time in June, a Grade Placement Committee would be convened (to maintain the illusion of standards), and nearly every time, the student would still be promoted. TEA suspended SSI in Summer 2016 due to problems with unreliable results from the vendor, then discontinued it altogether in 2021. Hooray! Trouble is, the specter of June STAAR still looms thanks to End-Of-Course (EOC).

I’ve railed about EOC twice before. December EOCs are a pain for campuses during what should be a happier time. Spring EOCs are a necessary evil, I suppose, although they beget IGCs. But June EOCs? If you thought administrator summer days are a waste, wait until you consider June EOCs. The theory behind June EOCs actually sounds positive on its face: Offer students an additional opportunity to fulfill EOC graduation requirements (i.e., pass the test at the minimum standard), so they get three chances a year instead of just two. The June test administration is strictly optional; students can opt to wait until December for the next chance. It sounds easy enough, but the reality is that offering the test again in June leads to consumption of additional resources. Campuses have to arrange for rooms to be open and air-conditioned for student testing. Because teachers are off-contract, they have to be hired at an hourly rate to administer the test, which is untimed, so that can add up immensely. Because students are coming to the building, the campus has to arrange transportation for those who need it, as well as meals. Since students who failed a STAAR test probably require remedial instruction, most districts arrange some kind of summer tutorials, which require rooms, and A/C, and staff, and transportation, and meals, as well. In the midst of what should be the serenity of summer, a veritable cottage industry of instruction and testing sprouts during the early weeks of June, siphoning off funds that might’ve been used elsewhere, and culminating in a STAAR EOC administration that will yield minimal gains, if any, for the campus. 

I know all of this first-hand, because I’ve administered a June EOC, I’ve supervised administration of the test, and I’ve analyzed the results from June EOCs at a district and campus level. I’ve served as the District Testing Coordinator in the past and supported each campus as they determine the best method for planning and administering the test for their students and staff. I’ve also worked as a Campus Testing Coordinator where the district insisted on consolidating retesters from several campuses and testing them all in a single building, despite the additional logistical headaches it created. I’ve collaborated with other administrators in planning and administration of testing, trying to respect their time and efforts while knowing they don’t really want to do this, but they’re on-contract and basically required to be there. I’ve spent time working with teachers in attendance at district-mandated training and during the test, as they question their life choices despite knowing they’re getting paid extra to do this. I’ve sent e-mails, placed phone calls, and processed countless students through the test management system du jour to schedule their tests and testing rooms. I’ve compiled and printed more testing-related documents than I care to recall. I’ve even worked with special needs students and their parents, along with specialized staff, to arrange specific testing locations and accommodations for students who qualify. Through all of it, I can tell you, without question, the entire process, especially during the summer is insane. A waste of time and energy.

“It’s certainly not a waste for the students that pass.” Sure, I understand the starfish-on-the-sand philosophy…for a student who actually shows up ready to work and tries hard on the test, going into the next school year without the looming specter of December EOC, or having to miss instruction to take that infernal test, can be its own reward. I get it, and I appreciate it. At the same time, from a wider perspective, I know that the return on total investment in this exercise is desperately low. See, I forgot to mention above that I’ve also admitted students walking up for testing who don’t even know what test(s) they need, let alone have content knowledge related to them, but whose parents essentially forced them to come take the test. I’ve watched a student run to the doors late, having suffered car trouble on the way to the testing campus, only to have the District Testing Coordinator herself tell the student, “Sorry, we don’t allow any late testers.” (That one really disgusted me, because we had open seats the student could’ve taken.) I’ve seen countless students finish English EOC tests designed to last 2-3 hours within 45 minutes because they barely wrote anything for the Essay. Those scores will not be passing, guaranteed. I’ve even seen a student click through the test blindly, randomly picking answers in 10 minutes, then leave, openly stating he’ll just “take it for real” in December. Yet another parent-forced-me-to-be-here situation. Even when I was District Testing Coordinator in a strong, A-rated district with relatively few June EOC retesters, our best campuses typically saw less than 20% of those students succeed in passing a test during the June administration. A waste. Insanity.

Why are we doing this? For that matter, why do some districts say “we’re going to rewrite curriculum / district assessments / scope and sequence / pacing guides / subject-area projects,” etc. with teaching staff during the summer? The fact is, you’ll NEVER get anyone to do their best work in the summer, whether from students or teachers, even if you’re offering “extra duty pay.” I said it earlier in the post: The school year is intense. It’s exhausting enough that the relative repose for teachers and students alike is necessary. Treating June and July as simply unused, unproductive months that beg for further activity is foolhardy. Trying to cram instruction and more testing into them is futile. Expecting anything more than the basic foundations of the coming school year during this time is unwise and irrational. Stop the Insanity. Embrace the Serenity. Let’s run into each other at the ballgame, the pool, the museum, or the park instead.

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Say. My. Name.

Your name is one of the first words you recognize in life. It is critical to your early development, giving you identity, offering you a sense of importance when people take the time to learn it, and especially to use it. You’ll hear it your entire life. It is each individual’s ultimate symbol of recognition. “That’s my name. That’s me.” Learning and using someone’s name establishes a sense of connection. Alternatively, not using it, or saying it incorrectly, creates a sense of estrangement or worse, animosity. Some people who consistently hear their name mispronounced, especially by teachers and other adults over the course of an academic career, might get used to it. They resign themselves to accept that their name will be mildly butchered consistently, and they look forward hopefully toward that day when someone will actually say it right.

That academic career will eventually reach an important benchmark, a life event known as Graduation Day. I think most people have mixed feelings when they ponder Graduation Day. On one level, it represents the culmination of academic achievement; completing 12-13 years of compulsory education, 1-3 years of post-secondary work, or perhaps 4-12 or more years at the collegiate level. Its beauty lies in its status as closure, even though it’s often called commencement, a term that also means “beginning.” On another level, it perfectly encapsulates the notion of “hurry up and wait.” Arrive at the venue 2 or more hours early; proceed into a holding room and sit, or even stand, for 30-60 minutes. March out into the venue or onto the stage, then sit some more and listen to speeches in which you may only Be mildly interested. All of it just so you, your family, and perhaps some friends, can experience the briefest of moments, perhaps as many as 5 seconds, where your name is announced and you begin to walk, after which you shake several hands belonging to people you may or may not know, and you receive an empty diploma cover that will, eventually, contain the single piece of paper for which you have sacrificed and studied. Depending on the age of the participants, Graduation Day elicits a sense of respect, fondness, or even derision from observers. At some point, Kindergarten Graduation became a fairly standard thing at most elementary schools, much to the chagrin of some. At campuses that serve grades K though 8, Eighth Grade Graduation is still common, which makes sense, given that students attended the school for up to 9 years. Then again, we’re living in an era when many public school districts separate into elementary, intermediate, and middle schools, and let’s face it: holding graduations at Kindergarten, Fourth Grade, Sixth Grade, and Eighth Grade is overkill. But they all pale in comparison to High School Graduation.

Some observers actually scoff at High School Graduation, as well, because “It’s not that big of a deal; we all know we’re going to make it out of high school.” We could argue about how that’s actually NOT the case for everyone, since there are still students for whom the endurance needed to complete high school is a challenge, and believe it or not, there are still families where a given student walking the stage this May is the first one in the family to do so. But the worthiness of the achievement isn’t the point. The point is that High School Graduation is a time-honored rite of passage, maybe one of the most important and universal such experiences across countries, cultures, and creeds. It is, as I stated earlier, a life event. A big one. (That’s why multiple graduations at earlier grade levels get so annoying; they dilute the experience.) The High School Graduation is pretty unique and special precisely because it is the culmination of more than a decade of academic work. And at its core is that moment for each individual student when their name is announced, and they cross the stage. It will happen literally millions of times this May and June, so it may be easy to dismiss from a statistical perspective, but from a human perspective, each name is monumentally important, in each moment, to that graduate. And the pressure placed on the individual announcing those names is massive. All eyes are on each student, but all ears are cued in to the name announcer, hoping to hear each one spoken correctly.

For me, as a voiceover talent, Graduation Day approaches nirvana. It is one of the most daunting yet exhilarating Live Announce experiences a VO pro can have. I relish that feeling, I love the gig, and I approach it with the utmost seriousness. 2026 marks the 31st year I will read names at a high school graduation. My first foray into announcing names at graduation came in 1996 at Mansfield High School, when I was actually part of a team of 3 people. Two years later, I was asked to announce all the names, for a reason I will detail later. When Summit High School recognized its first graduating class in 2003, I announced all those names. A decade later, Mansfield ISD hired me to announce all names at all of its graduations, and I continued with that privilege even after I departed the district in 2019. Budget cuts ended that run, but I still announced graduation for Grand Prairie High School during the five years I worked there from 2021 through 2025. Now, after my retirement from K-12 public education, I’ve been fortunate to be hired as Peter Ponce, Voice Talent, by Burleson ISD and Grand Prairie ISD to announce all names for all their ceremonies. I cannot wait to showcase these students.

“Showcase?” you ask. Absolutely. That is what it’s all about. I’ve written before about how PA work is about the event, not the announcer. And for a high school graduation, that rule is more important than ever. It applies not just to the singular event, but to every single student participating. When it comes down to it, everyone in the venue at a high school graduation is there for one thing, but it’s ironically a different thing for nearly everyone. They don’t care about the speeches, hearing the choir sing whatever traditional song the school uses, seeing some kind of special performance, or the accolades the principal will highlight. They don’t care how much scholarship money the class has been offered, or the advice the superintendent or another speaker offers. They want to hear two things: 1) the official Statement of Conferral by the superintendent, wherein the students are actually deemed “graduates,” and 2) the name of the person(s) they’re here to celebrate. And depending on where #2 occurs in the full list of graduates, there will be some restlessness in the room, so get to the end sooner than later, please.

I like to joke with people that I am the only person anyone wants to hear speaking at graduation. And there’s a little bit of truth embedded in the joke. There’s a reason that Mansfield ISD originally hired me to do six ceremonies beginning in 2013. People heard me at the Summit graduation and asked, “Why don’t the other schools get the same kind of professional treatment Summit receives?” There’s a reason I get hired for this gig now. I’m good at it, and I’m experienced, which makes me even better than most. In the past, I’ve announced as many as 800 names in a single ceremony. Just me at the podium for up to an hour or longer, with a list, a microphone, and usually a series of cards handed or shown to me so I know who to announce next. It is its own art form, truly different from the “conversational read” of commercials or even the standard read for more conventional live announce copy. And it boils down to three key elements.

Pronunciation. It should go without saying, but you’d be amazed at how many VO talents literally say “I’m terrible with names.” Hopefully they stay away from live announce gigs of any kind, because names are typically involved in those. I happen to be great with names, and you can imagine why. My name has been mispronounced all my life. The true Spanish pronunciation is “PÔN-seh.” I typically tell people it’s “PON-say.” (Rhymes with Beyonce, if that helps.) But I’ve heard and accepted the single-syllable “PONS” all my life, and I only correct someone when they say the truly infuriating “POUNCE.” (Ain’t no U in my name, people.) I literally approach every graduation job in solidarity with all the individuals out there whose names have been mangled throughout their academic careers. I See You. More importantly, I Hear You, and I hear your name, properly pronounced. One of my favorite things when I’m visiting a campus to speak with students and make phonetic notes for myself is that moment when I read a student’s name correctly the first time and get that ecstatic reaction: “You’re the first person who’s ever said my name right!” That is the job here, after all, and it’s not hyperbole to say it is sacred to me. EVERY name matters in this setting, and every announcement needs to be my absolute best.

A quick story: In 1997, I was part of a 3-person team announcing names for Mansfield High School’s graduation. I had the middle of the alphabet, roughly last names G through P. I had also taught a student that year named Bryan Schenck, whose name was not on my list. Nice kid, good student. Quiet; probably never said more than 10 words to me, even though I saw him 90 minutes every day for 18 weeks as his teacher for both government and economics. I think he made an A in both classes, but he drew very little attention to himself. Just making his way through high school. I hope he’s gone onto a happy, successful life, but like most students, I don’t know that he was going to experience a lot of huge recognition in a public setting wherever life took him. So hear comes Bryan Schenck, quiet and nice student, and the person assigned to read his name says “Bryan Shriiieeenk?” when it came time for him to cross the stage. And the look of quiet defeat in his face when he heard his name A) pronounced wrong, and B) stated with a question mark, is burned in my brain forever. And lo, the very next year I was asked to read ALL the names. And every year, every graduation, I think about Bryan Schenck, and I quietly vow that no student will have that same experience.

Have I achieved a 100% success rate on pronunciations? I have friends who insist so, but I know that statistically, it’s impossible. But I also know that I NEVER say a name with a question mark. And if I have messed up, it’s probably on a particular detail in a syllable here or there, yet the name is still fundamentally correct. That’s because I study and practice. And study and practice. And study and practice. I know that for MOST of these young people, this is the most high-profile public recognition they will ever receive. The only time when they’ll hear their name announced and receive applause, specifically for them. And they deserve the dignity of having a professional voiceover talent read their name correctly, with authority and confidence, in this moment. Yeah, high school graduation may be “no big deal,” but this moment matters for every single student.

Consistency. Again, this should probably go without saying, but you might be amazed at how I’ve heard certain non-professionals approach graduation names. They often fall into a pattern that VO coaches might call “sing-song.” Sing-song is typically frowned upon in VO, anyway. Sometimes talents are coached to vary pitch when listing characteristics or places (what you might call the “NBC Rule”), but when the job involves listing people’s names, you maintain a consistent pitch and volume. I recall a promo coaching session I once had with the great Mark Rider where he noted that the athletes named in a promo for the NFL, NBA, MLB, etc., are all considered equally important to the league, so the performance calls for each one to have similar emphasis. The same principle applies to graduations. Sure, the top graduates in the class, along with the officers for the senior class and student body, are likely to receive some type of extra recognition during the ceremony, but when it comes time to cross the stage, we present the __________ High School Class of 2026, then list the names. They are equally important as individuals within that group, and each name needs to receive the same emphasis. All means All, as they say.

Pace. Here’s the characteristic that perhaps doesn’t go without saying, but it’s possibly the most important, not just for how each student is ultimately presented, but how the ceremony itself proceeds. When I’m announcing a name that is considered “difficult” because it’s of a global origin, or it’s got an unusual combination of syllables, or it’s spelled in an unusual manner, or it has an apostrophe that alters the sound, etc., the trick is not simply pronouncing it correctly from a phonetic perspective. The trick lies in saying it correctly and naturally. I have a list with hundreds of names on it, and I’m supposed to say ALL of them like I just know them. It’s not that different from your average commercial read. When you read commercial copy, you’re not supposed to sound like you’re reading. You’re just speaking. When I announce names for graduation, I cannot sound like I’m sounding them out. That means that when I say “Oluwsean Ajeyi Oguntosin” followed by “Fernando Catalón Orellana Hernandez.” I have to sound like I know those names, I mean what I say, and most of all, I don’t fear what’s on the page. Same emphasis, 3 to 5 seconds apart, without hesitation or trepidation. It is an art form, and it is a gift, and I am privileged to have it and to have cultivated it to the professional level I can achieve.

Pace is also possibly the most critical skill that I have for the organizers of each graduation — the administrators who’ve established the logistics for the ceremony itself and the district officials who scheduled and publicized the event, booked the venue, and work with its operators to get the attendees in and out of the building. Here’s what happens too often: the name announcer(s) take way too long between names, the presentation of diplomas takes forever, the audience gets restless and annoyed, and the exit process is delayed, causing the next ceremony to encounter backlogs and bottlenecks. When that happens, no one’s happy during what should be a celebratory occasion. In contrast, when someone with my skills can deliver the proverbial goods in a timely manner, everyone’s happy because every student is appropriately honored and families can move onto their further celebrations.

And therein lies the point of the entire exercise, and this post: Graduation Day is a celebration of a milestone achieved, possibly the most public celebration most of these students will ever experience. You might not consider it a noteworthy achievement, but fact is that it’s a rite of passage that retains its importance in society because it allows us to honor and celebrate our children, and our students, even if it was a foregone conclusion that they will reach this marker in life. Sure, it’s a widely achieved, common moment, statistically speaking, but for each individual student, and for their families, it is still a special moment. As a professional voiceover talent and former educator, I comprehend and respect that moment in a way that few human VO talents, and certainly no AI-generated voice, can. I am here for it, and I will be here for it, for as long as schools place enough of a priority on that moment to invest in it by seeking my abilities and experience. If I have ever announced your name at graduation in the past or have the privilege of announcing it in the future, know this: Your Name Matters.

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Commence the Season of Love

Happy Seis de Mayo to all who celebrate. The beginning of May is a time of considerable celebration. There’s May Day in many nations across the globe on May 1. The city of Fort Worth celebrated MayFest for the 54th time in Trinity Park on the weekend of May 1-3. Who can forget Star Wars Day on May the 4th? Or who remembers Cinco de Cuatro from Arrested Development? And of course, let’s all recall everyone’s favorite excuse to eat tacos and drink margaritas, Cinco de Mayo on May 5. Perhaps you cannot recall, depending on how much you indulged. And as a retired educator, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention National Teacher Appreciation Week from May 4-8. I’ve already written about teaching before, but there’s still no time like this week to thank a former teacher of yours, or your child’s teacher, or just about any teacher you know. You can even feel free to apologize to your teacher friends on behalf of all the demagogues out there demonizing teachers in the current political climate. Personally, though, I look at all the festivities occurring at the onset of May and treat them as part of a larger theme I’ve observed this month. Welcome to The Season of Love.

“Wait, isn’t the season of love back in February, during Valentine’s Day?” you might ask. Or perhaps you view the Christmas season as a proverbial “season of love,” given the spirit of the holiday. Ironically, though, for educators, the period of time between the holidays and Spring Break is what I call “the Season of Hate,” as I wrote about recently. It’s cold, it still gets dark early, the school year’s only half-done, teachers and students are tired of each other, plus there’s a bunch of testing no one cares about and everyone hates. Valentine’s Day is essentially an excuse for those in the education world to engage in chocolate therapy and hope that Russell Stover box makes a successful dingy across the sea of anxiety and dread. February is definitely NOT the season of love in the world of education. But May IS, thankfully. The rain from April begins to clear away. The sky is a little brighter, as is everyone’s mood. The testing no one can stand is behind you. Sure, there are AP Exams, but those are tests that students actively chose to register and study for, based on classes they elected to take. There’s actually a true payoff for success, unlike STAAR, SSTAR, STARRR, or whatever TEA calls it in the future. So AP Exams, despite what you might suspect, actually fit fairly neatly into the Season of Love.

Why do I call it that? Because the month of May, in classrooms across the U.S., features a rhythm that is nearly 100% counter to the mood from February. The end is near. Summer approaches. Now that STAAR testing is over, instruction doesn’t have a specter looming over it. Teachers can teach to the curriculum (what’s left of it) and dare I say, offer lessons that students might genuinely enjoy. Because everyone’s T-TESS observations should be over by now, teachers don’t have to fret over classroom visits, creating the proverbial dog-and-pony show designed more to impress administrators than to teach students. Students might even get the opportunity to take field trips — actually learning-based trips, not trips to the park or zoo — and go beyond the Death-by-Canvas approach that has become so prevalent since 2020. (Don’t get me wrong; technology can be a valuable tool for learning when used appropriately…that’ll be a different post someday.) The bottom line for teachers is that they don’t feel compelled in May to “teach to the test,” to put it tritely. They can just teach.

But it’s the Season of Love for students, too, for many of the same reasons. They are now seeing the light at the end of the tunnel of another academic year. Many are approaching their final days at their campus. Of course, 12th graders are nearing graduation day. Each day during the month of May truly is counted down across thousands of campuses, and with that countdown comes a release, a weight lifted off the students’ shoulders, little by little. For most of them, that release coincides with a better mood and attitude toward their teachers. They come to love their teachers (again, for some) with appreciation for all the effort expended by teachers throughout the school year. Of course, this love sometimes comes with a couple of caveats. For one thing, there are some students who’ve expended so little effort themselves over the previous 6 weeks, 12 weeks, or even the semester, that their hopes of earning credit for the course are all but gone. These students often find love in their hearts for their teachers in hopes of a quid pro quo, where the teachers might find mutual love, and therefore, pity, and therefore, acceptance of missing work so that the student might pass. This begging-based love isn’t typically dominant in the Season of Love, but it’s certainly present. Similarly, it happens without fail that some of the absolute worst students — the ones who’ve presented behavior problems, poor attitudes, and general belligerence for, I don’t know, 36 weeks? — are the students who magically have love in their hearts for all their teachers in the month of May. Are those terrible students the same ones that are also begging for a last-gasp chance to pass? Sometimes.

And sometimes, teachers will acquiesce to student desires, not out of pity or because they’re “caving in.” My experience is that most teachers will accept late work and offer a bare minimum of credit in hopes that it will allow the student to pass. Anything is better than a score of 0, and actual honest attempts at completing assignments late are better than never doing it at all. Most teachers are compassionate enough to make allowances. Few teachers ever get into the profession with a goal of exercising ultimate power over students or feeling glee at seeing failing grades, and those psychopaths that do eventually exit this career fairly quickly. Teachers are remarkably adept at offering grace to students, probably because they also seek grace from administrators when a lesson doesn’t go well or a classroom is tough to manage on a given day. Cookie-cutter perfection is not typical in an actual school campus, and it’s really not the foundation for effective learning. Learning is often most meaningful when it’s achieved in spite of adversity, even if that adversity is self-inflicted because, you know, children of all ages are immature and sometimes irresponsible. Sometimes the lessons learned through the grace of second, or third, or tenth chances are the ones that resonate for students long after they’ve forgotten the specific learning objectives stated for a given assignment.

When that grace is given, is it truly appreciated? I don’t have an honest answer. I’d like to think it is. Then again, I’d like to think that teachers receiving praise during National Teacher Appreciation Week are getting more than some lip service, a few nice notes, and a donut on Tuesday. The concept of “official” Teacher Appreciation dates back to the 1950s, and the current practice of celebrating National Teacher Appreciation Week during the month of May began in 1984. I honestly barely recall experiencing Teacher Appreciation Week while I was in the classroom. I do remember that central administrators would typically make the rounds to various campuses during the week to provide a nice lunch. But it was never a huge week-long celebration filled with daily activities, dress-up days, or rewards. That aspect of Teacher Appreciation Week wasn’t something I noticed until recently, when I was an administrator at the campus that would be my last stop in K-12 public education. There, Teacher Appreciation Week was a veritable event for which planning commenced basically right after Spring Break, if not before. These days, that appears to be the case at many campuses, as administrators work with local businesses and charitable organizations for sponsorships. They expend great effort to make the week seem truly special. I actually admired the resolve our administrative team showed in securing the variety of foods and gifts offered to teachers each year. And yet, some teachers actually complained about it. I remember one well-known teacher at that campus told an administrator that a particular lunch item was “an insult.” So much for grace, I guess. I understand that sometimes the so-called perks might end up being underwhelming, but I can guarantee it wasn’t for a lack of trying. And I feel sorry for those teachers who work in campuses where there is a lack of effort on the part of administration and community to make the week special, or where there is a lack of resources. Although I still maintain that we could eliminate Teacher Appreciation Week altogether if we simply extended to teachers the compensation and respect they deserve. Obviously, it would still be appropriate to thank teachers for their efforts in such an environment, but society wouldn’t see the need to set aside several days to provide so-called “perks” in an effort to assuage the sting of how poorly educators are treated throughout much of the year.

But the month of May? Regardless of difficulties of the past 8 months, the trinkets offered to teachers this week, the other festivities held throughout this week and month, or anything else, the month of May will forever remain unofficially the Season of Love in schools across the state and nation. Soak it in, show some compassion and grace, release the anxiety, and breathe easy, if only for a short time. One of the greatest things about the rhythm of the school year is that it ends. Most areas of life have a more constant cycle, and that cycle often enhances tension and suppresses love. If you’re enrolled or employed in a school, take some time to imbibe the glorious facets of this time of year.

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The Most Frustrating Time of Year

If you’ve read this blog recently, the title of this post likely perplexes you. I literally wrote just three weeks ago about how Easter is one of my three favorite holidays, including my rationale for why spring is a really great season. Meanwhile, back in February, I talked about the “Season of Hate,” that time of year between the Christmas holidays and Spring Break, when tension between teachers and students heightens, and during which TEA forces upon public schools the test known as TELPAS. Even back in December, I wrote about “The Least Wonderful Time of the Year,” when high school students might be cursed with the bane of STAAR End-Of-Course (EOC) Retests while happier images of the holiday season surround them. Given the backdrop and implications of those three posts, you have to wonder, “How can this time of year be the one you call ‘the most frustrating?’”

As you might guess, it has to do with…testing. STAAR Testing, that is. BTW, if you thought “STAAR” looked stupid on-paper, wait until TEA unveils — and this is not a joke — the “Student Success Tool of Academic Readiness,” or “SSTAR,” in 2027-28. God help us all. The jokes write themselves at this point, from the multiple meanings of the term “tool” to the imagery of Warner Brothers’ Sylvester the Cat saying “Sssufferin’ Ssssucotash, it’s SSTAR ssseason.”

Here’s the thing: We have this wonderful time of the calendar year, with the chance for great weather, with the end of the school year oh-so-close, and with spring fever hitting everyone, teachers and students alike, and what does TEA foist upon public schools? STAAR Testing. Particularly THIS year, in the penultimate throes of STAAR, when it’s a proverbial “lame duck” test that will be replaced by something theoretically better, but possibly far worse, in a mere two years. You’d better believe that juxtaposition is frustrating. April is supposed to be a time for Field Day, and instead it is twisted into a time for field-tested items on a test that has faced so much scrutiny that the Texas Legislature finally decided to go in a different direction. It’s a time when elementary and middle schools still hold “STAAR Pep Rallies” (still an actual thing) and place painful puns like “STAAR Wars” on t-shirts. It’s such a dichotomy for teachers and staff to complain so much about this test, yet at the same time feign enthusiasm in front of the students in an apparent attempt to “spur them on to victory,” I guess? I really can’t fathom it because I think the notion of giving a kid between the ages of 8 and 18 a “pep talk” for a multiple choice test and expecting it to resonate at all is borderline insane. No one “sees the light” about STAAR because the band played “We Will Rock You” or the cheerleaders danced to “Hot To Go.”

At the high school level, STAAR EOC will still rear its ugly head as students who take it for the first time know that they must achieve a passing score — “Approaches Grade Level,” in the parlance of TEA — to remain on-track for graduation requirements. Members of the Class of 2026 and 2027 will still take STAAR, and there’s a good chance that TEA will require STAAR EOC for the class of 2028, 2029, and 2030, as well, since those students will take STAAR EOC for the first time in Grade 9. We could have FOUR YEARS of high schools offering STAAR and SSTAR concurrently. Imagine the sheer agony. Meanwhile, students who have already been unsuccessful on one or more STAAR EOC test will receive one more opportunity to pass each spring. Graduating seniors with more than two tests still remaining will sweat a bit, because they may only graduate using the Individual Graduation Committee provision on up to two tests.

“What’s an Individual Graduation Committee?” you might ask. Honestly, that’s a can of worms you don’t really want to open, but I’ll crack the lid for you slightly. STAAR was conceived in 2007. When it was implemented in the spring of 2012, Texas law required students to pass fifteen (15)— yes, FIFTEEN — EOC tests, five per year from grades 9-11. (Longtime educators may recall that the 2007 law also required each STAAR test to count for 15% of a student’s course average for the corresponding course.) The Texas legislature reduced the required tests to five (5) in 2013, then reduced the actual number of tests students were required to pass to three in 2015, when they created the Individual Graduation Committee. What the law basically says is that if a student does not “approach grade level” (pass) on up to two STAAR EOC tests, that students may complete a district-developed project for the corresponding course and therefore still graduate based on Individual Graduation Committee, commonly called the IGC. So the past 15 years have seen an overly ambitious system whittled down to what amounts to “pass 3 of 5 tests at a minimal level to graduate.” Meanwhile, TEA has tacked on several other requirements for students to be considered “college and career ready.” But that’s a tale for a different post.

One thing TEA did in 2024 in an effort to “tighten up” IGC requirements was require a given student to actually pass 3 of 5 EOCs before they could even discuss an IGC and pursue the project. Prior to that, a student could 3-4 IGCs queued up and ready as they retest on 1-2 more EOCs. But no more. Now, any senior still taking 3 or more EOCs this month will NOT be able to graduate in May, since there’s no way they can realistically complete the IGC project, and process, when EOC results come back literally days before most districts hold graduation. So that particular group of students has even less incentive to perform very well at all in April, since they already know that their STAAR EOC status has prevented them from graduating until at least summer. Granted, there’s a decent chance these same students may not have the academic credits needed to graduate, as well, but IGC adds proverbial salt to the wound. And don’t get me started on the bureaucratic nonsense school administrators have to address with IGC documentation. A parade of paperwork. Although some of it may be kept electronically, it’s the required meetings for IGC on top of every other requirement TEA concocts when a student does not pass STAAR that takes a mental and emotional toll on staff who are already being taken to the edge of insanity by bureaucratic details.

Keep in mind, too, that TEA’s calendar extends the STAAR torture across the month of April in the name of “test anxiety mitigation.” In the days of TAKS, testing took place twice: once in April for Reading and Writing on consecutive days, once in May for Math, Science, and Social Studies, also on consecutive days. TEA’s current STAAR calendar allows a two-week “window” each for Reading/English, Science & Social Studies, and Math. The theory is to avoid giving students 3 or more tests over consecutive days. Districts are required to establish a “primary” testing date for the respective tests in each window, with “make-up” testing dates through the rest of the week, and possibly the following week. STAAR testing, therefore, theoretically lasts from April 6 to May 1, nearly a full month. STAAR has no time limit, so a given student could theoretically test all day. At the same time, TEA has specific rules in place wherein campuses are required to consolidate students who are still testing, while releasing students who’ve finished testing to their “normal” class routine, in the name of instruction, I guess? So NOW we’re suddenly taking measures to respect instruction? Does anyone at TEA really believe that normal instruction takes place on STAAR testing days given all the disruption created by a long, untimed test? On a practical and instructional level for a campus, the month of April is lost…LOST…to STAAR. Teachers will, no doubt, attempt their best to instruct their students properly, especially if they teach AP classes, which have their own exams in the month of May. But everyone knows that those efforts are hindered greatly by the specter of STAAR, and everyone feels the frustration. The fact that this series of torturous weeks is the primary food for an albatross of an accountability system that purports to assign an A-F letter grade to the district and campus only adds insult to the injury and irritation.

Thanks to House Bill 8 (2025) and the advent of “SSTAR,” things have to improve, right? Theoretically, yes. Where STAAR is a single, lengthy annual test from which TEA develops a convoluted (and deeply flawed) algorithm to determine whether a student has “met progress” standards from one grade to the next, SSTAR will ostensibly be designed to mimic nationally-normed tests like MAP Growth, which has been offered by the Northwest Evaluation Association (NWEA) in Reading and Math for decades. MAP Growth consists of three shorter tests: Beginning of Year (BOY), Middle of Year (MOY), and End of Year (EOY), which are designed to assess a student’s growth in the subject across the current school year, rather than from the previous one. MAP Growth is also an adaptive test, where the first few items are identical for all students, but based on how well the student performs on each item, ensuing items may vary in difficulty. Do well, and the test gets harder; do poorly, and the test gets easier. Adaptive testing allows the test itself to challenge high performing students while reducing difficulty for lower performance, thus developing a more refined evaluation of a student’s academic ability and progress. The BOY test can zero in on how well the student retained the previous year’s learning, while the MOY and EOY tests can focus on the current year’s learning and retention.

Theoretically, it sounds great. Shorter tests, therefore “mitigated test anxiety,” more thorough results, and an overall better experience for teachers and students. Theoretically, such a system is able to integrate more seamlessly into a given school day and the overall school year, because campuses won’t be forced to “shut down” to allow students to complete a lengthy test. HB 8 even requires results to delivered to school districts within two business days after the testing window has closed. So, theoretically, SSTAR will deliver quicker results that can actually inform instruction, particularly after BOY and MOY testing. NWEA has been very successful marketing its product to school systems, and MAP Growth has been adopted across Texas as a growth indicator in Reading and Math while allowing schools to reteach and/or extend content for students as appropriate. Theoretically, SSTAR will essentially replace MAP Growth, and perhaps local benchmarks, because the state’s assessment will, itself, become THE benchmark. Theoretically, that means less testing and more instruction for students and teachers, using the data from a truly fine-tuned assessment instrument to enhance the instructional process.

Theoretically.

TEA has not provided much guidance as to what SSTAR will actually be. To be fair, HB 8 requires TEA to report on its transition plan by February 15, 2027, so there are still several months available for planning. But certain aspects of the legislation, or rather missing aspects, are troubling. HB 8 doesn’t place a specific time or item limit on any of the tests, so it’s theoretically possible that an overambitious TEA could move toward three lengthy, unwieldy tests to replace one. Additionally, TEA has not announced the testing vendor for SSTAR. The current vendor, Cambium Assessment (together with Pearson Education), could win the next contract, or TEA may decide on a return to the previous vendor, Educational Testing Service (ETS). Some parents and educators have already advocated for direct statewide adoption of MAP Growth, because it’s an established adaptive test, many districts already have contracts with NWEA, and staff and students are familiar with the instrument in terms of testing and results. But NWEA doesn’t have a MAP Growth test for every STAAR-assessed subject, so that plan would also require significant time and development. The bottom line is, we don’t know right now. TEA might stick the landing with a simple, intuitive, tightly developed test that is free from technical and content problems and delivers meaningful, actionable results. They might also completely mishandle the process and create genuine chaos in campuses across the state not just in Spring 2028, but THREE TIMES during the 2027-28 school year. Find me one student or educator who says “Triple-Scoop Sh**show? Yes, please!”

What troubled me the most when I was mired in the gunk that is state assessment in Texas, and what troubles me still, now, as a retiree watching the system continue to evolve, is the intellectual arrogance, the unabashed certainty, of those at the top. I’ve seen the Texas Commissioner of Education speak in-person, several times. He’s got this under control; just ask him. The man’s in his eleventh year as commissioner, longer than anyone has ever held the office. Yet he’s never actually been a professional educator at any level. And when he does visit a classroom, it’s typically the proverbial “dog-and-pony show” because everyone wants to impress the commissioner, not show him the realities of day-to-day life in a public school. He will never experience what public educators experience. Never. Yet somehow, our governor continues to entrust him with our students’ future. It’s baffling. Seriously, anyone who thinks public education in Texas has been spinning its wheels, or worse, losing them, over the past decade can point to ONE person who’s been there all along. And please, don’t come at my with the pandemic as an excuse; today’s first graders were literally just born around that time. Old news, illegitimate excuse. I also remember hearing the Director of Student Assessment for TEA speak pre-pandemic, about a decade ago. That guy was even more arrogantly certain than the Commissioner. He’s also gone now, as are many TEA staff members. They’ve apparently had so much turnover that their Staff Directory page is currently dormant. I wonder why. I guess we’re all just supposed to trust that whoever they hire to replace the departed staff will, despite having their hands full with the STAAR-to-SSTAR transition, make their absolute, honest best efforts to craft a more advanced, credible, and useful state assessment system than the one we’re about to leave behind.

Theoretically.

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Another Favorite Holiday Season

What a lovely time of year this is. MLB have begun again, trees and flowers are blooming, the weather is currently quite nice, and to use a cliche, spring is in the air. I know there are things some people don’t like about spring, like pollen and bugs, but it’s still a hopeful season, and I enjoy it. It’s also home to my third favorite holiday of the year. If you’ve previously read my blog, you may have seen me post about my other two favorite holidays each year: Thanksgiving, which I value primarily because it is centered on gratitude, something to which we all need to devote more time; and New Year’s Eve/Day, because it’s an extension of the Christmas season without all the baggage, and because it represents new opportunities heading into another year. By now, you’ve probably guessed that my third favorite holiday is the one people across the globe celebrated this past weekend, Easter.

Technically, that’s Easter Sunday, according to the Catholic Church. Each day of this week on the Catholic calendar is officially tagged as “Easter _________” as part of the Octave of Easter. The Easter season itself lasts 50 days in Catholicism, culminating with Pentecost Sunday. So it’s truly another holiday season all its own, as opposed to a single day after which everyone simply moves on. Now, this post isn’t really designed as a theological lesson or some kind of evangelization imploring the reader to convert. I have plenty of friends who are non-religious and also know several people who are atheist. As someone who grew up and remains a faithful Catholic, I respect those viewpoints, so you won’t read any “He Is Risen” rhetoric here with explanation about what it should mean to your life. Although I will admit that, as a child attending early morning Mass on Easter Sunday, I did find the sun shining through the stained glass window and creating a colorful glow near the altar to be an inspiring sight. But that’s a tale for another time.

Regardless of one’s religious beliefs, I find this time of year in general, and the Easter season in particular, to be joyful. Spring itself is a time of rebirth, whether it involves leaves growing back on the trees, someone hoping this is finally the year their team succeeds, a person recommitting to their baptismal promises in church, or everyone simply cleaning the back porch in preparation for cookouts and summer activities. We could also talk about what a great time it is for sports because of all the events happening or approaching. But I don’t want to list out all the ways spring is cool or bullet out “Top 10 things I love about Easter.” I just want to focus on three aspects of the holiday that I find most appealing.

Renewal. Let’s begin with the easiest and most obvious theme. As I said, this is what the Spring season is all about. In Catholicism (and several other Christian traditions), Easter follows Lent, which is a season of self-denial, sacrifice, and simplicity in preparation for the holiday. I happen to enjoy Lent because it represents a purging of vices and things that can pollute our lives, which juxtaposes well against the emotions and themes of the Easter season. The cleansing aspect of this time of year is definitely positive. “Spring cleaning” isn’t just about clutter in the house, garage, or porch. It also can be mental, emotional, and intellectual. For many people, the idea of renewal at this time of year may also remind them to reinforce some of the New Year’s Resolutions they made in January and have let slip over the first quarter of the year. Old habits die hard, as they say, so if you’ve managed to slip back into prior routines, no better time to root them out again than the spring. Get back to eating right, or driving better or calmer, or just making time for things that matter. Renewal can really mean “refocus,” if that’s what it takes. The renewal process can be as dramatic or as subtle as needed.

Part of the renewal process for me is a change of seasons, professionally. You might’ve read my most recent post about Winterguard, for which I have handled sound and announcing for several weeks now. The Easter season typically means that this year’s season has concluded, so it’s time for me to switch gears in my VO career to other work. I can put away PA gear that I’ve carried with me every weekend and focus more on working in my booth at home and marketing my skills and services to the right people. I will still participate in some live announce gigs (I have two coming up later in the spring that I will write about in May), but now it’s all about looking for commercial and narration work. I’m particularly excited about these prospects this year because I actually have far more time to devote to these pursuits.

Shifting Calendar Dates. This one may seem odd at first, but hear me out. Everybody knows that Christmas occurs on December 25, right? Some people even get so obnoxious about it that they’ll be able to tell you exactly how many days until Christmas today, April 9. So what date does Easter occur? Can’t say for sure, right? That’s because Easter is what’s called a “movable feast.” The rule of thumb is that Easter Sunday is the first Sunday after the first full moon after the Vernal Equinox, the beginning of spring. There are some very specific rules in the Catholic tradition about the date of the equinox (March 21), along with the “Paschal” full moon, but you get the idea. Easter will always occur sometime between March 22 and April 25. Yes, there’s literally over a month of variance between the earliest and latest possible dates for Easter. It’s not fixed on the calendar like Christmas or Independence Day.

Some people find the movable nature of Easter to be confusing, but I have always enjoyed it. I find a certain charm in the knowledge that this year’s date for Easter will not be the same as next year’s. I also think it’s cool when Easter is super-early or super-late in the possible window. Because it’s based on lunar cycles, that shakes things up, and I am here for it. Heck, in the Eastern Orthodox Church, they use a Julian calendar instead of a Gregorian calendar, which places Orthodox Easter on a different date. This year it’s on April 12. Call me crazy, but I think that’s cool. I also enjoy how some years, the Easter season coincides with Passover in the Jewish tradition, and some years it doesn’t. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise anyone to know that I spent 4 years early in my education career teaching World History and World Geography. One of the fundamental themes in both of those courses was the influence of religious beliefs and traditions on culture. Learning the nature of movable feasts in several religions was therefore emminently useful knowledge. You don’t have to memorize every rule for every religion to appreciate the influence holidays like this have on our lives, especially when it’s not a fixed, single-date holiday that comes and goes. Bring me a nice holiday season any day.

Lack of Commercialization. And more than anything, when you bring me that nice season, stop trying to convince me to buy stuff because of it. True story: one of the local morning news/lifestyle programs in Dallas ran a segment on “Easter gift ideas” last week. What?!?!? I mean, if you’re under 10-12, the old-fashioned Easter egg hunt is a fine activity. And perhaps some of the eggs will have something besides candy inside. Maybe the kids’ Easter baskets will have ONE item inside that’s not food or food-adjacent. I remember receiving a stuffed bunny wearing a baseball uniform in my Easter basket when I was 8, and it was cool. Other years, I got a couple of comic books since I often gave those up for Lent. But “Easter gifts?” You have got to be kidding me. We don’t need for Easter to become yet another gift-giving holiday.

Even as a child, one of the things I liked about Easter was the lack of things. After all, this wasn’t Jesus’ birthday. We had just spent the previous week focused on suffering and death. Easter was about resurrection from that death, but still…death, people. Not the same. Not about lights and decorations and things. Clearly a more serious message. Since you had given up something for Lent, the only “things” at Easter were whatever you had sacrificed, like the aforementioned comic, chocolate, your favorite TV show, snacks, whatever. When I was young, my family would typically go to early morning Mass on Easter Sunday (complete with stained glass glow), then we would go someplace nice for breakfast. Then it was typically back home for a nap since we got up so early. No gifts. And it was the greatest. 

Now, as a kid, I enjoyed getting Christmas gifts as much as the next guy. But Christmas was Christmas, and Easter was Easter. The Easter Bunny (or Easter Beagle, IYKYK) hides eggs; he doesn’t come down the chimney with a bag of gifts. Leave that to Santa Claus in the winter. And to this day, I still appreciate that aspect of Easter. I’ve previously written about how the Christmas season gets exhausting because there’s pressure to do things and buy stuff and do and buy and do and buy. Not so with Easter. If you’re religious, Easter is all about sacrifice and prayer leading up to it, then celebration of the miracle and all it implies for yourself in this life and the next. If you’re not religious, you can still get into the more secular aspects of Easter, like eggs and rabbits that shouldn’t go together but somehow do, or just get outside in great weather, go out to eat, and enjoy the day. And I know, capitalism, business, economic growth, yada yada. I taught that stuff for two decades. But there will be plenty of opportunities to buy things that don’t have to tie in with Easter. The U.S. is clearly a consumer-based culture, and it’s not like any business is going to wither away and die just because Easter sales fell short of the forecast.

The bottom line for me at Easter can be summed up by what my family did this year. We attended Mass, came home, and relaxed. We watched baseball on TV. We had a nice meal together. We enjoyed each other’s company. We got outside and enjoyed some great weather. As the season progresses, I have some personal goals and objectives to attend to — some related to faith, some just things to be completed, physically and intellectually — so there is a sense of renewal. And we’ll come back and do it all again a year from now, even though I can’t tell you the exact date yet. And that’s awesome.

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The Coolest Activity You Might Have Never Heard Of

If you happen to follow any of my Meta-owned social media (Facebook, Instagram, Threads), then you’ve seen frequent posts from me on Saturdays doing PA and sound for a Winterguard event. Usually, it’s a photo of a high school gym with views from my table and from some other place in the venue. I typically don’t include a photo of the action on the floor because 1) I don’t want to post any image to which a performing group might object, and 2) I’m don’t always have an opportune moment to capture a good photo. Most likely, though, it wouldn’t matter if I did post an action shot, because Winterguard is something the average person has never even heard of.

Having said that, I encourage you to explore the world of Winterguard on YouTube. Just search “Winterguard” and check out what comes up. No doubt you will see some shows from the Winter Guard International (WGI) World Championships (obviously the culmination of each season), but you’ll also come across some WGI Regional performances and perhaps local circuits, like the North Texas Colorguard Association, for whom I’ve worked the past several years. Go ahead, fall down that rabbit hole, and be astounded at the artistry and athleticism on display.

“So why is this stuff called ‘Winterguard? It look just like flag twirling and dancing in a gym.’” If that’s you’re reaction, although you’re not completely inaccurate, you are so, SO wrong. There was a TV ad for Hampton Inn a few years ago that depicted a dad taking his daughter to guard competitions, and they called it “flag dancing.” UGH. So, some brief history: In the 1970s, high school marching bands around the country typically marched end zone-to-end zone, “military” style, and they included “featured twirlers” for some extra visual flare. Flags weren’t necessarily part of the halftime show, and when they were, many schools referred to it as the “flag corps” (to go with the “drum corps”). Mercifully, both of those terms have been retired, save for the person who just may not know it. The term “color guard” is literally military, referring to the soldiers who carry, or guard, the colors, i.e., the U.S. flag. In the world of drum & bugle corps, the colorguard still actually carries/guards the colors at retreats. But as the drum corps activity evolved, the colorguard expanded in number and in the ways it contributed to the show. It literally took on a life of its own, with performers spinning (NEVER “twirling” ) a variety of flags, rifles, sabres, and more. While Drum Corps International (DCI) formed in 1972 to govern the drum & bugle corps activity, WGI formed in 1977 because colorguard had expanded to a year-round endeavor. Every DCI corps had a guard on the field accompanying the brass and percussion in the summer, but then many of those same guards would rehearse and perform an indoor show during the winter. Hence the name “winter guard.” Other guards formed that only performed during the winter. It became very much its own thing. And still, you may have never heard of it.

Since the 1980s, the term “colorguard,” not “flag corps,” is the generally accepted term, just as marching percussion is called the “drumline” and no longer the “drum corps.” “Drum Corps” instead refers to the drum & bugle corps activity, the “DC” in DCI. The “WG” in WGI is, of course “Winter Guard.” These days, a given student entering junior high or middle school might embark on a career in guard lasting well over a decade, depending on that student’s enjoyment of and commitment to the activity. Over the course of that career, the student will be part of a cadet and/or novice unit in middle school/junior high during winter only, since there’s currently no such thing as junior high marching band. The student will likely be involved in band, as well, though not every school requires guard members to play an instrument. (Though it definitely helps from the standpoint of rhythm and phrasing, among other skills). This student will learn how to carry, spin, flip, toss, and exchange a flag, a rifle, and probably a sabre. Those items are called “equipment,” and the student will accumulate many, many skills using each of them. I honestly don’t know all the terminology involved, but I do know that guard judging guidelines include a thing called “equipment vocabulary,” which is basically what it sounds like — the greater variety of movements a group can do with a wide range of equipment, the better the score.

But equipment is only one part of the score. There’s also movement. And yes, it is dance, but not in the sense of what you see anywhere from youth dance competitions to high school and college dance teams to professional shows. “Movement vocabulary” in colorguard competitions isn’t quite that extensive, but guard performers learn foot positions and principles of body positioning as it relates to their art form. Students with a background in dance definitely have an advantage, but nearly any performer can master the dance principles needed for the activity. Add movement and equipment skills together in a given performer, hone and build them year after year, enlarge the vocabulary over time, and increase the performance demands, and that performer will accomplish physical, mental and emotional feats that truly impress and entertain. (Some of those performers will continue in the activity as instructors themselves, or perhaps judges and event staff.) Now multiply that performer by anywhere from 6 to 30 for a given ensemble. String together roughly 40-60 performances filled with these performers, and you’ll have an idea of how I spend many of my Saturdays each winter into spring. Is it like announcing a huge sporting event with 10,000+ screaming fans? Not really, but not many PA guys ever get that experience, anyway. But don’t think that these shows are poorly attended. The gym always fills up. Always. And it gets downright rowdy for WGI Regionals and NTCA Championship shows. There’s parents, families, friends, and just plain fans who genuinely appreciate the activity. The WGI World Championships, held annually in Dayton, Ohio, regularly sell out. There’s a community out there that loves this stuff, even if the average person probably has no idea what it is or who’s involved.

“So why haven’t I heard of it?” That’s a great question. Some of it comes down to marketing. WGI and DCI have both sought ways to expand their reach over the years, but the “marching arts,” as they call it, remain fairly niche. Now, why does this activity matter so much to me at this time of year, as a voiceover talent? It’s actually quite simple. My place in VO is never about starring roles; I view myself always in a supporting role. You have something that needs a professional voice showcasing it. A message, an idea, a product, or in this case, an event. (Hey, that’s like my website tagline!) In the context of a Winterguard show, we’re actually talking a large event comprised of a series of small events, each 3-7 minutes long featuring a group of these performers whose skills could and should astound you. My job is simply to showcase THEM. It’s also frankly one of the tougher VO gigs out there, because I’m not just the PA guy. I’m actually called the “sound engineer,” because I also play the audio tracks for each ensemble’s performance. It’s a bigger responsibility than you might think, because if I make a mistake, it hinders the performance on the floor. Ultimately, my job at these gigs is to help each guard unit – Every. Single. One. – have their best possible performance. That means, as a Live Announce voiceover pro, I introduce each group with the proper timing, energy, and pronunciation (I live in Texas, so sometimes that’s more challenging than you think.) I have to follow completely the announcer guidelines provided by the sponsoring organization (typically NTCA or WGI). And I have to manage the music provided for each unit, including timing, adjusting volume as needed, and troubleshooting as required. Oh yeah, I am also literally my own roadie for the first and last 45-60 minutes of each day. Not every performance gym has a reliable sound system, so I am often asked to set up a portable sound system provided by the organization. That system consists of two 2500-watt powered speakers (weighing around 60 lbs each) on stands, cables for audio signal and power, mixer, microphone, etc. I bring a lot of my own gear, including a MacBook Pro to play all music. Arrive at the venue two hours early, set everything up and test it, then prep for the gig. When it’s all over, break everything down, load it into my car, and leave. It includes far more work than your typical PA gig where you show up and just sit down in front of the mic. Pays more, too, but that’s not why I enjoy it so much.

Of course, I deeply enjoy watching the shows. In the world of sports, I consider the sound of a basketball falling cleanly through the net to be the best one. But don’t underestimate the power of hearing the unified >snap< of several rifles being caught cleanly at once, or the >whoosh< of flags spinning, flying, and landing perfectly together. There’s even artistry in the logistics of setup and tear-down, as each unit unfurls their vinyl floor, sets up their props and equipment, then gathers it all up afterward. But what I really enjoy is not just the activity, the logistics, the athleticism, or the artistry. (WGI’s tag line is “Sport of the Arts,” which is really quite inventive.) What I find most gratifying is that, because it’s an intimate setting with a manageable number of performers, you get to see some raw emotion fully displayed, up close. I also announce at marching band contests in the fall, and I’ve written before about how great modern marching band is. But a typical marching show involves 100 people or more, and because you’re watching it in a football stadium, your view of individuals can be limited. At a Winterguard show inside a gym, the individual has nowhere to hide. And it can be glorious. Because I do multiple shows throughout the season, I get to see some units early-season, when they’re still growing from their mistakes, and late-season, when they’ve added new equipment work, new movement, and perfected all of it. You want to experience a cool sense of emotion? Watch a guard performer struggle and persist through a bunch of early-season struggles with tosses, then come back 6 weeks later and watch that same performer nail every single one. Watch everyone’s faces, especially late-season, when they know this show, they know they know it, and they’re truly performing it with energy, emotion, and excellence. The performances themselves can be breathtaking to view, but it’s gratifying just to watch the emotions, and I’m privileged to have a role providing a foundation of poise and professionalism as each unit puts their work and their achievements on the floor for all to see.

And as with just about any team activity, as cool as the “product” may be, what seems every bit as enjoyable for the performers are the connections they develop with one another. This coming weekend, NTCA will host their top-level Championships (they’ve already had two championships for younger units) for the 2026 season, and the awards after Finals will feature a full retreat, where every unit gets to enter the floor and be recognized. The performers will come in uniform, but they’ll also be armed with t-shirts, with sunglasses, with something that expresses their camaraderie and esprit de corps. They’ll have some kind of marker on seniors who have made their last performance with the unit. They’ll celebrate their achievements this season, but more than that, they’ll celebrate rehearsing, performing and growing with each other. They’ll stay on the floor after the ceremony concludes to take photos and sing to whatever music I have pumping for them. (And I have developed a pretty keen sense for what songs resonate in this setting.) And they’ll have benefited more than any of us can imagine, learning lessons about themselves, about working with others, that go beyond equipment and movement, and that will resonate forever. And yet so many have never heard of it. But now you, dear reader, have. The next step would be to check it out. You’ll be glad you did, if only because you’ll know what “Winterguard” actually is, how difficult and amazing the shows can be, and so you won’t ever use phrases like “flag dancing” or “twirling rifles.” Enjoy.

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Why Are You Yelling?

Every voiceover talent enters the profession from one of several paths. Most of the VO friends I have appear to have started in the world of radio and migrated to VO. Several others have a background in acting and decided to pursue voice acting instead of, or in addition to, stage and on-camera. As for me, I came from the world of public address announcing. I began as “the PA guy,” that voice you hear at a sporting event, band contest, or other occasion – welcoming you; giving you the lowdown on emergency exits and security; imploring you to show good sportsmanship, stay in your seats during a performance, or turn off your flash when taking photos; asking you to stand for the Alma Mater and/or National Anthem; and of course, telling you who’s performing next, who carried the ball or made the tackle, who scored that basket, committed that foul, is at the free throw line, or is batting next. I get to tell you who’s placed where or what the score is before thanking you for coming, inviting you to our next event, and wishing you a safe drive home. I’ve been doing this type of voice work for three decades now, and it is still incredibly fun and rewarding.

It was a little over 20 years ago that, at a band competition, I encountered a parent who worked for an agency in Dallas. She inquired if I was a professional voiceover talent. At the time, I was still a classroom teacher who simply did PA work on the side. She suggested I send her some clips that she could share with her bosses. What a massive moment for me – am I really good enough that someone thinks I do professional voiceover? I scraped together some recording equipment and scripts, did my reads, and sent them off to her. And what a massive wake-up call. “You need coaching.” (No surprise.) They recommended the great Bruce Carey in Dallas. I did a free consultation with him, and he was willing to work with me, but I wasn’t ready at that time to commit to VO training, financially or otherwise. Still, the experience opened my eyes to what I had been doing right up to that point as a “PA guy,” and especially how I might improve. And boy, did I have a long way to go. Obviously, I have since pursued proper VO training and begun a more professional track in the world of voiceover. But even though I’ve expanded my VO interests, genres, and goals, I still remain strongly connected to the world of PA and live announce. While it’s not necessarily the most lucrative work, I still find it every bit as fun and rewarding as ever. I love it. And yet, there’s still something that bothers me about this particular niche of voice work. How can I describe it? Perhaps “the yellers.” “The screamers.” The folks who either don’t understand the nuance of VO and how it can apply to live announce, or the ones who’ve never been trained at all and just think that yelling at the crowd somehow engages them.

On social media, I belong to or follow several PA-related groups, pages, and accounts. So I see lots of other PA announcers who post about their work, including photos of the venues and videos of their work. I’ve also captured lots of video of my own PA work and posted some of it to social media, though not necessarily to these groups. I can only speak for myself, but my primary purpose in recording video or audio of my PA work is really improvement. I don’t simply go back and watch to say, “Wow, I’m great!” I’m intentionally critical of my own performance – ensuring I emphasized the right words and phrases, looking for patterns that are too monotonous or “sing-songy,” that kind of thing. Throughout this self-assessment, I place a priority on two things: First, the clarity of the message. Am I giving the audience the information they need or want? If it’s something like a sponsor read, am I properly billboarding the sponsor’s name and inviting the audience to consider them? Am I saying the name(s) correctly? (This one’s a HUGE one for me – more on that in a future blog post.) Is my phrasing actually leading somewhere, coming across coherently and bringing the copy to life? Second, the tone of the message. My concern here is literal – pitch, volume, timbre, everything about my vocal quality. Just like with a commercial read, there’s an art to it – when to raise or lower the pitch, when to speak louder or softer, when to exteeeeeend a word, phrase, or name, when to clip a word, even when to add a little resonance, vocal fry, or possibly a bit of a growl. Achieve the right blend of clarity and tone, and you have what I would consider audience engagement. You’re adding to the event, but not overshadowing or overwhelming it.

The bottom line is that the PA guy, the announcer, the “voice of god” in VO industry parlance, is NOT the show. The show is on the floor, on the field, on the stage. The live announcer’s job is to frame, explain, or enhance the show. To assist in the presentation of the show in a positive, enjoyable, professional manner, while at the same time being sort of “forgettable” because the audience is ultimately, you know, enjoying the show. And it’s why the best live announcers in the business are names the average person won’t know unless they pay careful attention. Some are well-known because they’ve announced on the biggest stages, like Allen Roach at the Super Bowl or Randy Thomas at The Oscars. Others might have regional notoriety thanks to an association with a sports franchise or university, like Chuck Morgan with the Texas Rangers or Bob Ford with the Houston Astros and the University of Houston. Still others might find themselves associated with niche events, like a couple of friends of mine – Dan Potter, who announces shows for DCI and BOA, among others, and John Pollard, who announces shows for BOA and the UIL State Marching Band Contest. Maybe not everyone is going to love their individual styles – that’s the nature of the VO business in general – but these announcers all have credibility as voice artists in their own right because they fundamentally work to highlight someone else’s efforts, accomplishments, and excellence. That’s the job of the announcer; you’re the voice “behind it all,” as it were. The now-defunct National Association of Sports Public Address Announcers used to call it “the voice above the crowd.” People appreciate the work you do precisely because it does ΝΟΤ interfere with the event or annoy them. If you’re the show, you’re a problem.

Having said all that, you can likely understand my consternation when I come across posts in my Facebook feed, or on Twitter, or sometimes even on LinkedIn, and see PA announcers posting videos of themselves doing things that give me headaches and heartburn. So many of them “eat the mic” in the first place, putting their lips right up against the foam windscreen or the mic itself. Any VO professional knows this is terrible mic technique unless you’re going for a very specific effect. To add to it, these guys are often absolutely screaming into the mic regardless of the situation. To be fair, some situations call for volume from the PA announcer – for instance, I inject a lot of energy into starting lineups when I’m announcing college basketball, although I never max out my volume or risk harming my vocal cords. But I saw a video just the other day where a guy was announcing high school playoff basketball and absolutely screaming players’ names for every made basket, and then he absolutely lost his mind yelling the final score when the game ended. Keep in mind, it was a playoff game at a neutral site, meaning the PA is supposed to be impartial; and what’s more, in a highly contested playoff game with a large crowd, the PA doesn’t need to make any effort at all to pump up the crowd. They’re going to be excited and probably won’t even be listening to you. Even for a big home game, this announcer’s style was over-the-top, and yet pointless at the same time.

This is an all-too-common tale, and not just on social media. Someone posts a video, “here’s me at my local little league baseball game announcing the starting lineups,” featuring this person getting way too intimate with a Shure SM58 and YEEEELLLLLING EVERYOOOOOONE’S NAAAAAAAAMMMMMMEEEE. And of course, the comments are all “Great Job!” “Awesome!” “You’re crushing it!” And I’m looking in horror, saying, “You’re not crushing it, you’re crushing the fans’ ears. Why are you yelling?” There’s maybe 40 people at this game, and the only thing you’re crushing is their enjoyment. This isn’t engaging; it’s annoying. And inappropriate. Then I see another post of a PA announcer who put on a coat, tie, and nice pair of shoes to announce the starting lineups from the floor with a wireless microphone. And of course, his approach to the presentation mostly consisted of yelling. WHY?!? I mean, if your goal is to become an emcee for a college- or pro-level team, by all means, shoot your shot. Work at it. Make it happen. But I’m betting the local private school with a tiny gym that only has 5-8 rows of wooden bleachers doesn’t have a video board and isn’t looking for enhanced game presentation with an emcee and fan activities during timeouts. PA guy dressing up to announce from the floor in this setting just reeks of “making it about you.” And sorry to tell you, buddy, but no one there really cares about you. They care about the game on the floor, and they’re just humoring you and hoping you’ll finish whatever you’re doing real soon. I’m just not sure what some PA announcers are trying to accomplish at times, and I suspect it’s the inherent good nature of others in the group that prevents a lot of ridicule and embarrassment in the comments.

Now I’m sure someone might retort at this point, “Oh, great, here we go. Old guy hates new things and gripes about them. Get off his lawn while he yells at this cloud.” Give me a break. If you think good PA work involves extra volume more than 10% of the time, you are way off the mark. Yelling is neither innovative nor engaging. If you think good PA work involves being seen out there standing next to the players and praised like you’re part of the team, you have issues with ego and insecurity. The PA is part of a team, alright, but it’s a behind-the-scenes team that’s working to make the featured event function likes it’s supposed to. Quality live announce work is all about structure, timing, mood, and knowing your role, then executing your role to fit the presentation. And that role has changed greatly over the years. The old-school work of people like Bob Sheppard of the New York Yankees, who famously used a deliberate, even tone for every name he announced and just about every word he spoke, is all but gone. Sheppard’s style is considered iconic, but that’s primarily because of his longevity (also because it was the Yankees). Drop Bob Sheppard into a modern arena with a present-day game presentation and he is way out of his element. Live events now call for a certain level of enthusiasm. You have to sound like you want to be there, and you’re happy the fans are there, too (even if it’s completely false because the team is suffering through a long losing streak or you’re exhausted after getting to the venue at 6:00am this morning). This is the only place any of us wants to be at this time on this day, period. And that has to come through in your delivery.

Does that call for yelling? A handful of times, maybe. The vast majority of the time, NO. Sure, get boisterous announcing your home lineup. In a big moment, make the announcement big. After a big home win, let the home fans know that score. Bottom Line: Fit The Moment. And be judicious and consistent in how you approach each moment. When you yell too often, it’s way too easy to work your way into a place where that’s just about all you do. And then there’s no differentiation. If the entire game warrants yelling, then none of it really matters, and you’re just annoying in your PA work. So why are you yelling?

Part of me blames the major pro leagues for this trend. You hear screaming PA in way too many pro venues. At NFL venues with a PA guy yelling “It’s THIIIIIIIIIIRD DOOOOOOWWWWN” at every occurrence. At NBA venues where they have a PA guy yelling at the fans literally all game long, imploring them to chant “DE-FENSE” or “LET’S GO [TEAM NAME].” Is this what passes for fan engagement in the 21st century? And we’ve begun to hear this kind of stuff at some college and even high school venues. It drives me insane, mainly because these messages are why video boards were invented and have grown so massive. The video crew can put “Make Noise!,” “DE-FENSE!,” etc., on the board, and the crowd responds. This is how it works at baseball games. Heck, pipe in some drumming audio – the familiar rhythms of “We Will Rock You” are timeless. We don’t need someone eating the mic, screaming at the top of their lungs, causing damage to their own voice, just in the name of “hyping the crowd.” So why are you yelling?

“But we’re creating a rock concert atmosphere. Get with the times, old man.” Look, chief, if I buy tickets to AC/DC, you’d better believe I’m going to expect it to be loud. That’s their bit. If I’m going to any concert in an arena or stadium, I expect loud. But I ask you: Who’s delivering the loud? Is it some nameless PA guy in a coat and tie walking on stage and yelling “GIVE IT UP FOR AC/DC!!!!!” If the actual show on the stage is worth seeing, it needs no introduction. Similarly, if the game on the field is worth seeing, it needs no introduction. And yet, you may be called upon to give it an introduction, so at least make it appropriate. I’ll say it again: The PA announcer’s job is to frame, explain, or enhance the show. So do that. Enhance the game. Enhance the product the audience came to see. ESPECIALLY when the audience consists of a modest number of fans or attendees, many of whom are parents of the players on the field or court. ESPECIALLY when those players are non-professionals, young people who participate for the love of it. Maybe a few might – might – advance to collegiate or professional levels. But right now, it’s just a bunch of literal kids trying to have fun and win today’s game. This is not a rock concert. As a PA announcer, add to what they are doing. Feature them. Promote them. Make them the only thing you want to watch at this moment. And fit the moment. But screaming over the microphone won’t do anything to make them look or feel professional. It will just annoy them and the people who came to watch them. So why are you yelling?