Posted on

Music Education Really IS That Important

Last weekend was the 2026 edition of the U.T.-Arlington Maverick Marching Band’s annual Alumni Day, where the band invites past MMB members to watch a pre-season performance of the current show. It’s always a great time catching up with old friends and meeting new ones, plus everyone enjoys seeing what the band is up to each year — especially this year, as the band celebrates its 40th anniversary performing without a football team. It’s a fairly momentous occasion with a fascinating backstory, and you can find out more about it in two previous posts of mine. But this year’s gathering, encountering old friends, plus some of the conversations the experience sparked, made me consider my own background with music in a broader sense and reflect on just how critical music education has been, not just for me, but for every person with whom I came into contact this weekend and throughout our lives. We have all been much better off as humans because of our involvement in music. Music education, without a doubt, enriched us in more ways than we can articulate.

Naturally, some of the attendees at the event are music educators themselves. But I actually found that the majority of people there were like myself in that we’re all former MMB members who went on to pursue a profession/career besides music. Some of us still find chances to play our instrument more than others, but all of us cherish our musical influences and our days in band. Music education mattered to us. But it doesn’t always matter to non-musicians. Those without a musical background are often dismissive of musicians for a variety of reasons. We’re thought of as band, choir, or orchestra nerds. There’s also the old trope where musicians are considered to be somehow seedy because they’re always performing at night, sometimes in venues that aren’t in the greatest part of town, and they’re always moving from place-to-place. “They lead lives of sin and debauchery,” don’t you know. Isn’t that what we always hear on documentaries? In schools, music is relegated to “specials” at the elementary level and “extracurriculars” at the secondary level. It’s never considered part of the core curriculum, despite the fact that educational research from a variety of sources suggests that involvement in music can actually improve student performance in the core academic subjects.

I’m not going to spend time delineating any of the studies or the specific ways that music education contributes to stronger academic performance across the board. That information is easily accessible online, and there are many other writers who can present the case more thoroughly than I can. My perspective on the subject comes from a more intuitive viewpoint based on my experience as a teacher and assessment professional for three decades. From that perspective, I always make a clear distinction between “education” and simple “training,” because I think society as a whole, and politicians in particular, have gotten very confused in recent years between the two topics. Here’s the thing: Education isn’t simply training. Training is subject- or task-specific and is designed to elicit a certain response or action. Training is certainly a part of education, but proper education makes training part of a larger whole. As much as people attempt to contend that “back to basics” and “the three Rs” are critical to education, those ideas are simply building blocks to something bigger. Someone who is capable of reading and doing math certainly has academic skills, but “being educated” involves far more than that. In Texas, TEKS stands for “Texas Essential Knowledge and Skills.” These are the basics for a student knowing something, but only the basics. True education requires the student to take that knowledge and those skills and do something with them, preferably while working with other students. True education requires the student to do more than just regurgitate facts, concepts, and principles according to a prescribed checklist. Students should be able to use that information to analyze, to predict, to develop new ideas. Education implies thinking, creativity, and discovery. It implies challenging the boundaries of what was previously thought possible. An educated person does more than just spout information to you; that person can state why certain things are more important, posit new theories, and ask revealing questions of both themselves and others.

Honestly, this distinction is one of the things that really annoys me about how people increasingly interpret the value of college. There’s a mindset growing that college should primarily serve as a training ground in things like science, engineering, and nursing. Those disciplines are certainly worthy, and my own alma mater has world-class programs in them, but that mindset is too often dismissive of many other academic disciplines, among those many subjects in the liberal arts, including music. As a result, the question of “why would anyone study ______?” comes into play, as if there’s no practical reason to study English, history, fine arts, psychology, anthropology, foreign languages, etc., at a higher level. The mindset questions why anyone would continue to participate in band, choir, or orchestra unless that person intends to perform or perhaps teach professionally. But college isn’t simply specialized training for a specific job. Heck, even trade school really isn’t learn-by-rote training for specific repetitive tasks. Any form of post-secondary education builds thinking, creativity, and analytical skills, because the learner has to be prepared to face unseen challenges and work through them, often in tandem with other people. That’s why so many schools, from primary through graduate school, require some type of cooperative learning embedded into assignments. (Although, “cooperative learning” is often itself misunderstood, but that’s fodder for a different post.) It’s why so much post-secondary coursework now requires more creative endeavors, even if they’re just discussion posts in response to a given reading, subject, and/or prompt. Meanwhile, the undergraduate degree has morphed into a bit of a commodity, where the specific program of study is less important than the fact that the person had the wherewithal to enroll, accomplish all the required tasks, complete the coursework, and finish the degree. And the transcript doesn’t need to be filled solely with coursework associated with the major; in fact, quite the opposite, and some diversity in the transcript can be considered a good thing if it is coherent. The employer can train the graduate in the specifics of the job, particularly with the knowledge and trust that this individual has a work ethic and the ability to think and continue to learn.

Therein lies the real value of music education, whether the individual pursued a music degree or not. Music, as you know, has its own language embedded on the page and in the mind. The musician has to learn to read that language and produce the sound properly. To get good at producing any form of music requires a sincere work ethic geared toward mastering the instrument, as well as the ability to adjust tone and tuning as the circumstances require. Performing in an ensemble of any size raises additional demands, as the musician must now be able to listen to other sounds while also producing them, melding with the other parts of the ensemble to produce a collaborative work of art. I’ve also written before about the physical demands of marching band, which adds visual elements to the music as performers work in tandem to create what is essentially outdoor musical theatre in the 21st century. And for that matter, both musical theatre and show choir also add visual elements to musical performance. Being a musician implies constant learning, because there are always new compositions to learn. The composer, songwriter, arranger, or producer takes their skills to an even higher level. The point is that music builds thinking skills, creativity, collaborative abilities, analytical skills, and physical dexterity in service to an artistic medium that also entertains, so not only are members of a music ensemble communicating with each other, they are also communicating with the audience. Participating in this endeavor builds powerful skills, even if you don’t go on to teach or perform music later in life. No matter what career you pursue, if you received music education, it made you smarter. It made you a better student. It made you more productive. It improved your mental skills, whether thinking, analysis, or creativity. It helped you develop in ways that have fed your daily life, because your brain benefited from lessons that go beyond the notes on the page.

Now, is it possible to build these types of skills in other extracurricular activities besides music? Absolutely. Many athletic endeavors, particularly team sports, cheerleading, and drill/dance team, etc., offer similar benefits. Theater productions are terrific experiences for students and can enhance their academic skills. The thing is, I don’t hear many people calling for the football or basketball programs to be cut in their local school district. Cheerleading isn’t likely to hit any chopping block. But we often hear about other programs, including music, becoming casualties of budget cuts, or at least considerations to that end. Parents complain that the fees are too high, that the rehearsals take up too much time, and my favorite bit of idiocy, “high school football halftime is too long.” They often make these complaints with no regard for the value that the program brings to each student. To some extent, there are valid criticisms to be made about cost and time. For instance, I agree that competitive marching band can, at times, become an expensive, unwieldy albatross getting in the way of more effective music education experiences. And along those lines, there’s definitely a case to be made that rehearsals sometimes interfere with students’ ability to complete work in their core classes, particularly if those students take high-level coursework like AP classes.

In the end, though, it comes down to simple cost-benefit analysis. And both the anecdotal and empirical evidence suggest that, in spite of the costs that might be incurred with music education, the benefits are monumental. Your typical music major might graduate college and go into teaching, performance, or production, but there are many who go into fields far different from music. Why? Because they developed many soft skills in the world of music, including adaptability, problem-solving, communication, and teamwork, among others. Your typical college graduate in some other major who still received music education “on the side” throughout life is likely to be a better employee or a better entrepreneur thanks to those same soft skills. It may seem trite to call these individuals “well-rounded,” but that’s essentially the result. Those who have experienced music education have received truly educational experiences on a deeper level. They’re not simply trainees in a given field or toward a specific task. They’re exposed to cultural, historical, creative, and artistic influences that enrich their perspective. They think more deeply and more creatively. They’re not afraid to learn and adapt. They know how to work well with others. They have and may continue to engage in activities that enrich the world in which we live.

Posted on

The Defiant One

I’ve always found the term defiant to be mostly negative. Now, I know that the United States of America was essentially founded on principles of defiance against King George III, and that defiance in literature and pop culture is often celebrated, whether we’re talking about the rebels in Star Wars or Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird. We like to celebrate “the defiant ones” as noble souls standing tall in the face of injustice, holding firm for what’s right while their opposition defends the indefensible. And as a literary trope or a plot device in a movie where the hero has to fight against all odds with barely a shred of hope against the evil antagonist, it usually works. Truth to Power. David vs. Goliath. It makes for compelling stories. But the trope also breaks down in the real world, because the real world isn’t the black & white, good vs. evil setting that our simpler emotions crave. The world is filled with many shades and iterations of gray. As a result, I have found myself, more often than not, being a rule-follower. Because the rules are there for a reason, not because some tyrant seeks to control everything or destroy our country or our religion or our way of life or something else we hold dear. The rules, the laws, the guidelines, the norms, have all been developed and have evolved over time through careful consideration, through testing and adjustment. Often through scientific trial. Most of all, through learning.

At a certain point, there really is a fine line between defiance and stupidity. People think they’re engaging in some nobly defiant act that is either counterproductive or has no effect at all. I unintentionally learned this first-hand from observing my father’s own behavior as he aged. I’m not calling my father stupid by any means. He was one of the smartest people I knew in my early life, and he was always reading and seeking to learn about the world. That’s a character trait I’ve tried to embrace. Yet despite that willingness of learn, he was always kind of a defiant personality in the face of, shall we say “more modern,” ideas. Some of my earliest memories are of him praying the Tridentine Mass in Latin while we were at church, defiant in his belief that it was somehow superior to the “Novus Ordo,” the Mass celebrated in English. That’s just one example, and it’s related to religion, so I suppose I could understand. But the older I got, the more I noticed he was defiant about other matters in ways that were possibly detrimental to him. He kept a pair of early-1990s cars in the garage literally until the day he died, pouring money into getting them fixed despite the fact that fewer and fewer mechanics were even willing to look at them. He purchased literally the last CRT television that Sears ever sold because he somehow “didn’t trust” flat screens. (My parents only owned a flat-screen television after that one from Sears broke, no one would repair it, and I personally purchased them a new one.) He outright refused to use a computer of any kind at home, despite the fact that it kept him from maintaining closer contact with his grandchildren. Honestly, I suspect he would’ve still used a rotary-dial phone if he could have. His defiance became sort of an arbitrary, individualist mindset that I believe bordered on ridiculous, and it really undermined a lot of what I had seen of him growing up. Here was someone who taught me at a young age that learning new things mattered immensely and that adapting to change was key to thriving. Yet as he aged, he actively resisted accepting new things that might’ve improved the quality of his later life. He even came to resist the advice of doctors — outside of obvious things like blood pressure medication — and that likely damaged his long-term health. It nearly cost him his life after a fall in 1993, and I think his avoidance of medical advice probably led to a stroke in 2019 and ultimately, his passing in 2020.

At the core of my disappointment in what I was seeing wasn’t so much the defiant attitude that I had seen literally my whole life. It was the “arbitrary, individualist” aspect of it, especially in opposition to medicine, to technology, and to common sense. That’s something I see among American society as a whole these days, and I’ve written about it before. More than once. It bothers me deeply. Heck, I remember visiting a friend (now departed, RIP) back during college days and discussing the growing culture of toxic individuality and ignorance. We saw it in the 1990s. Our society has been descending into a valley of victimhood and entitlement for decades now. If you think one man is the cause, think again. He’s only the most visible symptom and emblem of it. Look around you, and you’ll see thousands, even millions, of people who are angry, self-centered, individualist souls who are arbitrarily defiant about, well…everything. You see them on the road, speeding around you because their destination is apparently more important than yours. Often driving a giant vehicle that they cannot park or even keep between the lines. You see them at food and drink establishments, treating the servers and other employees terribly, usually over something minor. You see them (or videos of them) in airports and on airplanes, engaging in fits of rage over minor inconveniences, or just crazed because they’re on (or off their) drugs. You see them at the mall, at sporting events, in movie theaters, at the park, at the grocery store, in schools, and at events of all types, “behaving badly,” for lack of a better phrase. And in every case, at the root of it, is a sense of entitlement. A sense of toxic individuality. A sense that “I am more important than everyone else.” Call it main character syndrome if you wish. It’s often couched in the phrase, “I decide what’s best for myself / my children / my family,” but at the end of the day, it’s born of a notion that this individual somehow knows better than the rules, than the law, than the experts, than civilization itself, despite the learning that has been amassed by all of humanity over the course of time. Despite the fact that each of us occupies a tiny fraction of this planet for a microscopic amount of time in the course of human history. Despite the fact that the only way humanity will continue to survive is together. And despite the fact that the core of every major religion is essentially “stop being an a**hole.” The self-absorption is mind-boggling.

Blame social media, blame the internet in general, but as time progresses in this day and age, this culture of toxic individualism rolls on in service to unfettered ignorance. Google warriors “do their own research” and decide they know what’s best about pregnancy, about governing, about child development, about international diplomacy, about vaccines, about medical care in general, about legal matters, about curriculum and other school-related topics, and even about death itself and its aftermath. Except that when you’re not very smart, and certainly when you’re not trained in a given discipline, Google is not your friend; it’s merely the enabler of your ignorance, giving you just enough information to be a little informed and a lot dangerous. It’s the kind of thing that can convince people that doctors and the FDA are merely stooges for pharmaceutical companies, yet at the same time convince them to consume a wide array “herbal remedies” and other substances that are basically untested and unregulated. Skeptical but gullible, all at once. Now, I know you reading this are probably nodding in agreement, but take a moment to realize that you probably also know someone who absolutely views Google as “research,” as a primary and unimpeachable source of information. For real; I’m not kidding. They walk among us. And this is why we have a measles epidemic. It’s why we have “flat-earthers” somehow making a comeback and actually gaining converts. It’s why there are people who believe schools have litter boxes in classrooms, teach Critical Race Theory, or actually perform gender reassignments without their parents’ knowledge. This Friday, I have very little doubt you will come across some “9/11 Truthers” out there spewing their particular brand of idiocy. Apparently one can find community through stupidity online.

For my own part, I prefer to stand in…defiance…of this pervasive attitude. “In defiance of defiance?” Sure! Seriously, I stand in defiance of the kind of toxic individualism that ultimately leads to stupidity. In defiance of resistance to technologies and medical advances (the kind backed by actual science) that can improve my life and lifespan. In defiance of entitlement. In defiance of rudeness – to other drivers, to the server, to the referee, to the cashier, to the teacher. In defiance of behaving badly. But I stand in support of learning, of cooperation, of helping one another, of realizing that society really can produce win-win outcomes that benefit us all. The world could truly be a better place with a small dose of humility and a large dose of willingness to learn and grow. One of my favorite lines from 2025’s Superman is “Maybe that’s the real punk rock,” Clark’s perspective on his own positive view of humanity. So in that spirit, I hope that my own willingness to avoid the stupidity and seek out something better — learning all I can, trusting my doctor and other experts, taking a realistic view of my own place in the world and within the span of history, and most of all, showing some basic kindness and empathy — maybe I am the defiant one.

Posted on

Day 1: Chaos, Excitement, and Hope

Happy First Day of School. I know some of you already experienced that last week (or even earlier), but for my local school district and many nearby, it’s happening today, or at least this week. I consider the First Day of School a little more personal this year because I have a grand-niece who enters Kindergarten today (at the same school her father attended), and my youngest son will experience what I expect to be his final “first day of school” soon as he gets ready to complete his Bachelor’s degree next spring. I suppose grad school might be a possibility, but for now, it’s his last first day. Honestly, once you get to college, the First Day of School means less and less. Or does it? The bottom line for me is that the First Day of School is filled with a myriad of emotions, and that makes it special, uniquely so for each of us.

When I was a student, the First Day of School each year was actually a time of excitement and anticipation more than anxiety and trepidation. That’s in spite of the fact that, on my very first day of First Grade (my parents didn’t want to send me to Kindergarten), I was pretty scared, and I was also literally attacked from behind by a jerk who rubbed soap all over my face and in my eyes. I think that kid actually ended up in prison later in life, but what I remember more than him are the other kids who stopped him, got the teacher, and helped me rinse off and clean up. I never encountered such drama (or trauma) on subsequent first days, but I do remember enjoying the return to classes, seeing my friends again, and the overall novelty of a new school year. There was something cool about new clothes, new school supplies, new books, and new classes and teachers. It was a hopeful time. As I reached high school, the First Day of School was really offset by the first day of Band Camp. By the time we started the school year, I had already spent two or more weeks working in marching band rehearsals. Still, I do recall the First Day each year in high school being somewhere between chaos and outright anarchy. The band hall became a place of refuge, where the people and the routines were more familiar. I suspect the chaos arose from the fact that high school involved changing classes every 55 minutes, to go with schedule changes and, of course, multiple lunch periods (and off-campus lunch for everyone).

Once I got to college, the First Day of School still came after a week of Band Camp (the time for true excitement), but the chaos ramped up a bit thanks to traffic and parking challenges. I was fortunate to be one of those students whose schedule remained stable, and I managed to craft a workable plan to seek out parking every semester. My favorite part of First Day in college was short classes. Why? We would typically only go over the syllabus on the first day, so it was usually a brief overview of what to expect, then send you on your way. No readings, no assignments, nothing special or pressure-packed yet. Not sure it works that way now, in the era of LMS-based content where you can see everything you’ve got to do for the entire semester on one screen and often have at least some discussion post required within a few days. But in those days, the First Day shortened class was glorious. I remember certain professors being very relaxed and straight-forward on that first day, basically laying out how it is and how it’s going to be, and most of all, communicating “how to succeed in this class.” I found that kind of honesty and candor to be hopeful and uplifting, because there was never anything more infuriating to me in education than “guess what’s in my head” games on the part of the teacher.

The glory, honesty, and candor more or less continued during my years running my own classroom. I thoroughly enjoyed the First Day of School from the perspective of a high school teacher. Because I enjoyed the beauty of no assignments on Day 1, I had that approach in my own classroom. “This will be the easiest and toughest day of this class,” I would tell my students. It’s easy because they won’t have anything due at the end of class or the next day, but it’s tough because there’s a lot of information to absorb while only scratching the surface, so they may not know exactly what to expect yet and have many, many questions. I also enjoyed being able to establish at least the beginnings of the classroom culture. My classes were almost exclusively populated with seniors, so I told them “I will treat you like adults, and I expect you to act like adults.” I never wanted to be the teacher who laid out way too many ground rules for the class. My goal was always that we achieved the day’s learning objective(s) in the most efficient, effective way possible. We would have fun at times, but I couldn’t guarantee that every class would be laugh-a-minute or entertaining. I mean, it’s economics, so manage your expectations. I would be as easy-going about the course as I was allowed to be by circumstances. So if it’s tougher content, expect a more serious approach. If there’s something outside this classroom disrupting what we do, we may need to work a little harder to achieve our goals. But above all, as long as students remained focused on getting done what I ask them to do, I could be as laid-back and humorous as I desired, which was generally quite a bit. I will never forget the kid named John who came into my class on the First Day of School ever at Summit High School in Mansfield ISD and told me, “I go by ‘Reggie.’” He was actually making a joke, but let me tell you, he was Reggie in my class from then on, because A) I loved the joke, and B) it was a little humor that was reserved for this course and this class period in my room. It was our thing in that class, and I think anytime we could establish some kind of rapport like that on the First Day, or even during the first week or month, it made the day-to-day grind of school much more interesting. It was an unexpected setting of tone for that particular class, and I was all for it.

Once I moved into administration, the First Day of School took on far less meaning. Technically, the “school year” for administrators goes from July 1 to June 30. Most districts now close during the week of July 4, so the first day of a given school year occurs right after that, in early July, when admin are working on preparations for the new academic year — planning professional development, building the master schedule, hiring new teachers and staff, managing cleanup and improvements of the building, etc. When I worked in central office, the month of July was all about reports based on available test results and other data from the previous school year. We also planned out the specific testing-related events for the coming school year. Once August arrived, we were more focused on impending accountability results than the First Day of School. We essentially stayed out of the campuses’ way since they had enough happening already. Classes still started, but we were largely Under the radar. In a way, I relished that situation, because the First Day belongs to teachers and students more than anyone else. If you’ve read any of my previous posts about teaching, you know that I consider teacher-student interaction to be a nearly sacred part of education. The First Day of School is the first step each year toward establishing that interaction. It never bothered me while I was in central administration that I didn’t get to experience Day 1 anymore, because Day 1 wasn’t about anything I did for the district.

After I moved into campus administration, I wanted to maintain that same level of deference. My goal as a campus administrator on the First Day was simply to help students find their way throughout the building, so I would station myself in one of the common areas and seek out students to assist. “What room are you looking for?” “Can I help you find your next class?” If the teacher-student interaction is so important, then the best service I could provide was to help students find the physical locations of their teachers. What’re more, once students learned that I was the campus testing coordinator, I figured it might be helpful that they associated me more with “that nice man who helped me find my class” than “that jerk who runs all the big tests.” So I did just that; be helpful from Day 1. And the plan worked great until the specter of overzealous local assessment reared its ugly head. Enter MAP Testing. Now, the Measures of Academic Progress assessment (“MAP Growth,” as it’s called in the K-12 education world), provided by NWEA is, itself, an actual quality assessment born of years of experience and development. And the NWEA officials that I’ve worked with in the past were very nice people who were responsive to the concerns of administrators. The problem, as it generally was in my final ISD, was that district assessment decision-makers sought to implement MAP in a manner that was detrimental to the students at my campus. MAP Growth could’ve been administered anytime between August 15 through November 30. Over 3 months to give the test! Yet our district insisted on attempting to test everyone at the absolute beginning of that window, as early as possible. “Welcome to the First Day of School, kids. Now take this multiple choice test!” What are we even doing?!? This approach flies directly in the face of everything I’ve just talked about regarding the First Day of School. Establish culture? Heck No, take this test. Outline expectations? Heck No, take this test. Develop relationships and rapport? Heck No, take this test. As I’ve indicated before, local assessment obsession definitely belongs on the list of reasons why I decided to retire from the profession.

Either way, I still maintain that the First Day of School has the potential to be a positive experience that sets the tone and establishes the foundation for a successful school year. Yes, there will be chaos and confusion. Yes, there may be anxiety. But those emotions should be outweighed by the productive, by the helpful, by the hope and anticipation that Day 1 of this new experience should bring. The old adage says that you only get one chance to make a first impression. Use it wisely. Spend the day engaging in something constructive, something that creates the proper setting, even if it isn’t for a grade, even if it isn’t “rigorous academic work,” even if it’s not specifically tied to the curriculum. Those things come soon enough. Students, I hope you’re just as excited about new things, returning friends, and new teachers and learning as I was in my youth. Teachers, I hope you approach this First Day of School with the same excitement and anticipation for your subject and your new students that I had once upon a time. There is nothing like the impact of a quality teacher-student relationship on the lives of so many. Here’s to building multitudes of them this year. Happy First Day of School, everyone. And may this school year and all those in the future feed your mind and your soul.

Posted on

In Fact, It IS That Difficult…

“It can’t be THAT difficult to…” We hear the sentiment time and again, how easy it must be to accomplish the things we observe on TV, in a movie, on a show, while we sit at a restaurant or stand in a store, when we’re at the game. It can’t be that difficult, right? How difficult is it for your server to get the drinks and bring them back to the table? How difficult is it for that batter to see the ball going WAY outside, and not swing? How difficult is it to teach simple 8th grade math concepts? How difficult is it for the quarterback to hit the open receiver? How difficult is it for the barista to make your coffee? How difficult is it for the goalkeeper to clear the ball from his side of the field? How difficult is it for the store manager to see that they need to open another checkout lane? How difficult is it for the team’s general manager to put together a competitive roster? How difficult is it for that news anchor or radio host to read the teleprompter, or pronounce that word, or just express a coherent thought? How difficult is it to give us exactly what we want, when we want it? Because you know, it’s JUST [fill in blank here].

You might read the questions above and realize there’s difficulty in literally every activity addresseded above, and so many more. And if you do, you would be in the minority. We live in a time of extraordinary entitlement, filled with people demanding everything, all the time, right now, and if you can’t deliver it, then you must be some kind of moron. Because it’s easy. It’s just water or soft drinks. It’s obvious on the TV. It’s only basic algebraic concepts. It’s a simple throw. It’s only coffee. It’s just kicking a ball. It’s obvious to everyone in the store. This or that team manages to acquire great players all the time. It’s just reading or talking. Why are you so dense that you can’t get it done?

Last post, I wrote about “confident idiocy,” which is essentially born of an appalling lack of self-awareness and introspection, thinking you know better than experts despite lack of knowledge, or perhaps because of a tiny bit of knowledge that you decide is enough. But this post is more about a growing lack of empathy, a lack of respect for the efforts of others, a judgmental arrogance that assumes someone else is an idiot because they’re not delivering what we literally take for granted. Maybe call this person a churlish egomaniac; I don’t know. But where the confident idiot refuses help or expertise because he/she assumes he/she knows enough, the churlish egomaniac assumes someone else is an idiot because they’re not meeting some kind of preconceived expectation and are therefore devoid of any claim to respect or dignity.

Several years ago, I knew someone who thought her son was basically a genius. Granted, he was smart and hard-working, but not some type of prodigy who could skip grade levels or create art, math equations, or science experiments that were extraordinarily advanced for his age. And in Grade 8, this student struggled a little with math. He wasn’t failing, but he was making some Bs and perhaps even Cs on some assignments. And that was apparently unacceptable for this person’s precious angel. So of course, it was the teacher’s fault. “She’s terrible. They need to fire her.” And then came the kicker, “…how hard could it be for the school to find a better math teacher?!?” Naturally, the educator in me had to speak up and point out that A) lots of students struggle here and there with Grade 8 math (it’s a very common tale); B) that teacher had been at that school for several years, so there’s inadequate evidence to declare this teacher “terrible” just because your kid made some grades below an A; and C) math teachers are simply not easy to find, especially good ones, especially at the junior high level. So how hard could it be? INCREDIBLY hard. Incredibly hard to convince a capable individual to get a degree in a math-related field, pursue a teaching certificate in math, learn to manage school classrooms, AND accept a job teaching at a public junior high school. Oh, and do so in a way that resonates perfectly with your son, who might be challenging to instruct at the ripe old age of 13 despite how brilliant you think he is. These people are not plentiful, and the people who do devote themselves to teaching this subject at this grade level deserve some level of respect. And to conclude otherwise is probably a little egotistical, and even more churlish.

But this is often how people respond, isn’t it? We forget that the batter who just struck out isn’t seeing the ball in slow-motion replay; he’s watching it in real time at around 90 miles-per-hour and has a split second to react before it curves that far outside. We don’t consider that he was the best player on every team he played for until he was 18, or that he has immersed himself physically and mentally in this game, possibly to his own long-term detriment, to fulfill the dream of playing at this level. Same goes for that goalkeeper who whiffs a kick in a huge match. Or perhaps the quarterback who throws an interception while trying to lead his team on a critical drive. These athletes trained for this their entire lives. They make a critical mistake at the worst possible time, and they might be haunted by it for the rest of their lives. Do you really think berating and booing them over it has any productive effect at all? I know that many of them makes obscene amounts of money, but that’s only because the entertainment industry that promotes the sport in which they participate compensates them for all the talent and work they’ve put into their own performance. Anyone who ascends to a “world-class” level is going to be paid well, especially when there’s TV money involved. But that doesn’t mean they’re always going to get the hit, make the throw or catch successfully, get the save, make the shot, or kick the winning goal. That’s “how it goes,” as they say, and we don’t have to respond with churlishness. If it’s that bad, turn off the TV, or stop buying tickets, and stop supporting the player or the team. It’s the lovely thing about living in a society based on free choice — you’re not being forced to go, or watch, or pay any attention at all to these athletes you think are terrible, or these movies you don’t care for, or those TV shows you think are bad.

What’s even worse is when the object of our churlish egomania isn’t making obscene money. We lament how long it takes to get our glass of water or our plate of food, ignoring the fact that the server is working 3 additional tables besides our 12-top, for below minimum wages plus tips. We don’t know if there are issues in the kitchen that are slowing the servers down or other factors influencing the circumstances. We look down our noses at the barista who’s working on five different orders at once, trying to get everyone taken care of quickly and accurately, and we ignore that this person might have several other things going on in their life that might just slow them down or otherwise interfere with our own expectations. So what if they make a mistake? You just ask, and they’ll make it right. So what if they take an extra minute or two? If you’re in that much of a hurry, maybe you should’ve left earlier or skipped this trip to the coffee house. Show some grace. They’re definitely not making pro-athlete money here. We crab about the store manager who’s not doing enough, in our minds, to get extra cashiers at the front lanes on our trip to big box retailer. How do we know they haven’t had people call in sick? How do we know they aren’t just short-staffed this day, this week, or this month? Patience costs nothing. Grace costs nothing. And if you don’t have the time to wait, perhaps come back another time when you’ll have more time. Or heck, shop somewhere else if this place always has long wait times.

But that would involve seeking to solve the problem for ourselves, wouldn’t it? And that’s too much trouble. So instead, far too many people adopt their own churlish, egomaniacal stance and decide “it can’t be THAT difficult.” Because complaints are consequence-free when you dismiss the difficulty of a given job out-of-hand. And that paves the way for dehumanizing the server, the barista, the cashier, the actor, or the athlete, even when those people may simply be having a bad day. But what if we put ourselves in their shoes? Not figuratively, but literally. I am or have been a part of two separate industries where people do just that, because they assumed going in that “it couldn’t be that difficult.” Lots of people assume that because they were once a student for 12+ years, they should be able to gain certification, and become teachers, with ease. And yet, the landscape is riddled with people who, quite possibly, spent several years and a fair amount of money getting teaching certification, only to discover in the actual classroom that it really IS that difficult, and this profession isn’t for them. Similarly, lots of people assume that voiceover is a really easy career path, because “it’s only talking.” So they buy a $140 Blue Yeti microphone from Best Buy (or if they’re beholden to trends, a $440 Shure SM7B) and declare themselves “voice artists.” And they don’t realize the coaching, practice, recording and production work, marketing, and more coaching that voiceover demands for someone to become a true professional, and to maintain their skills to meet the changing needs of buyers in a dynamic industry literally built on the latest trends. And so, the landscape is riddled with people who claim to “work in voiceover” but have never booked a job, ever. And voiceover “pay-to-play” casting sites have thousands of unused subscriptions, along with thousands of weak auditions with terrible audio and a read that sounds exactly like someone reading awkwardly from a script. And eBay has lots of lightly used Blue Yetis and Shure SM7Bs available very cheaply. And there are hundreds of podcasts with poor production quality and not much to say, that are heard by no one. Because it IS that difficult, to learn true voiceover skill, to develop recording and production knowledge, to establish a client base, and to deliver quality work for which buyers pay good money. Not Fiverr money, good money. The truth is that anyone wanting to make decent money in teaching, voiceover, sports, acting, waiting tables, or any other skilled profession, has to work at it. A lot. For a long time. They might not need to love it, but they at least need to like it enough to put in the amount and type of work that is rewarded on a higher level.

And there’s the trick, right? “Churlish egomania,” much like “confident idiocy,” is born of a pervasive laziness underlying our sense of entitlement and superiority. The person with access to quality higher education, who never finishes a degree and bounces randomly from job-to-job without ever settling into an actual career often does so because this person doesn’t have the wherewithal to engage in the work it takes to establish a career, let alone thrive in one. That’s why they never finished a degree in the first place. That’s why they dabble but never commit. But you’d better believe this person has something to say when their meal is slow to arrive or appears below expectations. Avoiding such behavior requires a conscious choice. That means avoiding the laziness that fosters entitlement in an effort to abandon that sense of entitlement altogether. It means realizing that, yes, that job probably IS that difficult, even if we consider it menial, and especially if it looks easy. That person doing the job makes it look easy most of the time, because they took the time and made effort to master the skills involved. While it may seem inviting to suggest that everyone should be required to teach for a semester, or work in retail for a quarter, or wait tables for a month, it’s not a realistic solution. But everyone can at least admit that they might not be capable of handling those jobs, then adopt a more gracious, empathetic perspective toward them. Honestly, if we were all so talented and knowledgeable about running a baseball team, we’d probably all be working as professional baseball general managers. If we knew how to prepare extravagant meals quickly, we would be doing it instead of relying on someone else. If we were that great hitting a baseball, we’d be getting paid handsomely to swing a bat. If we could do it ourselves, we would. And since we can’t, and don’t, maybe we can treat the people doing any of these jobs better. Because the job really IS that difficult. But treating another person with dignity shouldn’t be.

Posted on

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.

Posted on

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.

Posted on

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.

Posted on

The Most Infuriating Test of All

Welcome to the week after President’s Day. For many, this week brings many positive signs: Winter may soon cease its hold on the northern hemisphere. Spring is coming. Lent is here, followed by Easter sooner than you think. Baseball spring training is in-progress, so baseball season is approaching, and it’s here at the high school and college levels. The Winter Olympics are reaching their climax. Other sports are ramping up for 2026 – auto racing, tennis, golf. College basketball’s March Madness will be here soon. But for public school teachers, I have always referred to this time of year as the “Season of Hate.” The holidays were over a while ago. Spring Break is still weeks away. There’s not much novelty in classrooms at this time of year, and the end of the school year seems far in the distance. There’s basically just the daily grind of instruction — and because of recent days lost to icy roads, there is much content on which to catch up. There’s also much content to cover before district benchmarks, or before Spring Break, or before state assessments. Teachers are essentially forced to cram in lots of instruction – tons of it – probably more than they normally would, and students hate it. And truthfully, so do the teachers. It’s the toughest time of the school year, a fairly constant face-off and struggle between students and teachers.

On top of all of this hostility-infused activity, the state layers on another federally-mandated test that doesn’t get nearly enough attention. It’s the poster child for “Good Intentions Run Amok.” Texas calls it the Texas English Language Proficiency Assessment System, or TELPAS. And everybody hates it — teachers, students, administrators, you name it. Everyone hates TELPAS. You’ll hardly ever hear about it on the news because it’s not the centerpiece of the state accountability system, STAAR. But it can affect state accountability ratings, especially if you’re a campus or district with a high population of EB students.

“What the heck are ‘EB’ students?” Ah-ha, so maybe you don’t know the ins and outs of TELPAS. Here’s a quick synopsis: TELPAS grew out of the No Child Left Behind Act of 2001 — that law acknowledged that A) the U.S. has a growing population of students whose primary language is not English and B) it’s imperative that public schools help these students develop English language skills over time so that they can succeed in U.S. schools. We used to call these students English as a Second Language (ESL), Limited English Proficient (LEP), and English Language Learners (ELL), but now we call them Emergent Bilingual (EB). The federal government has a requirement for all public schools to track their English Language Proficiency (that’s the ELP in TELPAS). The State of Texas had actually begun such tracking way back in 1999. The test covers four Domains of language: Reading, Writing, Listening, and Speaking.

“Why does everybody hate TELPAS?” I would suggest a big part of it is that TELPAS is yet another intrusion on instruction right smack dab in the middle of the Season of Hate. But beyond that, it’s a challenge precisely because it is NOT required for every single student; it’s only for students designated as EB. The EB designation is already pretty vague, but once it’s attached to the student’s record, it’s also difficult to remove. Which makes TELPAS a pesky requirement, even for EB students who actually know English well. At its inception, TELPAS still affected all students, because the writing portion was required to be “authentic writing from an academic class,” BUT the assignment had to be assigned for every student. So teachers were expected to develop some contrived writing assignment for 100% of their students just so EB students could be evaluated for TELPAS. Then there was the “calibration” process for teachers, where they had to figure out how to evaluate what constituted Beginner vs Intermediate vs Advanced vs Advanced-High proficiency, specifically according to the state’s guidelines. That process, by itself, was at least two weeks of extra work for teachers just for the training. THEN they would have to assign the writing assignments in class , and get students to actually complete them (easier said than done). THEN administrators had to collect the writing samples for the EB students (and that process had a multitude of other requirements). THEN the teachers had to read all the samples and evaluate them. THEN the teachers also had to evaluate the Listening and Speaking proficiency. PLUS the EB students would have to take a basic Reading test online.

“How long would it take to do all that?” Way. Too. Long. Teacher training for TELPAS occurred at the beginning of February (for two weeks), then the “window” for completing TELPAS activities opened right after President’s Day and closed at the end of March (another SIX weeks). That’s EIGHT weeks of TELPAS-related activity, not including the time administrators spent attending trainings and preparing to coordinate all of this stuff. Naturally, campuses would do their best to complete TELPAS in the early part of the window, but there would be struggles to get students to complete the writing assignments (a minimum FIVE samples were required, with other stipulations as to what type of writing was needed). There might be students absent on the scheduled date of the reading test. Or there might be students who were chronic absentees through most of the TELPAS window. Then there was the issue of what to do with new students or students who withdrew from your campus or district during the window. It was a cacophony of never-ending activity, all in service to a test that, while well-meaning, ultimately mattered not one bit to district or, frankly, TEA officials. Students hated it. Teachers hated it. Administrators hated it. Everybody hates TELPAS. As a district testing coordinator, I literally made a joke out of how much people loathed the whole thing.

In recent years, the cacophony has quieted ever-so-slightly. For grades 2-12, TEA now offers two online assessments – one for Listening and Speaking, another for Reading and Writing. For all but K-1 teachers, the chaotic days of calibration and writing sample collection are over. But there’s still a logistical challenge, because the Listening/Speaking test requires students to use wired headsets plugged into the computing device. Yes, wired headsets — as in, headphones with a microphone attached. You can get cheap earbud-style headsets on Amazon at $1/item or less by buying in bulk, but if you want decent over-the-ear headsets that can easily be reused, you’re typically talking $10-$20 per headset. If you’re an elementary campus with only a few dozen EB students, it’s easy. But if you’re a 6A high school like where I most recently worked, with 50% EB students (yes, 1,500 students out of 3,000), that’s A LOT of headsets, and a potentially HUGE expense. To reduce the possibility of chronic absenteeism, we used to schedule a “shutdown” day for each test, but we couldn’t schedule more than 15-20 students per testing room because the speaking portion required distance between students. So you can probably imagine that planning roughly 100 testing rooms and distributing 1,500 headsets while relocating another 1,500 students, using a staff of up to 200 adults, was…interesting. And if you can imagine that, you can see why everybody STILL hates TELPAS, even though it’s now 100% online testing. Because you know what? The district and the state still don’t really care about it. Yet here we are.

“So why do they still do it?” Because of what I said earlier – “Good Intentions Run Amok.” Honestly, TELPAS is born of a well-meaning concept. If we’re concerned about the academic performance of ALL students, and academic performance hinges on the literacy rate, then there’s definitely a need for students who come from non-English-speaking households to grasp the English language and establish literacy skills in it. Trouble is, our politicians’ first thought regarding student performance has always been “Let’s have the schools stop everything and test them.” So NCLB mandated it, and ESSA (the Every Student Succeeds Act) renewed the requirement. Thus, TEA has to figure out when they can cram the test into the academic year without intruding on all the other federally-mandated tests. So their testing calendar puts it square in the Season of Hate. Fun!

“Do these EB students show improvements?” Based on my own experience in the classroom and as an administrator, I am confident that most EB students learn English reasonably well by being immersed in English-based instruction IF their teachers offer instruction that properly teaches the vocabulary of the course. (That is a massive “IF.”) That can be said for native and non-native English speakers alike. There are plenty of native English speakers out there who don’t have the first clue about how to use the English language, too. (Seriously, just read online comments for a sampling of the illiteracy problem in the U.S.) But the key to any of this is instruction, not testing. There’s not a single EB student who ever dug down and learned English better because “I’m going to ace that TELPAS test.” Not one. TELPAS is well-intended, but you simply cannot suggest its existence has improved the academic performance of EB students. It’s been around for roughly a quarter-century, but any statistical analysis of TELPAS growth results is flawed at best because of the fluctuation in EB student populations, changes across districts and campuses, changes in the format and content of the tests, and, oh yeah…these are still kids being evaluated every year from K-12. (YES, K through 12; TELPAS doesn’t wait until Grade 3.) I’m sure EB students are improving their English skills overall; I’m also sure it has nothing to do with TELPAS.

“We should get the government to abolish this test!” It wouldn’t hurt my feelings if we got rid of all of the federally-mandated testing requirements — not just TELPAS, but STAAR, the next iteration of testing coming to Texas, and everything else. (And that’s coming from a guy who spent over a decade in the testing world.) Without the mandates, schools would naturally figure out what standardized tests, if any, would generate the data that would actually help them improve instruction and learning. But the reality is that we live in the era of school accountability (another can of worms all its own), and where there is accountability, there is assessment. I don’t know of many politicians with the fortitude to admit that the extra requirements they’ve been adding for the past 30-40 years aren’t working. If anything, they double- and triple-down. Add to the equation all the marketing and lobbying efforts of the big testing firms out there who profit from the system. So it’s probably never going away in our lifetime. The best we can hope for is that the trend recedes a bit over the next decade, and then hope that any reversal gains transaction.

In the meantime, I offer my former colleagues my best wishes as they navigate these waters in the school year. I know you hate TELPAS. I know your students hate TELPAS. Everybody hates TELPAS. Have some solidarity in that knowledge and work through it together, knowing everyone’s in the same boat with similar emotions. “Survive and advance,” as they say. It’s going to suck, but it will end (…okay, just in time for the next round of testing, but still). Do your best to fight through it. If you’re not in education and have never had to deal with this type of stuff, try to have a little empathy for those in the throes of this time of the school year — students, teachers, and administrators alike. If it seems like it’s rough for them, that’s because IT IS. Recognize and appreciate that. But know this: The Season of Hate eventually ends, every year, and is supplanted by the Season of Love. (Don’t worry; I will write about that when the time comes, too, because it’s the best.) Stay strong, and don’t let the frustration consume you. EHT.

Posted on

The Least Wonderful Time of the Year

No, this post is NOT about to be 2,600+ words bashing the Christmas season for being too commercialized or sappy or anything else. I’m actually loving the holiday season this year. Anyone who’s read this blog before probably knows why.

What this post IS about is STAAR Testing – specifically, STAAR End-Of-Course (EOC) Retests for those high school students who are cursed with the requirement of taking them. I will also share a personal story about what I now believe was proverbial “Testing Hades,” and how I helped get my staff (and myself) through it using humor.

I have previously confessed on this blog that the final dozen years of my K-12 education career had me wrestling with self-loathing because, as a so-called “assessment professional,” my biggest role was training, implementation, and support of a system that is deeply flawed at best. There are a host of reasons for these flaws, many of which would involve exposition that would truly be agonizing to read. What it comes down to is primarily inconsistency.

STAAR is fundamentally inconsistent as a matter of course because everything about its construction is constantly changing. The state curriculum of Texas public schools, known as the Texas Essential Knowledge and Skills (TEKS) is regularly revised. Subject area TEKS are reviewed and adjusted at least once every 10 years on a rotating basis. Schools don’t have to contend with full-scale revisions all at once, but teachers of a given subject know that they will have to adjust planning and teaching within a decade at minimum. While a decade doesn’t seem frequent on its face, the reality in a classroom is that it may take several years after revisions are published to determine the best way to approach certain TEKS standards instructionally. It’s not like anyone can just flip a switch, make a couple of tweaks, and all students magically respond positively to whatever the new TEKS are.

And as you might expect, the process of assessing any new TEKS learning standards can also be messy and flawed over several years. This is why TEA randomly selects districts and campuses for specific field tests every year, usually in February. A typical TEA Field Test is similar to an actual STAAR test, and campuses are required to implement them with the same approach and security protocols that they use for the actual STAAR test in the spring, except there’s no payoff for a field test. Whether students do well or poorly, they will never be rewarded or punished. They will never even know how they scored. Reporting of results is minimal, because the point is literally to test the test items themselves and determine if they’re reliable and valid. If you’re thinking that your children might become lab experiments each February so that psychometricians can analyze results, you would be correct.

This process is also why actual STAAR tests in the spring include “field test items” that may or may not actually be scored. And it’s why TEA will rewrite and revise items continually between STAAR testing cycles, which occur annually each April for Grades 3-8, but every April, June, and December for high school students. There’s a continual item analysis process to seek out a reliable and valid test, and as you might expect, some STAAR tests are more reliable and valid than others. Small comfort to a high school freshman who learns he has to retake an EOC even if the test itself was poorly constructed.

The revision process, combined with the desire of schools to “teach to the test” so that scores improve has created its own cottage industry. A legion of consulting companies have developed with intent of helping schools and their teachers to analyze released items from STAAR tests, connect those items to the TEKS standards being assessed, and determine ways to adjust instruction so that the teachers may better prepare students for what they might see on the STAAR. Is it good instruction? Sometimes. Your mileage may vary, as they say. But “teach to the test” has become scientific (or pseudo-scientific, in many cases), all in the name of accountability points, property values…and, oh yeah, “for the children.”

Speaking of those children – we all want them to excel, right? We want them to score well since it’s evidence that they’re learning, it’s good for self-esteem, yada, yada, yada. But of course, it’s not always so simple. Remember that this is a test that students will see only once per year. (Theoretically three times with upcoming legislative changes.) And when they see the test next year, it’ll be a bit different from last year because Grade 8 is different from Grade 7, which is different from Grade 6, and so on, even if the subject is still Reading or Math. It is no wonder that most schools see drops in Math scores, for instance, from Grade 4 to Grade 5, year after year, even as students change, because Grade 5 Math is typically a bit more challenging than Grade 4 Math. What’s more, the actual passing standard might be adjusted thanks to the magic of the “cut score.”

When you visit TEA’s website, you might run across the STAAR Performance Standards for Grades 3-8 and EOC. You’ll see austere tables listing the Scale Scores required for a given student to reach Approaches, Meets, or Masters Grade Level performance categories as handed down by the gods themselves…er, I mean, by TEA officials. These categories and scale scores are unchanged (thanks to the auspices of either Odin or Ra; I never remember which), but the real sausage is made after students have completed the tests, psychometricians have analyzed the results, and TEA constructs what’s known as a Raw Score Conversion Table. Take Grade 5 Math, for instance, which had 42 items that were scored in 2025. TEA takes every student raw score, from 1 to 42, and links it to a given Scale Score. Those links then determine what raw score a student needed to reach the Approaches / Meets / Masters level from the Performance Standards. It’s all computed AFTER THE FACT, because TEA looks at the distribution of student raw scores statewide before deciding where, in fact, “passing” will be located. In 2025, a Grade 5 student in Math needed to get 17 of 42 items correct for Approaches, 26 for Meets, and 34 for Masters. In 2026 and beyond, those raw scores could change depending on how every student in Texas fared on that year’s test. It’s a moving target every year. It might not move much, but it can move. Is it possible that public relations and political concerns can impact where the cut scores fall? You tell me. It was certainly curious that accountability ratings in 2023 and 2024 went to court, then in 2025 most districts and campuses in the state saw their STAAR scores and ratings increase. I don’t have the time or inclination to lay out a full analysis of the data over those years, but it sure was a curious coincidence.

The bottom line is that passing standards can be, and are, adjusted year-to-year as cut scores are linked to scale scores. “Passing the STAAR” is, itself, an exercise in inconsistency. What’s more, “passing” isn’t always the end for students in high school. Current TEA guidelines require students to reach Approaches Grade Level or higher in all 5 EOC-assessed subjects – English I, English II, Algebra I, Biology, and US History. (I won’t open the Individual Graduation Committee or the Substitute Assessment cans of worms; those are other deep-dive posts.) The students currently taking December EOCs are those who have previously not passed one or more tests, or who were Absent or otherwise missed their opportunities in April and June. When a student finally achieves those scores and passes their classes, graduation is on the horizon. Perhaps college? Not so fast. “Approaches Grade Level” is passing for graduation purposes only. TEA has a whole other set of standards for what is called “College, Career, and Military Readiness” (CCMR). And Approaches on STAAR EOC ain’t one of them. In fact, STAAR scores don’t matter AT ALL for CCMR accountability standards, and they won’t grant students access to Texas public colleges and universities…at least, not without some type of remedial learning. So now, high schools in Texas offer the TSIA2, SAT, and ACT at least once to all their students in an attempt to get as many students as possible to meet CCMR requirements. More testing for our high schoolers! Isn’t it grand? In fact, it’s several grand paid each year by the taxpayers, or by the students themselves.

Lest you think we only torture the high schools and their students, there’s a whole set of other accountability measurements that primarily impact elementary, intermediate, and middle schools and their students – the Progress Measure, brought to you by TEA through each year’s STAAR tests. The intent is actually well-meaning and fairly intuitive: Students should show growth, also called academic progress, in their year-to-year performance on STAAR Reading and Math tests. Easy, right? Of course not! You might think that an intuitive approach to growth would be that a given student should score at or higher than the previous year’s raw or scale score to show progress. Or perhaps there should be a set of score ranges that might overlap so that students wouldn’t be penalized for missing one more item than last year. But you would be wrong in both cases. Instead, TEA determines progress based on the student’s performance among the Approaches / Meets / Masters standards, which we’ve already established may change thanks to cut scores. Essentially, in order for a student to “meet progress” officially, that student must match or exceed the performance category from the previous year. If they reached Approaches last year, they must reach Approaches, Meets, or Masters this year. Here’s the problem: because those performance levels are matched directly to a specific raw score, it’s possible for a student to “not meet growth” based on a single test item. Consider the Grade 5 Math scores referenced earlier, and suppose a 5th grader in 2025 got 34 of 42 items correct in 2025 to reach Masters Grade Level. It just so happens that in 2025, Masters on Grade 6 Math also required a raw score of 34 out of 43 items. BUT, in 2026, IF the Masters Level ends up being raised to 35 items after TEA’s psychometric analysis, AND this same student gets the same raw score, 34 on Grade 6 Math, the student will actually DROP to Meets Grade Level. That might seem fine, BUT this student will be deemed “Did Not Meet” for the progress measure in Math. By a single item. Even though the student passed the test easily, getting 79% of the items correct when it only takes 37% to “pass.” Is this equitable, fair, justifiable, reliable, and/or valid? You tell me.

Knowledge of such flaws and inequities are just some of the reasons that it became more and more difficult for me to justify continuing to work as an “assessment professional.” It became increasingly difficult to pretend that the system was defensible, let alone worth training teachers how to implement it appropriately. Of course, when it came to the insanity of the system, Grand Prairie ISD said “hold my beer” and added layers of local assessment to this Least Wonderful Time of Year. So began the creation of Testivus.

Here’s how it happened: The high school calendar in GPISD had students attending classes for roughly 3 weeks after Thanksgiving break. Week 1 was mostly instruction; TEA allowed districts to offer December EOCs that week, but GPISD elected to wait. Week 2 was when GPISD offered December EOCs over four days (Tuesday through Friday because TEA at the time did not allow STAAR tests on Mondays). But GPISD also added four (4!!!) additional days of local assessments – “Q2 Summative Assessments,” they were called – and required “shutdown” testing for EOC-assessed courses. What’s more, the US History Q2 Summative HAD to be given on the Friday of Week 3 because of district policy on semester exams, meaning we had to hold both the final day of EOCs AND a major local assessment on the same day. On a Friday, no less. Self-induced torture. Or should I say, district-induced torture. Somewhere in those 8 days, non-core subjects also had to offer Semester 1 Exams. As you might imagine, the schedule was somewhere between confusing and downright comical. As an administrator, it was a death-defying juggling act just to create a coherent schedule, and then we had to communicate it to the staff and students. So I had a choice: either tear out my hair, elevate my blood pressure, and otherwise stress myself out at the holidays trying to make it work, or have fun with it. I decided to have fun and approach it with humor. So Testivus was born.

Testivus, as any good Seinfeld fan would infer, was a riff on Festivus, the fictional holiday “for the rest of us” in response to the rampant commercialism of Christmas. We needed something bizarre to associate with, and yes, resist, the madness, because there was no way to comprehend it without also admitting it was strange and convoluted. I even created a logo for it that I included on documents I gave to the teachers. I made jokes about it in e-mail communication. I was also brutally honest. “This is what happens when district tries to shoehorn more than 8 tests into 8 days. You might argue it’s the counterpoint to the miracle of Hanukkah.” Eventually, my humor got me in mild trouble. It just so happened that the husband of the district’s head of data and accountability worked as the chief security officer on our campus, and he received the mass e-mails I sent to the staff. He would forward said e-mails to his wife. But rather than contact me herself, she asked the district testing coordinator (DTC) to call and badger me about my humor. It so happens that the DTC’s personality is often quite dramatic, dialing any little issue up to 11 (shout-out to Nigel Tufnel) immediately. So I was told, “Senior district administrators are reading your e-mails, and they are not amused. I guess you’re trying to be funny, but to them it sounds like you’re pitting your campus in opposition to the district.” Fine, whatever. I expressed regret to her that she was being asked to deal with it, but the reality was that district was pitting itself against campuses by inundating us with local assessments literally layered on top of state assessments. I make no apologies for calling that out, nor would I apologize for fostering some empathy and camaraderie with my campus colleagues through humor that they genuinely enjoyed. And you know what? In Fall 2025, Grand Prairie ISD nixed those plans, removed “Q2 Summative Assessments” from the calendar entirely, and instead created “Fall District Assessments” on a different week in November. Granted, they still managed to make it awkward (not worth outlining how here), but they changed their approach to local assessments. Maybe the actual message behind Testivus, and my humor, resonated with someone, after all.

So if you’re winding your way through a similar situation, navigating the nonsense passed down from someone who doesn’t realize the negative impact on your students and teachers, I wish you a Happy Testivus. Hang in there, do the best you can under the circumstances, and most of all, laugh about the laughable. Go ahead and roll your eyes at the outlandish. Give yourself permission to have fun with it instead of getting upset. And most of all, realize that none of these things…zero, nada, nenhum, nüt…will matter all that much in the grand scheme of things. Treat your students and your colleagues with dignity, empathy, and kindness in this most blessed of holiday seasons, and let the absurd wallow in its absurdity.

Posted on

In Praise of Teamwork

This post, surprisingly enough, connects strongly to voiceover. Back when I started this blog in August, I intentionally and specifically stated that this is not a voiceover blog. And my posts thus far have borne out this statement. Most of them have focused on observations related on some level to my teaching career, including notes about leadership, assessment, and presentation skills. I’ve also posted on topics pertaining to my experiences in band. Naturally, I’ve mentioned my retirement from K-12 public education several times since that’s something that has dominated my life since the end of June, and it’s a major reason why I actually have time for this blog and for my voiceover career.

That career is progressing as we speak. I’ve established some leads, gotten a handful of auditions, and even booked a few jobs. I’m not where I intend to be, but every journey begins with its first steps, as they say. And what I’ve learned along those few steps is a critical lesson – one that I’ve realized applied in my education career far more than I expected, and one that I think applies to voiceover more than many of us appreciate. That lesson is the importance of teamwork – how the individual contributes to the team and how effective teamwork actually helps the individual. It’s an underrated lesson for my friends and colleagues in the voiceover industry.

Back when I began my education career, I didn’t exactly anticipate that teamwork would be terribly important. It wasn’t a clear priority in my education coursework at the collegiate level. We participated in cooperative learning, and we were coached how to use it effectively, but I don’t recall explicit instruction on the importance of teamwork within the profession as a matter of course. It was a more general “collaborate with your colleagues” theme. The trend of Professional Learning Communities (PLC) in education was not in vogue at the time. And if I’m being honest, my so-called “mentor teacher” during my first year was somewhere between ineffective and a total waste. I was teaching government that first year, and all I got from him was literally a printout of his “lesson plans” for the class (dot-matrix printout, no less), which was what he provided for administration but not nearly what he used for his actual class. I suppose it was a start, but it was hardly helpful and certainly not comprehensive. He would occasionally throw me the bone of an odd handout now and then. But this was hardly teamwork, and I was hardly a teammate. This type of thing went on for roughly three years, and I felt nearly alone as a teacher during that time. For three years, I figured things out for myself. Then I was moved to World Geography at what was then the “9th Grade Center,” where I spent two years, and my perspective changed dramatically. World Geography teachers operated as a true team. There were projects that all the teachers assigned. There was collaboration. I was actually valued as a colleague, and I was free to offer my own ideas and create activities to share with my peers just as much as I could borrow and absorb from them.

Those two years altered the trajectory of my teaching career. After three years feeling like a solitary soul marooned on an island, I experienced two incredible years as a valued member of a viable team. When I returned to the senior level teaching government and economics (the old “mentor” had retired), I was assertive and proactive in establishing teamwork, collaborated more, and genuinely improved as an instructor. It helped that there was some turnover in the staff, and the newer teachers were also more willing to engage with each other. And I believe the process helped all of us excel, not just as subject-area teams, but also as a department. By the time I had advanced to teaching AP Macroeconomics, I had established strong rapport with my colleagues who taught AP US Government. We taught these students on an A/B schedule, so they alternated these classes daily, and we as instructors worked so that our teaching connected with each other’s, reinforcing what students were learning in both classes. The result was better learning for all of those AP students in both courses. It was educational teamwork at some of the highest level I ever experienced.

As my career in education continued, the benefits of teamwork were consistently apparent, especially when I worked in central administration. We had a small department in Research & Assessment, but the tasks each of us worked on connected well enough that our team was always moving forward impressively for the district. All in all, I think I experienced a solid 22 straight years of effective teamwork. The actual level of effectiveness varied at times, but it was always there, and I probably took it for granted. Then I left Mansfield ISD for what I thought was a better opportunity, and better salary. A higher salary was nice, but it was not a collaborative environment. Teamwork was replaced by top-down micromanagement, headed up by someone who was simply not equipped or ready to lead effectively. She thought she had all the answers, and the other three of us were basically expected to do her bidding, even if she wasn’t clear what that was. I was not valued for the ideas I brought to my job; I was basically expected to read the mind of my supervisor and maintain the status quo in 100% detail. And when I didn’t, when I had the temerity to show initiative and originality, I was diminished and even demeaned. It was a negative environment, plain and simple, bereft of any teamwork.

So when I interviewed for what would become my final position in education, I had one answer for the question, “What do you hope to accomplish in this role?” My response: “I want to become a viable member of a high-functioning team.” I had experienced that feeling, and I had experienced what it was like to lose it and feel like I was expected to be a mindless, boring cog. I just wanted to contribute to a team again. And fortunately, I got that experience again. Yes, there were issues at the district level that ultimately led me to retire from the profession, but I can honestly and definitively say that my time at Grand Prairie High School was a positive experience as part of a high-functioning, well-managed team. I learned so much from my colleagues, and they learned from me. We collaborated on a multitude of projects, and our students benefited. We had each other’s backs. Maybe it’s coincidence, but I believe many of us became lifelong friends, as well. Quite a team, and I will always look back on that place, and so many of those colleagues, fondly.

So what does this have to do with voiceover? It comes down to how we as VO artists see ourselves. There’s a common idea (and joke) in the industry that we’re all a little strange because we spend all day talking to ourselves in a padded room. And it can definitely feel that way. But my own experience has taught me that this idea really isn’t the case. Granted, my background is primarily Live Announce, so I often find myself in an environment where there are people around me. Many of my gigs throughout the year have people in the stands, and on the field or floor, and I’m even in charge of running all the audio at times. I’m also my own roadie for a lot of jobs. And you know what? It’s exhilarating, and I love it.

As I mentioned in my Thanksgiving post, I had the chance to work NCAA Division I college basketball recently – three games so far at the University of Texas at Arlington (which is also my alma mater). And even though PA folks often see ourselves as “the voice above the crowd,” the truth I’ve gleaned from these experiences is that whoever is on PA is not simply in an environment “with other people around.” No, they are…you guessed it…part of a team. The team consists of everyone involved in the game presentation – production director, production assistants, band, cheerleaders, dance team, on-court entertainment, etc. Two hours before tipoff, we go over the run-of-show, which outlines every activity of the day or night, including pregame, timeouts, halftime, and postgame. There are a variety of PA reads, but there are also a multitude of other happenings, and the objective is to time everything out right down to the second whenever possible. The goal is to provide a high-quality game experience for the fans while at the same time recognizing all the sponsors involved with UTA Athletics, and above all, respecting and featuring the game on the floor. It is its own a machine with video, graphics, live music, recorded music, and a true cast of characters, all layered on top of and designed to support the performance of the team. As the PA guy, I am simply one part of the experience. And I will emphasize again, I love it. And it’s really not about my voice, although I truly think my pipes were made to resonate in a stadium or an arena just as much as others’ were made to feature trucks or food or Disney movies. I love being part of the event, fulfilling my role, and adding to the ambience that’s being created. Being a viable part of a high-functioning team.

For my VO friends, that’s something that I think is critical to your, my, and our success as VO professionals, no matter what genre we’re working in. It is way too easy to record an audition or a job listening solely to our own performance. It is way too enticing to get caught up in our own voices. If you want to understand what creative professionals hear – REALLY hear – you have to imagine yourself in the arena, if you will. You have to hear yourself with other aspects of the entire production in mind: the images and/or video that your voice will be used to enhance, the music and other sounds that will be layered with your voice, the objective(s) and goal underlying what the creative team is trying to accomplish. Get out of your own head and away from your own voice. Listen. Take direction. Take a broader perspective, then figure out how your voice fits it and adds to the larger mix. And contribute.

For my education friends, and for anyone else reading this post, “teamwork makes the dream work.” “Be a team player.” “There’s no ‘I’ in ‘team.’” (Although you can’t spell team without an “m” and an “e.”) <Cue groans> Sorry. Just kidding. That all sounds kind of trite and silly, much like most bumper-sticker philosophy. But teamwork really does make you better. If you’re in an educational leadership role, that means you have to involve your team members. Seek their input. Accept their ideas and figure out how to integrate them into the larger plan whenever possible. Don’t micromanage. You don’t have all the answers, nor should you. If you’re in a rank-and-file team member role, step up! Know what your role is, and do your part. Contribute. At the same time, Speak Up! If you have ideas, state them in an organized and appropriate manner.

The bottom line is that, no matter your industry or profession, life isn’t meant to be lived in isolation. Each of us can grow individually, but we advance further by working with each other, sharing ideas and activities, sometimes disagreeing, but ultimately learning and developing as both individuals and a group. In a world that seems to value individualism and “I’m gonna get mine” greed way too much, the benefits of collaboration and cooperation through teamwork have gained importance. It’s a lesson for educators, for voiceover pros, and for society at large.