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When It’s Not About You

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The Serenity and Insanity of Summer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Say. My. Name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Commence the Season of Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The Most Frustrating Time of Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Theoretically.

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

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

Theoretically.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Debunking Myths about Teachers

Recently, in honor of World Teachers’ Day, I wrote a post about why teaching can be the worst, and why it’s the absolute best. In that post, I said, “There are a host of myths about teaching and teachers that I will delineate in a different post later on.”

Welcome to…Later On. Granted, “myths about teaching” is hardly ground-breaking content; there are a host of blogs, articles, and social media posts where teachers grouse about how clueless non-educators can be about the teaching profession. I understand this, and I make no claim that this post is anything more than stuff I’d like to get off my chest now that I have the time.

“Summers Off”: Let’s start with a common one, and an easy one to debunk. One of the first gifts I received when I began my teaching career was one of those signs that says, “Three Reasons for Teaching: June, July, August.” Insulting? Maybe. Inaccurate? Yes, and horribly so. Technically, you can say that teachers get “summers off” because they are not officially working in the classroom during that time. But the real myth is in how people interpret that phrase, and how that time is spent. For one thing, teachers are still expected to get additional instruction for themselves during the summer. Call it what you want – professional development, extended education, personal growth, etc. There is an expectation that each teacher find, enroll in, and attend something. It used to be minimum 12 hours of such instruction, so roughly 1.5 to 2 days, depending on how it’s structured. More importantly, this time is UNPAID. The teacher often has to pay a fee out-of-pocket to get this instruction. Occasionally, districts will host their own professional development conference designed to fulfill these requirements at a nominal cost to the teachers. There are also certain organizations that host events designed for teachers at minimal cost. Either way, it’s not like the teachers run out of the building after the last bell rings and go on vacation until next year’s first bell rings. There are commitments required of them even when they’re technically off-contract.

The other problem with this myth is the notion that a teacher’s paychecks during the summer months are somehow “money for nothing.” Here’s how things work in reality: A typical teacher contract is based on a Daily Rate of Pay multiplied by the Number of Contract Days (Instructional + Non-Instructional, such as district staff development and workdays). Let’s say your Daily Rate is $350 with a contract of 187 days >> $350 x 187 = $59,840. $59,840 ÷ 12 = $4986.67, which would be your gross monthly pay. Keep in mind, those 187 days are worked during the school year, so the paychecks for non-contract months like June and July are actually deferred payments. Work now, earn later. Definitely NOT money-for-nothing.

“Teachers only work 187 days a year? Wimps. I work 365.” No, you do NOT. The average worker on a 5-day week with 2 weeks of vacation yields 5 x 50 = 250 days of work. Yes, it is 63 more days than a teacher contract, but that typical worker also leaves after 8 hours. Teachers often stay well past their contract time, usually to help students and/or grade papers. Keep in mind, too, that those 63 days are NOT PAID. Also, show me another profession where, if you have to take a day off, you also have to provide a complete plan for a substitute worker – who will likely be untrained for your job – so that the task you’re missing that day still gets completed.

Teaching is inherently altruistic: Ah, yes, how people try to justify paying teachers less. I remember sitting at a summer conference for economics teachers at the Federal Reserve Bank of Dallas when a presenter was talking about disparities in pay between teachers and certain workers in private sector finance jobs. She literally said, to a group of teachers, “you all are somewhat selfless and motivated by compassionate forces, so you’re willing to accept lower salaries.” You can imagine the chorus of responses. She was trying to justify the disparity with an assumption about the teaching profession. It is an all-too-common refrain anytime someone wants to justify obscene compensation for one group against unfairly low compensation for another: “You’re not in it for the money; you’re in it as a ‘calling.’” It’s ridiculous. I prefer the philosophy espoused by the Joker in The Dark Knight: “If you’re good at something, never do it for free.” A good teacher deserves to be paid as such. The overarching problem in society as that the system doesn’t value education, as an industry, the way it does others like finance or entertainment. One might also think, “Just teach college or private school and make more money.” Wrong again. The fact is, as underpaid as a typical public school teacher is, he/she is making more money than is likely in a collegiate or private school setting. Society doesn’t really value education. (Yet another future blog topic.) Mercifully, beginning teacher compensation has increased substantially since I accepted an annual salary of $21,000 per year when I started in 1994. Society has at least begun to figure out that better pay draws better teachers. But there’s still a long way to go.

Teachers “ended up” there: This myth is essentially born of a favorite bullsh** maxim you might’ve heard – “Those who can, do; Those who can’t, teach.” I am ashamed to admit that my own father uttered this to me once when I was younger. (Although I won’t be delineating any of my daddy issues anytime soon.) This one is patently insulting, assuming that the person who stands in front of your children (or yourself) is only there because they failed at what they really wanted to do. Typically, this myth is accessed when someone simply doesn’t like something about the teacher – personality, how the teacher treated their precious little one at some point, you name it – so they grasp at an intentionally demeaning idea in an effort to somehow reduce the teacher’s authority by diminishing their purpose in the profession. Because if you ended up there, surely you shouldn’t garner any respect, right? But rest assured, I and the vast majority of my colleagues could have chosen a multitude of careers instead of teaching. Heck, during my first five supposed “summers off,” I looked around for other jobs and received interviews and offers. But none of them ultimately held the appeal of my teaching career as I was building it in those early years.

Teaching is easy to get into: This myth is basically a corollary to the previous one. And it’s another one I’m ashamed to admit I have heard in my own family. You might’ve heard something like this – “I’ll try to do ___________, but if not, I’ll just teach.” Beware anytime someone suggests they can just proceed into a given field; it’s dismissive and disrespectful. Oh, you’ll just move into a profession in which it’ll take years to feel competent, and even more to feel like you’re actually doing well? You’ll just go into a profession where you have to manage the behavior of other people’s children and learn to hold their attention well enough to help them actually learn something? This myth isn’t ridiculous or insulting; it’s laughable. It assumes that all you need to teach is knowledge of your subject and perhaps some PowerPoint slides. It doesn’t acknowledge the need for presentation skills, or patience, or classroom management ability, or a host of other skills that a teacher draws from on any given day. It ignores the specialized abilities that are minimal for the most marginally competent teacher. Considering the exodus of qualified, certified teachers from the profession into other jobs, along with the teacher shortage they leave behind, you would think this myth would rightfully die. Instead, we still have a teacher shortage, and more districts than ever find themselves filling jobs with uncertified teachers. If teaching was so easy to pursue, these things wouldn’t happen.

Teachers only teach to the test: This myth is a recent favorite among people who like to decry the current system of state assessment and accountability. And on one level, I agree with them – the Texas system of assessment and accountability is kind of a mess…but that’s another post for another time. “Teaching to the test” itself, as a criticism, is a myth because the reality is, ALL good teaching teaches to the test. When I taught AP Macroeconomics for a dozen years, I was expected to teach to the test. It was literally my job as the instructor to offer enough instruction for my students to succeed on the AP Exam. Give them all the tools they need. On a broader level, curriculum and pedagogy are driven by knowledge and skills, i.e., what students should know and be able to do as a result of instruction.  For an athletic team, the test is the game, and all preparation, instruction, practice, and coaching teaches toward success in that event. For a music ensemble or a theater troupe, the test is the performance, and all preparation, instruction, and rehearsal teaches toward success in that event. So it goes for academic classes, as well. When a geography class is studying a unit on Latin America, all preparation, instruction, and practice work teaches toward knowledge and skills associated with that region. Will there be some drill-and-practice? Probably. Will certain themes and topics be covered multiple times? Absolutely, especially things with which students appear to struggle. There is nothing wrong with this. Do you really think the teacher simply offers a series of high-minded lectures with no discernible target in mind? Of course not. Good educational planning is often done in reverse. The teacher identifies the learning targets and plans an instructional sequence leading to them. They teach to the test. If you, as a parent or student, cannot stand the activities being used in the STAAR era, your quarrel is with the test itself, not the practice of teaching to the test. And I will gladly join your battle with STAAR, because it’s a well-intended system that has run amok in its evolution. Let’s create a better test and teach to it. You’ll be surprised at how much instruction improves, and how students enjoy the experience more.

Teachers try to indoctrinate students: This myth is definitely a more recent phenomenon, and it’s primarily driven by politics. Typically, the people promoting this myth are the same ones decrying nebulous concepts like CRT, DEI, and “woke ideology” in the schools, despite the fact that they cannot cite any specific evidence of their existence. Nevertheless, the narrative promoted in this myth is the same as it’s always been…that you, your values, and your very way of life are under attack by these horrible teachers who entered the profession primarily to carry out some illicit intent. These same educators who they’ll characterize as incompetent imbeciles are still somehow so smart and crafty that they’re secretly conspiring to indoctrinate your kids into a belief system that runs counter to everything you hold dear. It’s the politics of anger, because the whole world is clearly going down the drain, and someone has to be blamed for it, damn it. This mindset is literally as old as politics. Tell a group of people that their lives and the world they live in is terrible, and it’s someone else’s fault. Teachers have become a convenient scapegoat just as they were in previous historical eras. But the truth is that the vast majority of teachers don’t have time to inject their own political, social, religious, or other beliefs into instruction. The demands of the curriculum, classroom management, grading, and other tasks are too great for anyone to worry about it. And the power and influence needed to succeed at any indoctrination effort are typically beyond most teachers’ reach. We’re literally trying to get students to sit down, pay attention, and do their work. If a teacher really had the power to indoctrinate, most would use that power to get students to show up to class on-time, participate appropriately, and complete their work.

Coaches are lazy and poor teachers: I saved the worst for last, and it’s especially appropriate because Texas HS Coaches Day was just last Friday, November 7. This myth has been around forever. It’s certainly been spread through movies and television, and it’s your typical low-hanging fruit at any given school: Coach So-and-So is a lazy, terrible teacher. He only shows movies in class, no one does any work, he doesn’t care if you come to class…yada, yada, yada. This myth is also, in my opinion, the most egregious based on three decades in public education. And I worked in social studies, so believe me, I taught with coaches. Lots of coaches. Here’s the thing about coaching: Coaching IS teaching. You help students establish knowledge and skills about their sport and their opponent. You help them build on what they do well and fix what they do poorly. And you work to position them to succeed. You do these same things in any academic classroom, whether in a core subject or an elective. This is why I can probably count on one hand the number of coaches who I believe were poor classroom teachers. And you know what? Those coaches were also poor coaches. You know what else? I can probably count at least the same number of “non-coach” teachers who were poor teachers. The point is, not everyone’s cut out to teach, regardless of whether or not they are hired as an athletic coach. What’s more, not everyone who is cut out to teach is also cut out to coach. There’s an even bigger demand on coaches in terms of time, commitment, knowledge, patience, dedication, and compassion. Sure, there’s a stipend, but it does not come close to covering the true value that coaches bring to students. Instead of lauding teachers while dogging coaches as somehow inferior to teachers, society should be lauding coaches even more for the extra time and care they devote. Same for band directors. Same for instructors in other fine arts. Same for all the club sponsors who stay after school and work on weekends with students. You really have no idea how many adults in a typical school go above-and-beyond for your children until you’ve been around them day after day, week after week, year after year. Chief among these are coaches. And while it may seem convenient to cite specific news items about specific coaches in specific places who are placed on administrative leave, dismissed, or even arrested for something salacious, then say, “All these coaches are awful,” remember this: Those events made the news because they deviate from the norm. Your local news is ultimately interested in ratings. “Breaking News: The coaches at your local school all worked late today to keep your kids safe and help them improve” doesn’t get ratings. It doesn’t get any attention.

That really is the bottom line regarding myths about teachers: It’s all about attention. “Teachers work hard, don’t get paid enough, and generally do a good job” is a true statement. It also doesn’t capture much attention, whether on a news broadcast, in a movie or TV show, or certainly on social media. What will get attention? Complaining in general, but also complaining about teachers – how they get summers off, or how they should stop asking for higher salaries, or how they’re only teachers because they can’t do anything else, or how easy it is to become a teacher, or how they just teach to the test, or how they’re trying to poison the minds of children, or how this or that coach is lazy and good-for-nothing. They’re all easy attention-getting claims to make, even though they’re untrue. But Americans are regularly fed the notion that our education system is failing, so these myths gain traction as people grasp for explanations. It is true that education in America has problems, especially compared to other nations, but the reasons and potential solutions for these issues are actually complex and require us to examine ourselves, both individually and collectively. And people don’t want to deal with complexity, and they certainly don’t want to engage in some tough self-examination. But perhaps it’s time we do, and stop promoting lies about the people who do their best for our children every day.

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On Teaching

Listen to this Post

Above Audio Recorded Using:

  • Microphone – Deity S-Mic 2
  • Interface – AudioSigma MicHero Classic
  • Hardware – iPad Pro 11″ M4
  • Software – TwistedWave for iOS
  • Additional Software Treatment via MacBook Air M2 13″ – AU HiPass, LoudMax, iZotope RX11 Mouth De-Click, AU GraphicEQ

Recorded in my Home Studio

Sunday, October 5, 2025 was World Teachers’ Day, an international day for celebrating the work of teachers. The day was established way back in 1994 (my first year of teaching), but the intent behind it goes back before I was born, to the 1966 ILO/UNESCO Recommendation concerning the Status of Teachers. If you are or have been a teacher, you should check it out; it’s an interesting read that outlined things you’ve probably talked about at some point in your career. In 1966. Almost 60 years, later, teachers are still fighting to get some of these ideas treated seriously in the U.S., and certainly in Texas.

I haven’t actually been a classroom teacher in 12 years, although I have gotten to use my teaching skills when training teachers and administrators on testing topics – in live presentations, in videos, and even through documents designed to provide guidance. And you might think, “Well, that’s still teaching,” but it’s just not the same. Trainings for adults might be technically called teaching, but there’s an energy in a classroom of actual K-12 students, no matter the age, that is unique. That energy gets even more unique as you examine classrooms for different subjects. An English classroom differs from a math classroom, which differs from a music classroom, which differs from a culinary classroom. They’re all distinctive. They’re all special. For me, as a retired educator, they should all be treated as sacred.

And that, ironically, is ultimately why teaching is the worst. Because although an individual teacher might want the classroom to be considered sacred, or at least treated with respect, reality in the U.S. is that it’s not. From the 1966 Recommendation:

Teaching should be regarded as a profession: it is a form of public service which requires of teachers expert knowledge and specialized skills, acquired and maintained through rigorous and continuing study; it calls also for a sense of personal and corporate responsibility for the education and welfare of the pupils in their charge.

That seems clear and sensible, right? And yet, the teaching profession in 2025 is subject to a monumental variety of forces that, despite what may be good intentions, actually interfere with the teacher’s professional responsibilities, especially in public education. There are a host of myths about teaching and teachers that I will delineate in a different post later on. There are politicians constantly seeking to interfere with the curriculum, either on a general or specific level. Lately, in Texas, it’s all about legal requirements to post the Ten Commandments while at the same time removing any and all suggestion that Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion are worthwhile concepts. Oh, and be careful not to create any lessons that some parent could construe as “critical race theory” (if they can even define what constitutes a CRT lesson for K-12). There’s going to be interference from whatever the latest social media rage bait is, no matter how ridiculous, undermining the curriculum, whether it’s actual lesson topics or simply books that someone insists are offensive or subversive. And certain subjects, like social studies, are regularly politicized as different topics are tabbed to add or remove from the state requirements. Curriculum revision is a fact of educational life, but too often, it’s influenced by political whims and imaginary threats instead of new knowledge or priorities worth emphasizing.

But curriculum isn’t the only road block for teachers. Remember that the accountability system is supposed to help us “identify failing schools,” which too often means we’re going to hammer the teachers in those schools. We’ll call it “support,” but we’ll also ignore that many schools are failing because the assessment system inherently works against students of, shall we say, a certain socioeconomic and/or demographic status. And behind that support is an ongoing threat of dismissal for the very teachers trying to serve marginalized students. Even among high-performing schools, there’s an inherent pressure related to performance. In the era of A-F accountability, parents and community – particularly in wealthy districts – expect their school to get an A just like so many helicopter parents lose their minds when their precious angel gets any grade below 100. It becomes an obsession. I remember being at a meeting of district administrators early in the A-F era when my district at the time scored 89.7, which rounded up to an A. They literally bought Crush brand sodas for the principals (Because “crushed it,”…get it? <insert eye-roll here>) and encouraged people to cheer and high-five each other. For an 89.7. And just last year, at the last campus where I worked, I sat with the rest of the staff as a central administrator stood in front of us presenting accountability data. Keep in mind, this campus had long struggled with TEA’s metrics (those pesky socioeconomics and demographics) and usually hovered around D and even F territory. Yet this lady talked – earnestly, with a straight face – about how close we were, with just a few “adjustments,” to making an A. “We know how to play TEA’s game now.” I literally had to stifle laughter; maybe I need to start drinking whatever liquor she consumes. That campus did make a C in 2025, but I don’t know if that result was celebrated for its improvement, or if it was reviled because “we thought you could do better.” Either way, the obsession is insane.

That’s ultimately why I treated my job over the past 12 years as “I’m here to help you stay sane.” Because TEA’s system of assessment and accountability really is insane, born of legislative mandates that lie somewhere between absurd and preposterous. I have no doubt that TEA’s staff are doing their best to make it work, but in the end, they are at the behest of politicians. Even the Texas Education Commissioner is himself a politician. He has never been an educator; he was a software developer who won election running unopposed for the Dallas ISD School Board. He has since leveraged his political connections into different positions, including Commissioner in charge of TEA, under the guise of being some kind of expert on public education, despite never having actually worked in public education. He has visited classrooms, but he’s never taught in a classroom. His general perspective on schools is, like it or not, a contrived one, because everybody rolls out the proverbial red carpet when the commissioner is visiting. It’s the nature of the position. Even with the best of intentions, he has never authentically experienced what a classroom teacher experiences.  He’s never had to manage unruly children when the moon is full. He’s never had to grade papers. He’s never had to improvise when a lesson falls flat or technology isn’t working correctly. He’s never had to experience a fire drill, an illegally pulled fire alarm, a malfunctioning fire alarm, or a genuine fire alarm in the middle of class. He’s never had to attend Open House after a difficult day of classes. He’s never had to deal with students who don’t come to class or turn in work. He’s never had to call and e-mail parents when their children aren’t coming to class or turning in work. He’s never had to deal with parents who unjustifiably have problems with his classroom management, his grading, his teaching style, or accusations that he’s catering to his favorite students. He’s never had to sit in ARD meeting after ARD meeting. He’s never had the mind-numbing duty of administering STAAR, either in a testing room or as a monitor of a hall or restroom. And he’s never had to experience an evaluation system that seeks to judge a wide variety of classrooms and teachers, each of which is distinctive in its own right, on a single, one-size-fits-all rubric. He’s also never had to experience the so-called calibration process that administrators are required to struggle through to complete such a rubric. None – I repeat, NONE – of these politicians have been expected to experience the consequences of their mandates and pronouncements. The teachers (and often, the students) are the sufferers of the insanity.

So teaching can be the worst, primarily due to politicians and bureaucrats who never ingest the medicine they’re concocting. And yet…teaching is still The Best. School board members (also politicians) may attend graduation and shake students’ hands, but they don’t experience the truly authentic emotions that teachers get to experience as they congratulate those same students. Those emotions are born of connection. Regular connection, as experts – yes, trained professionals – strive to reach young people and help them learn content and skills, not just because they’re required, not just because they’re in the curriculum or on a test, but because those young people can become better adults through the experience. Sometimes that regular connection happens over the course of several years and is therefore even stronger. Teaching is the best because of that connection leading to celebrations of big moments, like awards, achievements, and milestones such as graduation. Teaching is also the best because of little moments filled with humor, compassion, adversity, frustration, persistence, and more. Teaching is the best because there is enormous satisfaction to be had from working with students to develop good habits, build confidence, and use their own minds and abilities to learn, to achieve, to excel. And perhaps seeing them after they’re no longer your students and discovering that you’ve inspired them toward something they might not have imagined while sitting in your classroom. There is nothing like it.

“If teaching is so great, how come you didn’t stay in the classroom or return to it before you retired?” I left the classroom because of an appealing opportunity based on the work I got to do and the people with whom I got to work. Even though circumstances changed over time and the work became an unfulfilling grind, I don’t regret the decision to leave the classroom. I sometimes engaged in self-loathing and perhaps despair, but I also fought the good fight in the face of madness. And after 12 years away from the classroom, I didn’t believe I could work myself back into proverbial “teaching shape” to handle the day-to-day tasks that would appropriately serve a group of students. At least not enough to justify staying in the system, especially with the political nonsense that continues to happen in Texas. Nevertheless, as I look back, I can point to my time in the classroom as, perhaps, the most rewarding years of my career. I got to work with some remarkable students. I believe I became an excellent instructor of my subject, and I developed a strong rapport with my students – both were necessary for economics, where you’re teaching “the dismal science” as a graduation requirement to students who otherwise would not choose to be there. I got to teach other subjects, with similar reward. I remember teaching an elective class called “The Impact of Music on Society” in the days before the obsession with testing and labyrinthine accountability. I got to create the class and develop the curriculum from scratch, so I crafted something that took my music background and married it with my training in social studies subject matter. It was a popular class, and more challenging than some students expected. Perhaps the biggest reward came when I was selected for a teaching award by one of my students in that class – a top graduate – who talked about how the topics we covered in the course allowed her to make deeper personal connections with her parents and grandparents, over music. As a musician and a social studies teacher, it was eminently fulfilling. That was a very public recognition, but my favorite one was very private, a little over a decade ago. A former student was on-campus to pick up some documents and was visiting her high school teachers. She told me that my AP Macroeconomics class inspired her to get a Bachelor’s degree in economics, and she was next headed to law school and wanted to specialize in economic law. Talk about an overwhelming and rewarding moment. No politician, no mandate, no state assessment, no accountability framework created that moment. It happened because I worked to connect with my students, help them see things in the subject that mattered, and help them see things in themselves that also mattered. I had the honor of hearing first-hand that my work paid off. Thousands of teachers do the exact same thing as I did, every day; they’re doing it even as you read this. Hopefully they, too, may realize in no uncertain terms that the work they do in service to their students pays off handsomely in the future.

Here’s to teachers. And to teaching.