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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.

On Teaching

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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.

Modern Marching Band: The Magical, the Mundane, and the Remarkable – Part 1

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Above Audio Recorded Using:

  • Microphone – Sony c-80
  • Interface – AudioSigma MikeHero DSP
  • 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

Last Friday, I worked a high school football game for the second week in a row. That’s no big deal, but for context, consider that, from 2004 to 2018, I did PA announcing for a lot of high school football, including 12 years from 2007-2018 where I was the exclusive voice of all games at a local stadium. Then I left that district and have only done substitute football PA work since. My last game prior to this year was in 2022. Being immersed in the high school football scene for so many years, followed by a respite, followed by back-to-back experiences, elicited some observations that I had not really expected. “Is this post about football?” Not really. High school football is high school football – a mixed bag, depending on the season, the teams, and the time of the season. I’ll post thoughts on high school football some other time, but today we really need to talk about marching bands.

I am, proudly, a band nerd. Started learning saxophone in the summer of 1980, and still play when I can. Also, I could specifically be considered a marching band nerd. Drum Major at my high school for 2 years, followed by 5 years at the University of Texas at Arlington (I took 4.5 years to finish my Bachelor’s degree, so I marched that extra season). I’ve followed Drum Corps International since 1984. I actually got into voiceover primarily through doing PA announcing for marching band contests, and I have been the PA voice of the U.T. Arlington Maverick Marching Band since 1998. The point is, I’ve been in bands, I’ve led bands, I’ve showcased bands, and I’ve watched bands with an educated and experienced set of eyes and ears for 45 years.

“Oh, boy, here comes an old man rant about how silly modern marching band is because of how much it’s changed.” Actually, No. I will admit to having issued old-man-rants in the past about certain elements of marching band and drum corps, but I think my perspective is tempered now by a little more age and a lot more wisdom.

Straight-up honesty…Band is awesome. Marching Band is awesome. (Concert Band is awesome, too, but I’ll detail why in another post some other time.) Marching Band isn’t perfect, but that doesn’t change the fact that it is simply incredible. Why? Let’s start from the ground up. (“From the top,” if you will.) Learning to play a musical instrument successfully is, on its face, a magical thing when you think about it. The required physical dexterity demands a level of concentration many people don’t realize. But that concentration eventually becomes second-nature and habitual, to the point that even an amateur player is accomplishing something amazing. The player also learns to read music, decoding all the symbols and terms and changing the sounds they’re making to bring what’s on the page to sonic life. Now put that player in an ensemble, where they have to listen to everyone else, follow the conductor, and match it all up to create a performance.

Sounds cool, right? Great! Now, stand up, move your feet to the beat, then learn a bunch of new step styles to glide across a football field while still playing your instrument. Forward and Backward. Establish control of your body so that your legs can take you one direction while your upper body faces another, maintaining proper posture to allow you to blow through your horn or play your drum(s) accurately. Next, learn to change the direction and position of every part of your body. Oh yeah…you also have to move from Point A to Point B in X number of counts, maintaining awareness of everyone else around you so that, when everyone is positioned properly, it “looks like something” from the stands. (In band terms, it’s called “form.”) And while you’re engaging in all this movement, you’re still playing, AND you’ve memorized all the music. All of it, every note.

Prefer to ditch the playing part and just do visual things on the field? Fantastic! You can join the colorguard. Here’s a flag — you’re going to learn how to hold it in various positions, how to spin it, how to toss it in the air and catch it. Here’s a rifle — same skills but with a different shape and weight. Here’s a bunch of other equipment — more flags, sabers, whatever your instructor can dream up — and you’ll learn to use this stuff, too. We’ll teach you a bunch of movements using this equipment, and you also get to memorize all of it and perform it to the music played.

Now, everyone, we’re also going to learn how to dance. Not dancing like at a club, but actual ballet principles: foot positions, leg positions, general body movement. Instrumentalists will have some choreography mixed in with the marching. Colorguard, you’re going to go even deeper with these skills so that you can jump, spin, and perform even more choreography together. You might literally lift and carry each other around at times. Everyone might also have props on the field that you could stand on, move, step around, change, or march across. You’re also going to do this wearing uniforms and/or costumes, and we might have moments where you change something on your uniform so that the colors on the field look different. Of course, you also have to carry all the stuff you take onto the field back off of it, before the clock expires.

Oh! Before we forget – some of you need to step forward as drum majors, leading and coordinating this on the field. You will help manage our rehearsals, try to inspire and motivate everybody, and conduct all the music at the correct tempo and with the appropriate style. You’ll be the proverbial face of the group, acknowledging the judges and audience, and generally representing what your band stands for. You’ll have some authority, but everybody on the field is also the same age as you, and they are your peers, so walk that line carefully. And be sure to help us keep our energy high when everyone’s wondering if any of this is worth it or is otherwise not on their best behavior.

So, we’re going merge all of these skills to learn roughly 8-11 minutes of music, movement, and choreography, start learning and rehearsing it in the heat of August, then work to perfect it over the next 2 months so that we can perform it by late September or early October. It just might suck at first, but we’ll work on it all to make bad stuff good and the good stuff better. Our goal will be to perfect it by mid-late October and have a chance to compete with it into early November. Did I mention we’re going to do all this work before or after school? Did I also mention that you still have to go to class and maintain your grades?

By the way, every Friday, we go to every football game, and you’ll have to carry all your stuff with you to the game. You might not even go home after school and instead make it a 16-hour (or longer) day. Some of you will help load all the percussion equipment and large instruments on a truck. We’ll go into the stands and cheer for the football team, except for midway through the 2nd quarter, when we’ll head to the end zone to prep for our halftime performance. Hopefully most of the fans stay to watch our performance instead of heading to the restrooms or concession stands. Then it’s back into the stands for the second half. We’ll repeat that process for at least 10 weeks. And in October, we’ll spend time rehearsing every Saturday before we pack up and head out to a contest, where we’ll hope to perform twice. We may also have some other performances on October weeknights.

But wait; that’s not all. We’ll also learn music to play in the stands at football games, plus a different song each week to play for the drill team’s performance. Don’t forget the fight song, alma mater, and national anthem. There may also be additional music to learn as the season goes on. If the football team advances to the playoffs, we might learn a different show just to keep things interesting. And some of you will also still work on longer, more difficult concert music for the stage in addition to everything else.

Sound cool? Trust me, it actually IS. But the whole experience, laid out like this, also sounds incredibly daunting. And…it IS. But it’s worth it, and it really is magical. The sense of accomplishment an individual performer gets as they learn the fundamentals, then apply them, then have a chance to hone them, then perform at a higher and higher level, is astonishing. The sense of camaraderie the entire group can develop as they work through a given season is unbelievable. The sense of belonging students and alumni can establish over several years with a school band program is indescribable. People like to say, “they work as hard as the football team.” If we’re just talking about time commitment and perhaps physical effort, that may be true. But band is fundamentally different from any sport. Athletic success is, for better or worse, measured on the scoreboard for all to see, and student-athletes can become disheartened by a losing season or gratified by a winning one. Marching band has scores at contests, but those can be terribly misleading because there are many more intrinsic rewards embedded in the activity. No one knows the exact sum of effort and determination it took a given ensemble just to get there except the performers themselves. A band could finish last at every contest and still come away feeling like it was a magical season. And it is magical.

Come back tomorrow to read about the mundane and the remarkable.

The Illusion of Learning: State and Local Assessment

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Above Audio Recorded Using:

  • Microphone – Sennheiser MKH-416
  • Interface – cEntrance PASport VO
  • Hardware – MacBook Air M3 13″
  • Software – TwistedWave
  • Additional Software Treatment — AU HiPass, AUGraphicEQ, LoudMax, iZotope RX11 Mouth De-Click

Recorded in my Home Studio

I admit that I have experienced a fair amount of self-loathing for the role I held in education the last 12 years of my career. The first 19 years, when I was teaching, were the most fulfilling. I got to work with some fantastic students. Even the unremarkable students were teenagers, after all, and I like to think that they all figured things out over time and became contributing members of society. I don’t remember having any students who I thought were actually terrible humans. I had some truly gratifying moments in my teaching years, because instruction – the teacher-student rapport that you build over a semester, a year, or even multiple years in some courses – is the literal backbone of education. To me, it’s sacred. As I moved into campus-level assessment, I actually experienced the best of both worlds. For 5 years, I still got to teach one class per day, plus I had the pleasure of supporting my colleagues as we navigated the nonsense of state & local assessment. And make no mistake: it is largely nonsense. These tests provide an illusion that we’re tracking student learning, but mostly we’re just adding a bunch of extraneous activities that intrude upon actual instruction and slowly drive teachers insane. My focal point on the administrative side of things was simple – my job is to help you keep your sanity.

I maintained that same mentality throughout the final 12 years of my career after I moved 100% into the realm of assessment. Whether we’re talking about the old TAAS or TAKS system, the current STAAR, or whatever TEA concocts in the future, the state assessment system in Texas is basically insane. We’re talking about a system where we give your son or daughter a single test each spring that is longer than anything they’ve encountered in an authentic classroom setting (also longer than nationally accepted standardized tests), from which we intend to measure whether that child has “learned” the content based on our arbitrary scale, and from which we also intend to determine whether that child has made adequate “progress” from the previous grade level. In multiple subjects. Then we’ll do it all again a year from now, even though the curriculum for those courses may be vastly different. Wow, for the system to work, that had better be one incredibly sophisticated set of multiple choice questions.

“Oh, but it’s not all multiple-choice anymore.” Yeah, sure. You can add in the choose-all-that-apply items, drag-and-drop, short and long “constructed response” items, but that doesn’t really make the test comprehensive. Those item types are ultimately window-dressing designed to suppress the notion that a given student has a probability of getting 20-25% correct simply by guessing. Any teacher can tell you a truly sophisticated gauge of student progress would track it class-by-class, if possible, on an authentic level based on the content. Instant, regular, consistent feedback is the most reliable. But fewer, infrequent tests with a greater number of items on each are always less valuable in tracking student learning and facilitating better instruction. Always. Regardless of the item types. While nationally accepted standardized tests, like SAT and ACT, are infrequent and extended, they are intended to capture a snapshot of a given student’s academic readiness for college, and schools consider them as part of a broader picture of the student’s profile because they know the tests aren’t perfect. No university in the world puts all of the proverbial student eggs in the testing basket.

And yet, somehow we do exactly this in the United States from grade 3 through high school. The current system has the federal government requiring states to use high-stakes, flawed assessments to answer the question, “Is our children learning?” Agencies like TEA spend millions consulting with testing firms to create these tests, which are then used for all the purposes already mentioned, and whose results then determine the majority of each campus’ and district’s accountability rating for the year (it will take a series of posts or podcasts to deconstruct what a mess the accountability system in Texas is). Now, I realize that certain statisticians or psychometricians may argue for the validity and reliability of STAAR, but this post isn’t arguing those issues, nor am I exploring the notion that the tests are inherently biased against certain demographic groups. For me, the bottom line is that the system as presently constituted is, on its face, detrimental to students and the teachers attempting to educate them because the very notion of an annual test for children simply cannot be considered the end-all-be-all in determining whether they are learning, whether they are making sufficient academic progress, or whether the campus and its teachers are meeting any practical standard of performance.

Yet here we are. And the fun REALLY begins when district administrators get a hold of some data points, develop an addiction to buzzwords like “data-driven instruction” and “rigor,” and decide they want more, More, MORE in the name of determining whether students are performing throughout the school year. Enter Local Assessment, a veritable obsession for many districts (my last district included) as they embark on a quest for – let’s be honest here – some kind of predictor of their accountability for the current year. Sure, student learning is an objective, but the real goal is the score and letter grade we can trumpet in board meetings, news releases, and social media. And it’s created an entire cottage industry: the “benchmark test” that attempts to imitate STAAR in content, format, and difficulty so that students can literally practice…testing. Not necessarily the skills embedded in the coursework, and certainly not skills that might work across different courses. Nope. Testing practice. Texas law currently limits districts from administering more than two benchmark tests in a given school year. (And, voila!, TEA developed their own “Interim Assessments” – two per year – whose sole purpose is to predict a student’s STAAR performance for the year. More on that sham another time.) But hey, that’s OK – your local school district will simply purchase and/or develop a series of smaller tests and call them something besides “benchmarks” – curriculum assessments (CAs), curriculum-based assessments (CBAs), quarterly assessments (QAs), insert your own title and initials here – these tests are all specifically designed to circumvent Texas law on benchmark testing. Sometimes these tests are actually quite short; other times they may require “shutdown testing,” as my last district called it, so a good portion of an instructional day (or maybe all of it depending on what class you teach) is burned away. Short or long, this testing is administered outside the normal testing that occurs in a classroom, meaning that instructional time is interrupted simply for the sake of district-level testing and data. Teachers and students become pawns for the central office bean-counters.

“That should be acceptable if the data is used to inform teachers about student performance and improve instruction.” Absolutely! As the great Kenan Thompson once said, “I mean…it should be.” And sometimes, it happens. SOMETIMES. When I worked under Dr. Teresa Stegall (see last week’s post), we operated under a mantra where “assessment should inform instruction.” But too often, the data is altogether ignored at the campus level, or worse, it’s used in a punitive fashion. Teachers are punished because of their students’ performance. Principals are called into meetings with lofty names like “Cadence of Accountability,” where they have to present their data on the most recent CBAs, defend their numbers, and lay out a plan of action if those numbers fall below expectations. Often, such meetings are incredibly adversarial, where central administrators are almost hostile toward campus principals. I know this because I used to support these principals as an assessment & accountability coordinator, either preparing them for an upcoming meeting or assisting them in the aftermath. The stories could be brutal and actually changed my perception of certain central administrators. The process often seemed like the old joke about “the beatings will continue until morale improves.” No productive or supportive environment, but plenty of accusations and ridicule to go around.

Do you really think, after suffering through such adversarial garbage, principals then go back to their teachers full of energy and support? Maybe the most noble ones do. But more likely, the message and tone received from central office is passed to teachers through badgering and negativity. Then we wonder why morale is down and teachers look to escape to other districts, or out of the profession entirely. But do we ever consider that “maybe this isn’t working?” Heck, no. “It’s what we’ve always done.” (At least for the past two decades.) This is the cycle that high-stakes assessment has begotten. And even as TEA, or the legislature, or the federal government, promise reforms and simplification, what I like to call the “testing industrial complex” (shout-out to the great President Eisenhower) continues to churn and roll along. And no one will have the actual courage to step up and admit that it’s harmful to students, that more and more testing literally crowds out time for teacher-student rapport, for teacher-teacher collaboration, for…you know, instruction. The politicians at the national, state, and local level would rather point to incremental gains that might be illusory and call them “miracles.” And the companies profiting from the system will be happy with that.

This whole sham lies at the core of whatever self-loathing I’ve experienced for the past dozen years. Yes, I tried to rise above the fray. I used hash tags like #respectinstructionaltime when communicating with teachers. I intentionally used humor to establish rapport with staff, letting them know that, as a so-called assessment professional, I understand how the proverbial “necessary evil” of testing was soul-crushing for them because it was sucking away time from the literal reasons they got into the profession. I even got into minor trouble at times for my humor (yet another story for another time), but I make no apologies, because my job was to help teachers, or principals, or fellow administrators, maintain their sanity. I stick by that. But I also stick by the belief that someone in a position of true authority needs the courage to stop this insanity. In the meantime, I ultimately decided that the grind was a bit too much, and not worth having it crowd out the time I wanted for other things in my life. No apologies there, either. And no apologies for using my voice to call out the system as the illusion that it is now that I am no longer constrained by it.

On Leadership

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Above Audio Recorded Using:

  • Microphone – Sony C-80
  • Interface – cEntrance PASport VO
  • Hardware – MacBook Air M3 13″
  • Software – TwistedWave
  • Additional Software Treatment — AU HiPass, LoudMax, iZotope RX11 Mouth De-Click

Recorded in my Home Studio

I’ve been thinking a lot about leadership lately. No doubt some of the impetus is reflection on my own personal and professional experience, but I’ve also seen recent news items: one superintendent changing districts, another retiring, a campus principal and long-time friend receiving national recognition for a simple act. I’ve also heard personal stories from several other friends and acquaintances in leadership roles about their life changes. As someone who’s unabashedly and unapologetically philosophical, things like this get my brain going.

I happen to love leadership. Not from the standpoint of having the illusion of power or the ability to make decisions. I just love stepping up and helping a group get things done. Throughout my academic career, I gravitated toward leadership roles, from being on the old Safety Patrol in elementary school to serving as president of Kappa Kappa Psi, my honorary band fraternity, in college. When I was in high school, I became a drum major of the marching band, something I did through college. 7 years total as a drum major, plus 16 years teaching drum major/leadership camps to high school students. Those 16 years as an instructor are really why I pursued a career as a teacher, because I enjoyed the learning process so much as I helped students discover their own abilities as leaders. It’s fair to say leadership as a pursuit has helped shape my life.

When I moved to central administration, I pursued a Master of Education degree in Educational Leadership (naturally). I actually had never previously anticipated getting a Master’s degree. I saw myself remaining a classroom teacher for roughly 30-40 years, then walking away. I didn’t want the disciplinary and other hassles that came with being an Assistant Principal, nor the politics that came with almost every position higher than that. But even as a classroom teacher, I was always willing to step up as a campus leader, so when the opportunity to split my work 50/50 as a teacher/data specialist arose, I took it. Campus Data Specialist meant I managed the state and local assessments for the campus. Not a lofty title, but it was leadership — getting things done, and helping teachers and students deal with a thankless but required task. Eventually, I moved up to District Testing Coordinator at central office — also a leadership role, now getting things done by helping campus administrators manage their own thankless but required tasks. And hence, the desire for an M.Ed. to help me fulfill the role better, and maybe move up the ranks if that was in the cards.

“Are you about to segue into a blathering list of all the things that are important qualities of a leader?”

No, you can find that kind of stuff with a simple web search and get all the leadership info your heart desires. What I can offer are a few simple guidelines about what good leadership is, based on my background and experience, along with some examples, good and bad, that I’ve encountered in my career.

So, the rules:

  1. Leadership boils down to two things: Inspiration and Influence. The leader inspires others toward the organization or group’s goals based on their conduct and character. The leader influences others sometimes by directing people to do specific things, but mostly by setting an example and doing those same things themselves.
  2. The central purpose of the leader is to get the appropriate things done for the group or organization and its members. That often means delegating to others who answer the proverbial call, but sometimes that may mean doing certain things yourself, and you’d better be willing to do it. There’s really only one question at the center of the leader’s focus regarding decisions, actions, directives, or behavior: “Does this benefit the group or organization and its members?”
  3. If there’s an essential quality of leaders that should reign above all others, it is Humility. Once you’ve convinced yourself that you know all, or you’re above certain tasks or rules, or you should be the sole arbiter of everything, you’re lost. That’s not leadership; it’s power. Humble yourself and recognize the value of everyone in the group or organization.
  4. There are multiple “right” ways to do everything. Flexibility is essential for leaders. If you’re not willing to change things up, then you’re not learning. And if you’re not learning, you’re stagnant. Organizations are like rivers: the water’s going to flow as long as there’s a sufficient source. The leader’s role is really to elicit the flow from the source and guide it in the proper direction. But just like a river, the organization can meander over time as needed because of different approaches toward the goal. That’s not dysfunction, it’s progress.
  5. There’s really no such thing as a “servant leader” distinct from “other” leaders. ALL leaders, if they’re doing it correctly, are serving the group or organization and its members. The term “servant leader” is just virtue-signaling lingo based on the notion that leadership is about power, so somehow the “servant leader” differentiates themselves. It’s a little disingenuous because it assumes the worst of people in leadership roles.

Having made those observations from my own experience, I am happy to say that the majority of the supervisors for whom I served were more good than bad as leaders. My first principal was a flawed individual, but his heart was in the right place, he meant well, and he was generally flexible about how to run the campus and made adjustments over time. My second principal was opening a new high school and was very much the picture of inspiration and influence. She thought more big-picture and allowed others to hammer out the details, and that collaborative approach helped establish a strong culture for the campus. Principals 3 and 4 were similar to my first principal in that they were good-hearted and flexible, and both were remarkably free from serious flaws. So yeah, I experienced a relatively charmed professional life at my first two campus stops.

Normally, I don’t identify my specific campuses, districts, or any individuals in my posts because this blog is not about clearing air or grinding axes; it’s about sharing insights and experiences. But I will occasionally break this rule to call out particularly positive individuals for their contributions to the education profession in general and to me, personally. Today I’ll break the rule three times. Here’s the first one: Dr. Teresa Stegall. She was my first boss in central administration as the Director of Research, Assessment, and Accountability, in which I served as Coordinator. In a word, Impeccable. She embodied every one of the five rules I listed above. The picture of grace and humility. I suspect she maintained such a great attitude because she had literally fulfilled every duty in the department by herself at one time or another in the past, and she had empathy not just for the department members, but for people across the entire district. She knew my own strengths and played to them, including making use of my interest in voiceover. She was also willing to do the work herself, as well, like the time she asked me to take an online course in Microsoft Access to enhance my skills, and then took the course herself along with me because she knew she could also benefit from it. Her character was, and is, unimpeachable, and she remains both a friend and mentor to this day.

Dr. Stegall ultimately retired from her position as Director, and after some reorganization by the district (another long tale for another post), the department simply didn’t operate the same. So I left that district after 25 years for potentially greener proverbial pastures. And while the upper administrators in my new district were excited to bring my personality and skills to town, I soon found that the new leader of that department would be the absolute worst leader I encountered in three decades in public education. I won’t call out this individual by name (frankly, it may as well be Voldemort, because we do not speak that name), but I recently ran across my exit letter to district Human Resources upon leaving, and Holy. Cow.

The exit letter was very factual and intended to document as many problems with inconsistent and poor leadership of the department as possible. 9 pages, 5,300 words. (!!!) I won’t bore you with details, but here are a couple of highlights to give you a sense of the issues:

  • I was hired in part because I brought an innovative approach to training and communication, including better layouts for department documents. When I revised a state assessment annual overview to increase its visual appeal, I was told, “Well, the one we had seemed to work just fine for 7 years.” Uh-Huh. Lack of flexibility: check. Lack of humility: check. Lovely. Passive-aggressive, too? Bonus.
  • On another occasion, I requested a testing check-in document from a previous year and was told, “I’m not going to share last year’s because you’ll just change it, anyway.” Wow, throw in some more passive-aggressiveness as the cherry on top.

And where Dr. Stegall appreciated my voiceover aspirations and worked to involve those in my work in the department, Lord Voldemort here seemed to resent them because it meant I wasn’t taking tasks home and working until 9:00pm like they were. What a disaster that year was.

Fortunately, the proverbial skies parted the following year as I returned to a high school campus and served under the next leader who I shall highlight, Laigha Boyle. She was easily the hardest-working principal for whom I ever worked and also embodies the rules I listed earlier. In fact, if there’s a flaw in Mrs. Boyle’s approach to leadership, it’s probably that she was a little too willing to do some things herself at times. But I know as she progresses in her career, she’ll develop more willingness to delegate. I wish her luck, as she has departed Texas public education to continue her career in New Mexico.

But I will save the best for last: Jason Mutterer. You might have heard the name. He is a long-time friend and colleague of mine going back to the late 1990s when we were the only two male World Geography teachers at an isolated ninth-grade campus for a larger high school. We actually entered the profession the same year, 1994. I tapped out after 31 years, but Jason is still going strong. He endured a fair amount of political nonsense on his journey in educational leadership, but he’s now the principal of the high school we both helped open in 2002, and he went viral on a national (and perhaps worldwide) scale this summer. Check it out if here you haven’t watched it. That action on his part – hand-writing a note to every senior for graduation – reveals his character, his commitment to his campus and its students, and his approach to leadership, in general. I’m certain his faculty and staff can tell stories that reflect his commitment specifically to them. I’ve known of his compassion and character for roughly three decades, and it’s been gratifying to see him persevere through hurdles in his own career, and now to see him receive well-deserved recognition for what is ultimately a simple but powerful gesture. It was a few months ago, but it still resonates, and it inspires others. But if you want to see the real reason Jason is such an effective leader, go to the 4:45 and 7:15 marks of the linked video and listen to him. Humility. “There’s a lot of people who could sit in this chair today.” He deflects the focus away from himself and talks about how his entire staff connects with students, how so many educators are doing similar things to serve their students, and we should celebrate them all. He managed to gain a free trip to New York and an appearance on the Today show, and yet he used the platform to showcase and uplift others. That, friends, is a leader.

Ode to Presentation Skills

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Above Audio Recorded Using:

  • Microphone – Rode NTG 5
  • Interface – AudioSigma MikeHero (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

Recorded in my Home Studio

Let’s talk Presentation Skills. You should probably get some if you will ever present something to a group of people. Or at least if you intend to do so in the future. Even if you won’t give any formal presentations, there still may be some value in knowing how to present something – a topic, a philosophy, an argument, even your career or life story. You never know when the moment will arise where it’s necessary to convey a message in a coherent, organized manner.

I attended a voiceover conference this past weekend and sat in on several presentations. It was pretty much all “sit-and-get” sessions with opportunities for questions. As you might expect, it was a mixed bag. But then, these were primarily voiceover artists whose profession regularly calls for them to interpret and deliver the words given to them, not necessarily write their own stuff, so I took a forgiving mindset into the presentations. One presenter eschewed any slides on-screen altogether (quiet hallelujah) and just talked through his points and ideas. That was admittedly a risky approach, but he was knowledgeable enough that he could proceed in this way and still help everyone in the room gain useful information. Others committed some proverbial cardinal sins of presentations. Clearly they were not quite polished enough, but that was still fine for this particular conference.

The experience reminded me that I have given hundreds of presentations in my lifetime. I’m actually quite good at it, maybe even great. Last year, one of my colleagues, after a presentation I had made during a faculty meeting, suggested I should become a professional presenter (not sure there is such a thing like that besides maybe emcee work; presenters usually have an area of expertise as a foundation). It’s definitely a skill I’ve cultivated, but I had to get good at it: I taught government and economics for 19 years, classes that were required for graduation but were not exactly at the top of any student’s wish list. When I moved into administration, I specialized in testing for another 12 years. Testing, where the topics really got mind-numbing…I mean, “challenging” — mostly compliance-oriented training on such wildly popular topics as test security & confidentiality, testing irregularities, testing procedures, student accommodations, and so forth. No one was ever busting down my door begging for a presentation. Sometimes I did get requests from specific groups needing specific training on specific topics that I understood and they didn’t. But even then, the topics were still Sahara-desert dry. The point is, I developed strong presentation skills because it was necessary. I knew that if I Ben-Stein-ed my way through it (you know Ben Stein, don’t you? “Anyone…anyone…Bueller?”), my audience is gone almost immediately. I had to be engaging, energetic, and focused on what the takeaway of this nonsense I’m talking about is. Otherwise it’s just boring political and bureaucratic talk, or “the dismal science,” or that awful testing stuff we have to cover every year.

I have also attended hundreds of presentations, many of which were excellent, but most of which, honestly, were somewhere between mediocre and brutally bad. Some even seemed impressive on the surface but were actually terrible, like the time a curriculum supervisor from a suburban ISD was supposed to be talking about her district’s correlation between curriculum development and assessment, but she A) talked so fast and B) spent so much time lavishing praise on her own district and its leadership — and NOT on the topic at hand — that I wondered how anyone was supposed to decipher any kind of point from it, let alone glean ways that their own district could use this information. I found myself just wanting the PowerPoint in PDF format so I could try to figure out anything I could actually use. Just stop talking already and please let me read instead.

Did you see that dreaded word in the previous paragraph? PowerPoint. Insert your own shuddering reaction here. Don’t get me wrong – PowerPoint, Keynote, Google Slides, Canva, Prezi – they’re all wonderful, powerful tools capable of enhancing your presentation. But they are tools. At the end of the day, no one cares how impressive the builder’s hammer was; they care about what the builder actually built. And a set of PowerPoint slides is only as effective as the message the presenter delivers with them. Transitions, animations, little GIFs embedded in Canva, etc. – they’re all nerdy and sometimes cool things in the programming, but they don’t make the presentation itself any more interesting. Sometimes they actually distract.

By now, you’re probably asking, “Okay, since you’re such a pro at presentations, what should everyone be doing to be like you, smart guy? HUH?!?” The answers are simpler than you might think. From my experience, a good presentation comes down to 5 core ideas:

  1. The old adage, “Begin with the End in Mind.” Don’t just start making slides or writing down notes to read from. Ask yourself, “what ideas or skills should people attending my presentation gain?” Someone who spends their time listening to you ought to get value out of that time. What value will you provide? Plan the takeaways for the audience before you plan the bullets and graphics and speaking points for yourself. Educators should easily recognize these as “learning objectives,” and you need them before you start deciding what to show and say.
  2. If you’re using slides, keep them limited, relevant, and visually engaging. No one, and I mean NO ONE, enjoys experiencing “Death by PowerPoint,” where the presenter hammers everyone with slide after slide, some of which they don’t even bother to feature. Better to have too few slides than too many. For slides that are primarily text, follow the 6×6 Rule (Maximum 6 lines of text, maximum 6 words per line), but be willing to break it if you need to. Use graphics when possible, but make sure the audience can decipher them and that they actually add to your message.
  • Side Note: I used to know a central administrator who insisted that PowerPoint presentations by administrators, particularly campus principals, should be graphics-only with zero text, because “the audience should be listening to words, not reading them.” This was one of the WORST takes I ever heard in my education career. (I believe the technical term is “horsesh**.”) Obviously, don’t beat people down with overloaded text on a slide, but graphics-only slides are there for effect, not messaging. They are NOT the norm.
  1. PREPARE what you’re going to SAY. DO NOT Read your Slides to your Audience (unless they’re a bunch of toddlers who cannot read yet). Your job is to SPEAK TO the points that appear on-screen. Offer details, tell stories, embellish — these things engage the audience. Reading what everyone can already see is BORING, and it’s brutal for the audience. But I know why you’re reading the slides; I’ve been there. You’re not really prepared to speak. You drew up a slide deck, you don’t really know what to say with it, so you’re just turning your eyes to the screen and reading what’s there. Yes, that is better than fail-smiling to the audience because you’ve got no words, but only by about 0.03%. This is why PowerPoint literally has a Notes field for the Presenter view. If you have to use it, use it. Better to read prepared notes from your laptop at the podium than reading the words on the screen that the audience already sees. But YOU have to PREPARE those notes. If you’re not using slides, then you’d really better be prepared to speak, unless you happen to have the natural ability or the experience to start talking and work your way to a coherent message.
  2. Be Energetic, but Slow Down. There’s a thing in education known as “wait-time,” usually reserved for moments when you pose a question to students and need to pause and allow them to think about an answer. Even in a sit-and-get presentation, wait-time is still essential. People can only process so much auditory and visual stimulation in a given timeframe. If that means you have to cut slides and speech for time, so be it. Edit yourself. Your content isn’t so important that 100% of it is absolutely critical and necessary. Figure it out. Speeding through things just to get through all your slides is poor presenting.
  3. Know your Technology. Use your Technology. If you’re personally managing the slides, know how to advance and reverse them ahead of time. It’s frustrating for your audience when you keep saying “Whoops” and struggling to find the correct frame. And USE THE MICROPHONE. You know that person who says, “I’m loud and ya’ll can probably hear me, so I’m not going to use this.” While it may be true that you’re loud, I’ve already stopped listening now, because you’re an idiot. They gave you a microphone so we can hear you better. Please use it. And if it’s a lavalier (the little clip-on with a transmitter box), please clip it to your shirt and belt like it’s designed. Holding a tiny lavalier microphone at your chin is NOT how it was designed, and you’re causing distortion. We cannot understand you. Ask for help before the presentation, lest you look like an amateur or worse. Figure it out.

When it’s all said and done, your presentation comes down to credibility. You as a presenter at least need to look like you know what you’re doing. Even if you enter the room as an expert in your field, if the audience cannot hear or understand you, if you talk too fast, if you’re just reading the slides, if you have too many slides, or if there seems to be no point to what you’re showing and/or saying, it all falls flat. The ability to maintain coherence and competence with the presentation itself builds credibility for you and ultimately strengthens your message so that people remember the information and are perhaps inspired to use it for their own benefit. And that’s the whole purpose of taking the time to make, and attend, a presentation.

No Loyalty, No Problem

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Above Audio Recorded Using:

  • Microphone – Roswell Pro Audio Mini K87 High Output
  • Interface – Audient iD4 mkii
  • Hardware – MacBook Air M3 13″
  • Software – TwistedWave for iOS
  • Additional Software Treatment – AU HiPass, LoudMax, iZotope RX11 Mouth De-Click

Recorded in my Home Studio

Let me begin this post with what might sound like a controversial opinion: K-12 public education is just a job. Yes, it can be a deeply fulfilling one because of the lives an educator can impact. But it is not a vocation. It is not a calling. It is not, as a speaker at a conference I attended several years ago said, “driven by a sense of service and altruism.” At least, it shouldn’t be. You may feel called to teach, as a general principle, or to work with a specific age group or type of student, but you were not called specifically to K-12 public education. You were called to instruct, to unlock young minds, to impart knowledge and wisdom – but not to this specific profession or area. It’s simply where you get to practice your craft for an undervalued level of compensation. One of the best pieces of professional advice I ever received: “Just remember, there’s no loyalty in this business.” One of my friends, a teacher and tennis coach, imparted this bit of wisdom when we were colleagues during my first high school gig many years ago.

I don’t remember his exact words, but the general theme of that conversation was this: You are replaceable. They may praise you and call you valuable, but things can turn immediately. They decide they want you out for some reason, or they want someone else in your position, and you’ll find yourself moving on, like it or not. Years later, this person found himself honored by the district in its athletic hall of honor for his work as a coach. He graciously accepted the gesture, but I imagine he still remembered occasions when he may have felt unappreciated. Perhaps time has softened those memories; I don’t know. What I do know is 1) he was absolutely right, and 2) there’s really nothing wrong with a lack of loyalty.

Why do we value professional loyalty in the first place? My theory is that society was conditioned for this during the 20th century: Study hard, sign on with an employer, work hard, and you may well be with that same employer for your entire career. You’ll receive promotions and move up in the company until you reach whatever plateau is your professional destiny. Maybe they’ll relocate you at times, but you’ll be a “company man” (or woman) because you’ve worked so hard and given so much for them, and they reciprocate. The dynamics of job growth and changes occurred within the relatively safe cocoon of a single, long-term employer.

Historically, we view public schools in the same way. Look around at the local elementary schools around you. It’s likely that many of them are named for so-called “pillars” of the district — people who served the local community in the same place, albeit possibly in different roles, over decades, and the district named a campus after this person. We like to reward long-time educators who are our best. We also make it difficult to remove any educator who is mediocre or even bad. Once a given teacher has 3 years of experience, it’s incredibly difficult to fire them —districts have to document problems clearly, set up growth plans, and create a path for dismissal over time to remove a teacher. For administrators, there’s more performance incentive and less protection; they work on a year-by-year basis, so the path to removal is much easier for principals and other admin if they underperform. 

But it’s not the 20th century anymore. Careers in general experience more change over less time. Whichever path an educator chooses, there’s always an exit ramp, and in the 21st century, that ramp is used more frequently. My take on things is that there is nothing wrong with this lack of loyalty, particularly on the part of the educator. Are there situations where a teacher may be “unfairly targeted” by a principal who documents every little thing and makes his/her life miserable for a few years in an effort toward removal? Absolutely. Are these situations rampant? Absolutely not. In my experience, administrators don’t have the time to target anyone capriciously. If you’re a teacher on a growth plan, you’re somewhere between mediocre and a full-on problem, and they’re ready, even desperate, to move on from you.

At the administrative level, things honestly get even crazier. Fact: Anyone with “Superintendent” in his/her title, whether as an Assistant, Associate, Deputy, or the head honcho, is as much a politician as an educator. Lots of other central administrators also have political realities embedded in the job. Politics are fickle; the politics of K-12 public education, even more so. Even the most committed, well-meaning educator moving to upper administration could be unfairly affected by the political shifts in a district. It is cruel, but it is reality. And the best administrators I’ve ever known were all deftly able to navigate the political waters while still maintaining a focus on making educationally sound decisions in their work. It is not any easy balance to achieve.

Fact #2: This proverbial street (Loyalty Lane is a terrible pun, but it works) goes both ways. If you’re a teacher, of course you should care about your students and do your best to serve them. That’s the job. But at the end of the day, week, month, six weeks, semester, or year, you owe them nothing. Your personal loyalty is to the important people in your life – spouse, family, friends, etc. That’s it. If your campus or district is moving in a direction you cannot abide, make no apologies for seeking opportunity elsewhere. If another opportunity arises unexpectedly, do what is best for you and your family. Even if it’s best to leave the profession and you have that chance, take it. No apologies.

What if you’re an administrator? In the “era of accountability,” where your job performance may be dictated and judged by a (stupid) A-F letter grade in a politicized, oversimplified system that is changed every 5 years by law, you have minimal incentive to stay where you are and “fight the good fight” for a campus, district, or community. The politics of educational administration basically require you to preach all the latest buzzwords to teachers, parents, and community alike — about being a “servant leader,” about climate and culture, about academic rigor, about parent and community engagement, about school improvement. Something new will always come along. Preach those words as needed. Heck, believe them, and do your best to fulfill those lofty concepts. But make no apologies for also leveraging those terms and concepts to your next promotion. Your loyalty is to the most important people in your life, not to a campus or district. Beyond doing your best in the here-and-now of your job, you owe them nothing. Maybe you’re content with where you are, and they’re happy with you, but things can turn in what feels like an instant. You could be blindsided and suddenly feel like you’re being forced out.

“Gosh, what a sad perspective on the system.” I am keenly aware of this, but it is a perspective on the system, not the profession. As a naive college student who wanted to teach because he was interested in the learning process itself and in helping students grasp abstract themes and concepts in social studies, I had an idealized view because I did, indeed, view teaching as my true calling. (In many ways, I still do.) I saw myself in the classroom for 30+ years, possibly in the same campus. Then I met with reality, and it was…nuanced. I was moved among different subjects and campuses against my preferences. I dutifully adapted to the changes because that was the job. I also received promises that were ultimately not kept. I dealt with those the best I could. I ultimately learned that I was a proverbial cog in the system, serving the needs of the campus or district when it suited those in control. But I also learned that my calling to teach was simply something that overlapped with the K-12 public education system, though not always 100%. And I learned to take control of my own destiny within that system – switching campuses by choice, going after a promotion, eventually switching districts (twice), and finally, retiring on my own terms. My loyalty remained to myself and my family, and I did what was best for us. Things didn’t always go as planned, and it was never perfect. But I am satisfied with where I am at this moment. At my core, I remain a teacher, but where and how I teach is my choice now. And the 21st century affords me opportunities that are not confined to a bureaucratic system. K-12 public education was my career for 31 years. But in the end, it was just a job.

Some Funny Things Happened on the Road to Retirement

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Above Audio Recorded Using:

  • Microphone – Rode Video MicroGo II (USB-C)
  • Hardware – iPad Pro 11″ M4
  • Software – TwistedWave for iOS
  • Additional Software Treatment via MacBook Air M3 13″ – AU HiPass, LoudMax, iZotope RX11 Mouth De-Click

Recorded in my Home Studio

It truly is about time I retired from public education. I’ve actually been planning this for several years now. I came across an old unpublished blog post from January 2021 in which I triumphantly stated that 2021 was “what I intend to be my last year as an educator.” 2021.

The 2020-21 school year was my 27th year in education, when I hit the “magic number” for retirement in Texas: Age + Years of Service = 80. On August 7, 2021, I turned 53 years old, so from that day onward, I was officially eligible to exit my career. But 20-21 was also only Year 1 in my final district, and you might recall that it was also the school year right after the COVID pandemic. What a strange year – our district began the year with 100% distance learning, then later allowed students who wished to pursue in-person instruction, but only with social distancing. Testing procedures were really odd – students could either choose to test or defer until later – but I learned a lot in that unique environment. By August 7 of 2021, I don’t think I was actually ready to retire, after all, so I committed to Year 2 at that campus and in that district. I did truly enjoy the campus where I worked immensely, learn many new skills, had made new friends, and was able to find fulfillment in my work as the Campus Testing Coordinator. So I pressed on…2021-22, 2022-23, then 2023-24.

Each of those next 3 school years grew progressively more difficult, though. The district kept adding tests and testing responsibilities while simultaneously gaslighting everyone with a message of “we’re actually doing less than in years past.” Right. I suppose, as George Costanza said, “it’s not a lie if you believe it.” The State of Texas was also adding new things at least every odd-numbered year. And I was burning out while yearning for more time to do voiceover work, worrying that I might miss a critical chance, if only from the opportunity cost of time spent with education and not VO. So in June 2024, I actually filed the paperwork. Sent a paper copy off via USPS Certified Mail – I still have the receipt. I informed my principal, who was herself moving onto a revised life and career in New Mexico. Also informed the staff. The timing actually seemed perfect – 30 years, weary, new principal, new superintendent – let’s make a break for it.

Into my office walks a former principal of mine from a previous campus, now a district administrator. “I want you to reconsider,” she says. We talk about the bureaucratic issues within the district, as well as my salary, and she pledges to work on a pay raise for me. I figure if she can make something happen with my pay that is worthwhile, I might dig deep and muster up another 3-5 years of effort. So I cancelled my retirement in anticipation of her delivering. She didn’t. Or, to put it more accurately, she couldn’t. With a new superintendent, she found herself professionally pidgeon-holed (districts like to call it “reassigned”) and therefore had very little leverage to influence my pay, at least to the level I hoped. I received a raise beyond the typical x% given to all employees, but it was nowhere near what I had requested or felt like I deserved, given the scope and quality of work I was doing for the campus. “But you’ll like working with [new principal],” I was told in an effort toward consolation.

And I did. Great guy, hard worker, dedicated. Trouble is, he found himself just trying to stay afloat amidst even more district bureaucratic nonsense. Everyone at our campus did. It became comical, and we joked about it openly. I joked freely about these things in e-mails to campus staff. And of course, that got me in a little hot water. “You sound like you’re pitting the campus against the district,” I was told by a central office administrator. No, the district is destroying our morale, and I’m trying to show empathy with our teachers through humor. (But that’s another story for a later post.)

So after year 31, in the spring of 2025, I filed the paperwork again, this time electronically. Then a central admin position came open in another nearby district – “Director of Assessment & Accountability.” Way back in 2018, this was where I was headed in my first district before the rug was yanked out from under me (Another story for still another post.) I apply. I contact this district’s superintendent, also a former principal of mine. (No, I am NOT above leveraging old professional relationships, and neither should you be.) I get an interview. Probably the best performance I ever had in an interview. The committee lead calls and tells me it was a great interview, the committee was very impressed, and he needs to contact my references next.

Now you might be thinking, “What about voiceover? What about THE DREAM?!? Weren’t you ready to commit full-time?” Yes, but this central office job would’ve been a substantial pay increase and set me up for an even more lucrative retirement situation in just a few years. I owe it to myself to try, at least. And if this job is meant to be, I can cancel my retirement again and stick it out a little longer. And a week after the interview, it’s looking like that shall be the plan. They seem to want to hire me. Then another week goes by. And another. And finally, I get the e-mail saying “we have decided to move forward with another candidate for this role.” I figure it’s probably the guy with an Ed.D.; districts love doctorates among central administrators. (Yet another future post.)

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry.” Please don’t feel sorry for me – no condolences, no regrets. I applied, I put in appropriate effort and performed well, but that other district went a different direction. I like to think they’ll regret not hiring me, but it doesn’t matter. In the end, I know from experience that central office work is just a little soul-crushing (wow, that’s FOUR future posts), so that potential additional pay would’ve likely come with…suffering. And now, I simply have to hustle as a freelance VO talent, keep building my skills, market and find clients, and do the work. If I do it right, I may be able to cover the potential difference in salary from that job, and then some. And because I enjoy VO, there won’t be any soul-crushing or suffering. It truly is about time I retired from public education.