“You can have peace. Or you can have freedom. Don’t ever count on having both at once.”
― Robert A. Heinlein

The Illusion of Mastery

I envy those who have mastered the art of parenting.
The ones who navigate the seas of adolescence with a steady hand and a clear vision.
No challenge seems too much for these tamers of the storm.

As for myself, I continue to flounder on the rocks, making as many bad decisions as I do good.
I’m blessed with a steady partner and resilient children, but mastery is nowhere in sight.

I envy those parents who remain omnipresent in school life — hosting PTA meetings, attending parent-teacher conferences, volunteering at fundraisers, smiling through sporting events, plays, and band recitals. Always cheerful. Always effusive.

Meanwhile, I secretly — or maybe not so secretly — loathe the school year. Rising daily at 5 a.m. to transport kids across town for a 7 a.m. start time. Nagging about homework. Building resentments in the process. Juggling work schedules just to catch a portion of an extracurricular event. Watching time slip away, knowing I’ll miss these days once they’re gone, but able to fully appreciate the present.

That AA saying hits home: “Don’t compare people’s outsides to your insides.”
Everyone takes a different path through this mess. Beneath the surface, I suspect we’re all wrestling with the same fears, doubts, and inadequacies. There is no perfect recipe for any of this.

Parenting remains my greatest challenge and my greatest joy. There are moments of sheer delight — and depths of despair that only a hormone-fueled teenager can deliver while raging against boundaries you thought were reasonable.

Am I too hard? Too soft? The eternal question.
Like a baseball slugger, if you manage to hit .325, you’re an all-star.

As we close out October and roll into November, we enter the long gray stretch — that slog between fall’s novelty and spring’s relief. From now until April are, arguably, the hardest months of the year. The newness of school has worn off, and summer sits far beyond the horizon.

So to my fellow travelers: a tip of the hat and a reminder — This too shall pass.

Try to remember, the goal isn’t to survive life, but to live it.

We got this.

The Politics of Start Times

Here we go again.

Over the years, I’ve learned a politician’s trick for moments when people start demanding policy solutions and you’ve got none. It also works when you already know what you’re going to do and need it to look like it came from “the people.”

Step 1: Form an advisory committee.
Step 2: Send out a survey.
Step 3: Drum up a few focus groups.
Step 4: Host a series of town halls.

At the end, you do whatever you intended all along — and defend it by saying, “The people had a voice.”

Your vision becomes their vision. Not really, but it sounds good if you say it fast.

This morning, MNPS released a press statement announcing a districtwide review of school start and end times.

“This initiative will include months of public engagement and research to gather insights from families, students, educators, and community stakeholders across Davidson County.

“No decisions have been made yet. While we’ve been exploring this topic for many years, this process is about listening to our students, families, educators, and partners about what is working well and what can be improved upon to ensure the needs of students and families are being met,” said Dr. Adrienne Battle, Superintendent of Nashville Public Schools. “We know there are opportunities and challenges with any start time structure for schools, and we want to ensure that any future changes are informed by the lived experiences of our community and grounded in what’s best for students both in and outside the classroom.”

The release explains that the Start Time Review will unfold in three phases through early 2026: initial awareness and input gathering, community reactions to potential draft schedules, and final recommendations before possible implementation.

Let’s pause a moment. Three phases through early 2026?

It’s November. Thanksgiving is right around the corner, and ain’t nobody attending community meetings between now and mid-January. “Early 2026” means, realistically, January or February — so how exactly do three full phases unfold in just a few weeks?

Unless, of course, the plan already exists, and the “public process” is mostly theater.

The Pros and Cons Nobody Mentions

I’m not opposed to discussing start-time changes; we’ve been talking about it for decades. Personally, I’d love to avoid that 5 a.m. alarm, but later starts carry ripple effects that seldom make the press release.

A later schedule may hurt low-income students who juggle jobs or sports. It complicates life for high-schoolers responsible for younger siblings. And for parents with rigid work hours, shifting elementary or middle start times could mean lost wages or disciplinary write-ups.

We also forget that many of these teenagers will soon be entering the workforce, where early mornings are the norm. If they can manage that then, why can’t they now?

These are just a handful of long-standing issues. Yet Battle and company claim they’ll “gather information and work through challenges by early 2026.” Color me skeptical.

There’s another wrinkle: the state is considering changing how it measures required schooling. Instead of 180 days, Tennessee may move to an hour-based system — 1,170 hours per year — giving districts more flexibility in structuring schedules. If that happens, it could influence everything from bus routes to teacher contracts. But we won’t know until the legislature reconvenes.

Still, my hunch says the plan’s already drawn up. They just need us to play along and make it look like consensus.

The Mayor’s Nose in the Tent

One more detail from that same release deserves attention:

“Nashville Public Schools, in partnership with the Board of Education and Office of Mayor Freddie O’Connell, has launched a districtwide review of school start and end times to continue to accelerate the progress and innovation happening in our schools.”

Let’s recall what Nashville’s charter actually says: the city and MNPS are supposed to be separate. Metro government funds schools — period. It doesn’t run them. The Board of Education governs, the Director of Schools executes.

So why is the Mayor’s office involved in a district initiative?

When those lines blur, MNPS slowly becomes subservient to Metro Government. Maybe that’s fine when the Mayor and Superintendent share a vision. But Freddie O’Connell and Adrienne Battle won’t hold those roles forever. What happens when the agendas diverge?

O’Connell’s quoted in the release:

“I’m excited to start this community conversation. This isn’t just about bells and buses – it’s how we set our students up for continued success,” Mayor Freddie O’Connell said. “Research shows that how we structure and optimize instructional time has a real impact on student health and success. I’m excited to partner with the district to review what works best for Metro Schools’ diverse families, teachers, and students.”

That sounds, to me, like the camel’s nose under the tent flap. A friendly “partnership” today becomes policy influence tomorrow.

Remember: O’Connell campaigned on this issue. This feels less like discovery and more like execution. A coalescing of power disguised as engagement.

But hey — take the survey, join the focus group, attend the town hall. It’s a democracy, right?

Micromanagement Blues

As we wrap up the first quarter of the school year, one song keeps playing across the district: the micromanager blues.

From the north side to the south, east to west, principals and teachers alike report the same refrain — top-down control. The so-called “support hub” has become more about dictating than supporting.

At the heart of the frustration sits a policy requiring all classes to be in the same place at the same time every day. Not roughly. Not close. The same page, same sentence.

It’s script-reading taken to the nth degree.

Lost in this obsession is space for student curiosity.
Johnny raises a hand for clarification — sorry, Johnny, we’ve got a pacing guide to meet.

I can’t fathom the logic except as a misguided attempt at “equity.” Because it certainly isn’t teaching, but it probably produces a couple upticks to the data points.

Teachers are being pulled from their students toward an artificial timeline. And because most teachers are rule-followers, leadership takes advantage of that compliance, demanding strict adherence at the expense of professional judgment.

I keep hearing stories about male executive directors who believe yelling and talking down equals leadership. Newsflash: it’s not 1982. When you know better, you do better.

If I had a Weber Rule, it’d go like this: The further you get from the classroom, the more you must justify your existence.

Data points are a great way to do that — as long as you forget those dots represent actual children whose lives depend on teachers, not dashboards.

At a time when recruiting and retaining teachers is harder than ever, scripted instruction is a surefire way to push more of them out. After all, who needs trained professionals when you can browbeat employees into reading from a script?

This administration loves to boast about its “dynasty” and the “gains” it’s engineered. But if you micromanage staff into producing those results, that’s fewer people to share the credit with.

Yes, MNPS shows gains since the pandemic — but let’s be honest: we’re comparing against a historic crash. Nashville stayed remote long after evidence showed kids needed to return. Neighboring districts reopened earlier. Now we’re celebrating four years of growth that merely claw back toward pre-COVID numbers.

This relentless pacing will ultimately cost the district its most talented educators. As one high-school teacher told me, “We’re getting to a point where I need to evaluate how much teaching I’m actually doing. Maybe it’s time to do something else.”

Former Board President Christine Buggs recently told a crowd at the Principal-for-a-Day luncheon:

“I was pregnant with my child when we first hired Dr. Battle, and I told her I’m going to need her for a decade. Now I’m pregnant with my second child, and I’m going to need her to stay for another decade.”

That’s a sweet sentiment — unless retaining the leader comes at the expense of those doing the actual teaching. The needs of the soldiers should never be sacrificed for the comfort of command.

The $165,000 Bathroom

Just when you think you’ve seen it all, Channel 4’s Jeremy Finley drops this:

Metro Nashville Public Schools spent $165,000 in taxpayer money to remodel Superintendent Dr. Adrienne Battle’s office suite, including the addition of a new private bathroom for the director of schools, according to records obtained by WSMV4 Investigates.

The renovation involved demolishing the old offices and installing new walls, lights, ductwork, plumbing and carpeting for a new office, conference room and storage area. Floor plans obtained through an open records request specifically describe the addition of a private bathroom that can only be accessed through the superintendent’s private office.

The timing? Just weeks after the district settled a $6.5 million retaliation lawsuit involving five former administrators who sued Battle and MNPS.

Battle told Finley the renovation was meant to “create a more functional and welcoming workspace.”

“The planning process is critical to the work we do as educators,” Battle said. “Again, I’m going to point back to the fact that we made some really modest updates.”

Finley pressed:

“Why spend the money on re-plumbing and design when you literally have a bathroom right outside your office suite?”

Battle replied:

“There is a restroom in the same vicinity as my office that is used by hundreds of employees, which is fine. This is beyond just adding a restroom. I understand that that seems to be the focus here. But it was also about the functionality of workspaces to make sure that we can maintain high levels of work and outcomes for our district.”

The sound you just heard? My head exploding.

MNPS has schools in desperate need of repair — have you been to Nashville School of the Arts lately? — yet somehow that building continues to produce stellar students despite crumbling facilities.

By contrast, the message here is unmistakable: central-office comfort takes precedence over classroom conditions.

And for the record, any sentence that includes “which is fine” almost guarantees it’s not.

Finley checked with neighboring districts:

• Williamson County: Their superintendent has no private bathroom or conference room. The last remodel was 10–15 years ago.

• Rutherford County: A small private bathroom and shared conference room, unchanged since the 1990s.

• Wilson County: Private bathroom and smaller conference room included in a 2017 building-wide renovation; only the second director to occupy it since.

I’ve long believed that every dollar in public education should face one litmus test: Does it benefit kids? Does it move the needle for students?

A new bathroom for the superintendent doesn’t pass that test.

But who’s going to say anything?

Why I Keep Writing

This isn’t corporate media.
There’s no team, no backing, no safety net.

It’s just me — trying to keep up, trying to keep you informed, and trying to say what others won’t.

If you value that, here’s how you can help:

💵 Venmo: @Thomas-Weber-10
💵 Cash App: $PeterAveryWeber
📬 Tips / story ideas: Norinrad10@yahoo.com

Until next time — remember: the goal isn’t to survive life, but to live it.

Categories: Education