“One of the reasons The Avengers is among the highest-grossing films of all time is that it’s filled with people who act for a living. They don’t care whether the dialogue makes any sense! For the correct fee, they’ll pretend it does!”

— Richard Ayoade, The Grip of Film

Richard Ayoade might as well have been talking about American public education.

Because if you squint just a little—and maybe tilt your head—you realize the man has unintentionally described the modern superintendent, the polished district administrator, and half the folks occupying offices in central administrations across the country.

Most district administrators began their journey as classroom teachers. They know kids. They know learning. They know what works and what absolutely does not. Deep down—buried under layers of jargon, compliance documents, and motivational posters—they recognize the absurdity of much of what they’re pushing.

Nobody who has spent more than 10 minutes with actual children believes that forcing every kid to be on the same page at the same time in the same way is a kid-centered practice. It’s not even an adult-centered practice. It’s a bureaucrat-centered practice.

No one with chalk dust buried in their bloodstream believes loading down a teacher with mandates, trainings, videos, forms, surveys, dashboards, rubrics, walk-throughs, and “fidelity checks” is a recipe for success. It’s a recipe for burnout, and we’ve watched that soufflé collapse again and again.

Ask yourself: how many of today’s district leaders, if returned to a classroom, would tolerate the same level of chaos around discipline they now expect teachers to endure? I’m betting most would last about 15 minutes before filing the loudest complaint in the building. For many of them, discipline—more specifically, the lack of it—was one of the key ingredients pushing them from the classroom into administration in the first place.

But here’s the kicker: district officials also know the fallacy of using test scores and data points to define children. They know testing has a place, but not the place. They know you can’t reduce human beings to a handful of numbers without committing a kind of educational malpractice.

They know. And yet…

Sometimes you just have to read the lines you’re given, hit your mark, and pretend your dialogue makes sense.

It’s The Avengers—just with less spandex and slightly worse acting.

And it begs the question:
Why is a superintendent worth $400K while a classroom teacher is supposedly worth 15% of that?

Maybe because one gets paid to pretend.

Section One: The Stupid Comment You Don’t Think Is That Stupid—Until Later

We’ve all experienced this phenomenon:

You have a conversation with someone, and they say something stupid. You recognize it as stupid—your internal monologue perks up, raises an eyebrow—but you let it slide. Later, maybe in the shower or while unloading groceries, the full magnitude of the stupidity hits you like a freight train. And now it won’t leave you alone.

You want to go back, tap them on the shoulder, and say,
“Hey, remember that really dumb thing you said? Yes, THAT one. Let’s revisit.”
But you can’t. Social rules forbid time-travel confrontations.

Lucky for me, I write a blog.

A couple of weeks ago, I was talking to a coach about his upcoming season. This coach, who consistently puts up a .500 record in a school with a graduation rate hovering around 75%, said something that didn’t just raise an eyebrow—it lifted the whole forehead.

He said he didn’t feel responsible for “begging” any kid to play for him.
He gets about 25 players a year, and to him, that was success.

At the time, I let it go. But the more I thought about it, the stupider it became.

Let’s start with definitions.
When we hear “beg,” we picture someone on their knees, clasping hands together in some dramatic plea. But begging has many forms. Adjure, beseech, entreat, implore, importune, supplicate—they all live on the same block.

As a parent, I use ALL of these tools to help my kids become their best selves. I will beg, bribe, shame, demand, cajole, negotiate, barter, threaten consequences, promise rewards, or pull any lever available to help guide them where they need to go.

I am relentless and shameless in the pursuit of raising functioning humans.

Last time I checked, I’m responsible for raising my children, not maintaining my dignity like some Victorian-era gentleman offended that someone used the wrong fork.

I hate the modern obsession with “respect.” People throw the word around like it’s currency they can mint on demand. Respect isn’t demanded—it’s earned through consistency, presence, and authenticity.

Good educators know this better than anyone. The relationship is the work.

Different kids require different tools.
Different motivations.
Different pushes and pulls.

That’s what makes knowing your students critical.

I know a coach for whom “begging” kids to play might as well be a full-time job. If he sees a kid—any kid—who looks even slightly athletic, he’s on them in two seconds flat:

Do you play ball?
Where do you go to school?
What grade are you in?
Ever thought about XYZ school?

I’ve sat in gyms with him while our sons played, and watched him bee-line across the floor to talk to some kid who simply walked through the gym. Not all of them ended up at his school, but they all ended up in his database.

This guy knows every athlete in the city—their stats, their temperament, their family history, their attitude, their potential. He is the living embodiment of every child known.

It’s no mystery why that coach took a team from winning one game a season to contending for state championships.

It’s called effort.
It’s called connection.
It’s called doing the damn job.

This philosophy extends beyond sports. When Ron Woodard was principal at Maplewood, he and AP Ryan Jackson regularly took after-school drives around the neighborhood—barber shops, corner stores, playgrounds—looking for kids drifting away from school. When they found them, they used every tool they had to pull them back in.

One thing you never heard from them was,
“I’m not going to beg a kid to come to school.”

News flash: teenagers rarely know what’s best for themselves. That’s why adults exist.

But we’ve run so many actual professionals out of the field that basic truths need repeating.

Again.

And again.

Section Two: The Voucher Wars, Round Two (Or Three, or Four…)

Last week, the Tennessee chapter of the ACLU announced it was representing 10 parents in a lawsuit challenging the Tennessee Education Freedom Scholarship—also known as the statewide voucher plan.

Some of these families have been down this road before. They sued during the last voucher escapade. They lost. And here they are again.

Their argument remains straightforward:
This program violates the Education Clause of the Tennessee Constitution by diverting funds from public schools and undermining the state’s duty to provide adequate education.

They also argue the voucher law violates the requirement for a single system of public schools by channeling state resources into private institutions.

The ACLU is partnering with the Education Law Center and the Southern Poverty Law Center. Lucas Cameron-Vaughn said it plainly:

“Tennessee’s Constitution is clear: the state must maintain and support a system of free public schools. This voucher scheme does the opposite. It siphons desperately needed resources away from public schools that serve all students and hands that money to private schools with no accountability, no transparency, and no obligation to serve every child.”

Here’s what always gets me:

The same people who demand “accountability” for voucher students will be the first to tell you our current accountability model is wildly flawed.

They’re right—it IS flawed.
So why expand the reach of a broken model?

Why not repair the system first, then apply it universally?

The lawsuit—like all voucher lawsuits—tries to pick winners and losers. Private schools aren’t failing every child any more than public schools are serving every child. Both systems have strengths and failings. Both have kids they underserve.

The plaintiffs are essentially arguing that kids whose families philosophically align with them deserve more protection than kids who choose private schools.

That’s a troubling argument.

Meanwhile, the next voucher application cycle is gearing up:

• Dec. 9 — renewal window for existing voucher recipients

• Jan. 13, 2026 — new applicants may apply

• Jan. 30, 2026 — application window closes

The most revealing data point this year won’t be the debate or the lawsuits.

It’ll be how many families reapply.

Nothing says “accountability” like customer retention.

Section Three: Tennessee’s Test-Driven Reality Show

Last week, Tennessee released its latest round of school accountability designations—Reward Schools, Exemplary Districts, Priority Schools, In Need of Improvement, and so on. All based, of course, on TCAP.

From the TDOE press release:

“Across the state, the number of Reward schools increased from 377 to 459… Exemplary districts increased from 10 to 14… In Need of Improvement districts decreased from nine to eight…”

Commissioner Lizzette Reynolds added:

“Because of the dedication of Tennessee district, charter, and school leaders, along with our outstanding educators…”

Notice who gets named last?

Just saying.

Let’s break down the categories:

• Reward Schools: high performance and/or high improvement

• Exemplary Districts: 3.1 or higher on a 4.0 scale of test-based indicators

• Priority Schools: bottom 5% performers

The list of Exemplary Districts includes:

• Franklin SSD

• Germantown

• Greeneville

• Union City

• The Charter Commission

• …and several small city systems

Noticeably absent?

Metro Nashville Public Schools.

Though MNPS does have:

• 28 Reward Schools (8 of which are charters)

• 23 Priority Schools (5 of which are high schools)

Let me emphasize something:
Test scores do not paint a reliable picture of a school.

They measure one thing, on one day, in one way. They reflect demographics far more reliably than instruction.

A comparison of this year’s list with previous years shows designations change constantly—Reward one year, not-Reward the next. The only thing consistent is that Priority Schools almost never escape the list.

Many have been on it for a decade or more.
They serve low-income, multi-cultural, multilingual communities.
We know—have known—that external factors shape internal results.

Yet we cling to these lists like they’re diagnostic tools rather than PR instruments.

And no, a new private bathroom for the Superintendent isn’t changing any of this.

Cheap shot? Maybe.

But leaving generations of kids in schools starved of resources is a cheaper shot.

I know—we’ve done everything we can.
We can’t beg kids to do well on TCAP, right?

Funny how that logic only applies to kids.

Not to parents.
Not to teachers.
Not to principals.
Not to district administrators.
And certainly not to coaches who don’t think they should have to beg.

Section Four: The Curtain Call

This isn’t corporate media.
There’s no team.
No budget.
No handlers.
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 work, here’s how you can help:

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

Until next time:

The goal isn’t to survive life. It’s to live it.

Categories: Education