“there are two different ways of writing history: one is to persuade men to virtue and the other is to compel men to truth.”
― Robert Graves, I, Claudius: from the Autobiography of Tiberius Claudius

It’s almost here.

The start of another baseball season.

Not MLB. Not the billion-dollar spectacle with pitch clocks and arbitration hearings and Spring Training split-squad broadcasts.

I’m talking about youth baseball.

This weekend OHS will hold its first scrimmage of the year against its private school neighbor. A week later, we’ll officially open the 2026 campaign. As always, hope springs eternal.

Over the next two months, I’ll spend a lot of time at the ballpark. Late nights. Quick meals. Thrilling games. Bad umpiring. Great company.

It doesn’t get much better than that. And I’m here for all of it.

This year the boy is a sophomore.

And I can hear the clock ticking just a little louder.

It Ends

I remember when he was playing 8U and it felt like this would last forever.

The oversized helmets. The socks pulled too high. The chaos of kids chasing pop flies like they were swatting bees. Back then, the biggest concern was who brought the orange slices.

Forever felt… well, forever.

Years ago, I met a man at a bar. We got to talking baseball. Turns out he had played professionally. Not just travel ball dad fantasy league stuff. The real thing. He also had three boys — all ball players.

At some point he leaned in, lowered his voice, and said:

“I’m going to tell you the most important thing to remember. It ends. It doesn’t matter if you are a pro Hall of Famer or a 15-year-old who fails to make your high school team. It ends. It’s finite. Never forget that.”

I’ve never forgotten it.

My fellow sports parents understand the grind. Endless driving. Endless weekends at fields that all start to look the same. Endless expenses — bats, gloves, cleats, lessons, travel fees, hotel rooms, tournament entry costs.

There were seasons when I felt like I should just slap an Uber sticker on the dash and call it what it was.

Back then I was shuttling both kids all over town. Practices. Games. Conditioning. Tryouts. Recitals. It felt overwhelming — like it would never stop.

But it does stop.

And it comes quickly.

Now the eldest drives herself. The boy is six months from his license. His girlfriend already has hers. I find myself volunteering to drive, only to hear:

“We got this, Dad.”

I’m needed less for transportation.

Which means I have more time for all those “important” things I used to complain I didn’t have time for.

But I also have fewer car rides.
Fewer captive-audience conversations.
Fewer moments when life just spills out because there’s nowhere else to go.

The clock is ticking.

So tomorrow, I’m going to soak it up.

I’ll cheer loudly. I’ll buy a hot dog from the concession stand. I’ll reconnect with parents I haven’t seen since last season and we’ll marvel at how much the boys have grown.

Maybe we’ll win. Maybe we’ll fall short on the scoreboard.

Either way, it’s going to be a great season.

Because it ends.

And I’m not wasting it.

Meanwhile, Downtown

While I’m counting innings, Metro Nashville Public Schools was counting awards.

This past week, MNPS hosted its annual Teacher of the Year and Leaders of the Year banquet. At the event, the district honored its very best teachers, principals, and support employees.

Superintendent Dr. Adrienne Battle praised the award recipients for helping make Nashville’s public schools:

“not just places of learning, but places of hope, growth, and possibility.”

She continued:

“Our honorees represent the excellence that lives across all of Metro Nashville Public Schools. You innovate, you inspire, and you push us forward. What you do every day – fiercely and consistently – shapes the future of Nashville. You are building the next generation of creators, leaders, dreamers, and problem-solvers who will define what this city becomes.”

It was, by all accounts, a beautiful evening.

A lavish affair.

An opportunity for the district to do what it does best — self-congratulate.

You Already Know Where I Stand

If you’ve spent more than five minutes reading my work, you probably know how I feel about Teacher of the Year awards.

But just in case, let me spell it out clearly:

I hate TOY awards.

Hate them with a passion.

I think they send the wrong message. I think they demoralize more teachers than they inflate. And I think they subtly cajole non-winners into working just a little harder and sacrificing just a little more — as if teachers, for the most part, have ever had a problem sacrificing or working hard.

Raise your hand if you’re a public school teacher who regularly goes to bed at 7:30 p.m. completely exhausted.

Raise your hand if you’re not up until midnight grading papers and finalizing lesson plans.

I see you.

Here’s the big rub.

Teaching is a team sport.

Let me say that again for the people in the back:

Teaching is a team sport.

Sure, like in any field, there are gifted individuals. But none of them shine without a solid team around them.

It’s like football. Quarterbacks get the glory. But without a solid offensive line, a quality defense, and a coach with vision, that glory never materializes.

I’ve never seen a great teacher who didn’t have a great principal.

To shine, you need great related arts teachers. You need counselors. You need instructional coaches. You need support from the administrative team. You need a building culture that allows you to take risks and grow.

Not every teacher has that luxury.

TOY awards send the message that every teacher can overcome any shortcoming by simply working a little harder and sacrificing a little more.

That’s bullshit.

And it’s dangerous.

The Toll

Teaching is a full-contact sport.

The toll it takes on practitioners is real. High blood pressure. Anxiety. Burnout. Strain on marriages. Missed dinners. Missed ballgames. Many hold down two jobs just to survive.

But teachers dare not mention any of that.

Because if they do, critics accuse them of playing the perpetual victim.

The vast majority show up early, stay late, and do everything they can to improve the lives of the children who walk into their building. They spend money out of their own pockets — money they don’t have — to give kids a fighting chance.

In a district that regularly touts the slogan “Every Child Known,” there is a failure to recognize that no single teacher reaches every child.

But every child matters.

And it takes all kinds of teachers — using varied skill sets — to reach them.

Whether a teacher resonates with one child or five is equally important.

MNPS employs well over 5,000 teachers.

Less than 200 were allowed to attend this year’s formal dinner.

The vast majority will never be invited to a district celebration.

Instead, they’ll just go to work tomorrow and try to impact as many kids as possible.

I’m not trying to take anything away from the winners.

Pretty sure most of them already understand exactly what I’m pointing out.

If you’re a parent and your child is blessed to have a teacher who supports them and impacts their life — that’s your Teacher of the Year.

There are a lot more of them than the ones who attended Monday’s banquet.

I see you.

And I appreciate you.

Thank you for showing up and suiting up.

It does not go unnoticed.

The Parking Lot Problem

Years ago, I criticized a principal who loved posting photos of the school parking lot full of cars on the weekend.

He thought he was celebrating dedication and commitment.

I told him he was setting unwritten expectations.

I asked him:

Would you ever post a picture of one of your teachers and celebrate her for taking Saturday off to have lunch with her family and go to the zoo?

Would you ever celebrate someone for taking an afternoon to read a book?

We both knew the answer.

The TOY banquet is a similar exercise.

It celebrates unpaid sacrifice without ever questioning whether the sacrifice should be necessary.

A Leaky Bucket

Now here’s something that might actually help.

This week in the Tennessee House K-12 subcommittee, Rep. Sam McKenzie (D-Knoxville) reintroduced a bill that passed the State Senate last year but was never heard in the House.

The bill would create a study examining compensation for teachers with over 15 years of experience.

McKenzie went further, amending HB 0778 to include a plan for veteran teacher compensation.

This is a big deal.

For the last decade, efforts to combat teacher shortages have focused almost exclusively on recruitment and first-year teachers.

I’ve likened it to trying to fill a leaky bucket by turning up the water pressure.

Now it looks like legislators might finally be interested in fixing the holes.

Most Tennessee districts use step schedules to determine compensation. After around 16 years, those increases flatten out significantly.

In MNPS, the difference between a 15-year teacher and a 28-year teacher is roughly $6,000 annually.

That’s about $225 per paycheck.

Twenty-eight years of service.

Two hundred twenty-five dollars.

The bill passed unanimously out of committee and now heads to the full House Education Committee.

Fingers crossed.

Because if we want stability, institutional memory, mentorship, and leadership in buildings, we have to value the people who’ve given decades of their lives to this work.

Shortcuts and Suss Explanations

Meanwhile, over in the State Senate, a new bill advanced that would allow some private school teachers without a degree to teach in public schools.

Senate Bill 2019 would allow private school teachers without a college degree to obtain a temporary public school teaching waiver.

The sponsor, Sen. Dawn White (R-Murfreesboro), introduced the legislation after speaking with a constituent who had taught for more than two decades at a private school and had a college degree — but had lost the documentation. The university had closed. Without documentation, they couldn’t get a temporary teaching permit.

Really?

Private schools are filled with teachers stuck there because they got their degree 20 years ago from a college that has since closed?

As the kids would say, that’s suss.

To qualify under this bill, private school teachers would need 10 years of experience in a Category I, II, or III private school.

The waiver would only be granted if a public school cannot find a licensed teacher. It would require mentorship and last three years, renewable by the State Board.

So now we’re to believe there’s a deep well of private school teachers — without degrees — who are dying to enter the public system and are eager to take on mentors?

I get it.

Teacher attrition is real.

Tennessee Department of Education data released in November showed total teacher vacancies declined from 1,434 in fall 2023 to 817 in fall 2024 — a 43% reduction.

But here’s the wrinkle:

Vacancies filled by emergency hires increased more than 300% in the last five years.

Last school year alone, 6,579 emergency credentials were issued.

Many of those were emergency endorsements — credentialed educators teaching outside their expertise.

Experience alone is not enough.

More shortcuts are not the answer.

Rights, Wrongs, and Quiet Solutions

An interesting story out of Nashville this week is the one about a 1st grade teacher who refused to read a book to his class based on religious objections. The book in question, Stella Brings the Family, depicts a same-sex family. KIPP Antioch College Prep Elementary teacher Eric Rivera was looking to receive a religious accommodation to avoid teaching the material.

On January 6th, Rivera got another staff member to read the book, which features a child with two fathers, to the class while he remained in the classroom. The next day, school leadership allegedly threatened to terminate him for not teaching the curriculum “with fidelity” and removed him from the classroom. Rivera, a Christian, argues that the school’s disciplinary action violated his religious liberties and wants the punishment lifted and his name cleared.

The teacher is now being represented by First Liberty Institute. Senior Counsel Cliff Martin said the group believes federal law requires schools to accommodate religious objections when possible.

“We’ve submitted a demand letter demanding that they accommodate Mr. Rivera’s religious practices and that they not discriminate,” Martin said.

Martin said the claim centers primarily on Title VII of the Civil Rights Act, which requires employers to reasonably accommodate religious beliefs.

Complicating matters is that while the KIPP school is in Nashville, it is not under the MNPS umbrella. Instead, it is governed by the Tennessee Public Charter School Commission, who released the following statement to Fox 17 News:

“All public charter schools must follow the same Tennessee academic standards as traditional public schools, and while they do have flexibility selecting curriculum and materials, they must still be aligned with those same state standards. All schools are required to comply with the prohibited concepts law and must provide a form on their website for reporting violations. The Commission provides a form for submitting complaints related to the prohibited concepts law as well as any other violations of charter school law on our website. Teachers and staff at charter schools are employees of the school or charter operator and as such all personnel matters are handled by the school.”

In other words, don’t bother us till you fill out the forms.

Looking at the case, it appears to me like somebody is ultimately going to get their rights violated.

It also seems to me that Rivera could have gone about refusing to teach the book a little more quietly.

I assume he has days off. He could have taken two, had the sub teach the book, and come back and resumed instruction.

Instead, he chose to have another staff member read the book while he remained in the classroom.

Why?

Are you telling me none of those kids asked him any questions while he stood there observing?

If so, as I suspect, how did he respond to their inquiries?

Look, I get it more than most — the world is rapidly changing, and for some people that change is uncomfortable.

Same-sex families are the norm, and frankly, always have been part of our communities whether officially recognized or not.

I can’t help but wonder if there were any children from same-sex families in his classroom.

If so, how did they feel as he stood there and bore silent witness?

By the same token, Rivera should have the right to hold his religious convictions.

But there are ways to hold convictions without drawing attention and lawsuits.

Sometimes discretion is strength.

Sometimes quiet accommodation works better than public confrontation.

And sometimes adults forget there are six-year-olds in the room.

Back to the Ballpark

This weekend I’ll be sitting in aluminum bleachers with a paper plate of nachos.

I’ll be thinking about that man at the bar who told me it ends.

I’ll be thinking about the teachers who show up every day without awards.

I’ll be thinking about veteran educators who deserve more than $225 a paycheck after 28 years.

I’ll be thinking about lawmakers trying to patch holes — and others cutting corners.

I’ll be thinking about first graders caught in adult crossfire.

Because at the ballpark, you know the rules.

Three outs.

Nine innings.

Shake hands after.

It ends.

And you’re left with what you did while it lasted.

This isn’t corporate media. There’s no team. No budget. No handlers.

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:

Venmo: @Thomas-Weber-10
Cash App: $PeterAveryWeber
Tips: Norinrad10@yahoo.com

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Categories: Education