“Those we love don’t go away, they sit beside us every day.”
— Liane Moriarty, Big Little Lies

Forgive us if we are a little sad here in Tennessee.

We lost a shining light this week when Dolly Parton departed this mortal coil, a loss felt from the hollers of East Tennessee to stages and living rooms across the world.

President Donald Trump ordered flags lowered to half-staff for roughly a week. That is a rare honor for a civilian, and Parton was the very epitome of a civilian—not because her life was ordinary, because clearly it was anything but, but because she never seemed to believe that fame placed her above the people who loved her.

Throughout her illustrious career, she largely avoided partisan politics. She understood that announcing every belief was not the same thing as living by one. Her politics, to the extent she publicly practiced them, were kindness, dignity, humor, and a stubborn insistence that people deserved the opportunity to become something more than the circumstances into which they were born.

That is a pretty good platform.

Much has been written this week about the kindness and grace Parton displayed throughout her life. I had the pleasure of interacting with her and observing her interactions with others. She was nothing if not consistent. Dignitaries and common folk received the same treatment. There was always a whiff of mischief lurking behind the glitter and bright smile, as if she knew the joke and was deciding whether the rest of us had earned the privilege of hearing it.

I love a story told by legendary bass player Leland Sklar, who once found himself on a flight with Ms. Parton. She was seated across the aisle and a row back. He noticed that she appeared to be reading Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time. Sklar complimented her on the depth of her literary choice.

She smiled and, with a wink, revealed the copy of Harry Potter hiding behind the Hawking book cover.

That was Parton in a nutshell.

Up front, she was a serious performer dedicated to her craft—a consummate businesswoman, songwriter, and philanthropist. Behind the scenes was where the fun lived, and she was generous about giving us a peek.

The breadth of Parton’s charitable work is seemingly endless, spanning health care, disaster relief, scholarships, conservation, and medical research. But literacy always remained a cornerstone.

Millions of children received free books through her Imagination Library. Millions got their first taste of reading through a program built on the radical idea that a child should have books of their own before anybody starts measuring whether that child is “proficient.”

That includes my two children.

Those books came through the mail like clockwork, month after month. They were always greeted with anticipation and excitement. The package was addressed to the child, not the parent. That mattered. In a world where so many decisions about children are made in conference rooms they will never enter, Dolly Parton sent something directly to them.

A book. Their book.

There was no assessment attached. No login credentials. No data dashboard. Nobody demanded proof that the child had achieved three months of growth before the next book could be released.

It simply arrived.

Open it. Read it. Love it. Another one will be there next month.

That simple act established a relationship with reading long before school could make reading feel like work. The books became part of the landscape of childhood.

We talk endlessly in education about interventions, strategies, benchmarks, and outcomes. Dolly mailed children books.

Sometimes the most transformative ideas are the ones adults have not yet buried beneath professional vocabulary.

Tennessean writer Andrea Williams wrote this week about Parton’s life and her impact on others. Williams cautioned against elevating her to sainthood, and she did so using Parton’s own words from an interview with People magazine:

“…I don’t want to be worshiped, because there’s a scripture in my Bible that talks about idol worship. And I see that happening all the time with movie stars and these celebrities. People literally worship them more than they worship God. And I just—I cringe at it sometimes.

“…But if I can set an example, then that’s great.”

Williams then offered an important warning:

That’s the other thing about this overzealous exaltation: It draws a line of righteousness between us and her, and we are forever on the wrong side. Parton stands alone as the divine while we stare in awe and reverence. We marvel at her accomplishments, the way she touched so many lives and made it look so easy.

But we don’t join the work. We don’t believe that we are equally worthy. We don’t see that we, too, are more than able to meet the needs of hurting people all around.

And that’s not what she would’ve wanted at all.

I agree with Williams. Turning Parton into a saint lets the rest of us off the hook. Saints do impossible things while ordinary people stand below and admire them.

Dolly’s work was not stained glass. It was cardboard packaging, postage, organization, fundraising, and the unglamorous labor required to put a book into a child’s hands every month.

Admiration is easy. Imitation is harder.

Still, I would add one thing: Parton’s life is proof that this world has not lost its ability to produce something truly beautiful.

Sometimes we all need that reminder before we get back to work.

This week, The Tennessean reported that the principal of Nashville’s Warner Arts Magnet Elementary School had been arrested in Sumner County and charged with aggravated domestic assault.

The headline, crafted to draw the most eyeballs, painted a horrific picture. Only after diving into the story did it become clear that the actual situation was more complex than the headline could hold. The accusation involves an alleged incident between a mother and her 13-year-old son. The charge is serious. So is the fact that, at this stage, it remains an accusation to be tested through a legal process.

What is needed here is more grace than accusation.

As a father of a 16-year-old and a 17-year-old, I am here to testify that parenting is really hard.

When it comes to home repairs, the hardest part is locating the right tool. No matter how hard I try to put everything in its place, I can never find what I need when I need it. Every job involves multiple trips to the store and at least one muttered obscenity.

Parenting is a lot like that.

You often know what the tool looks like, but not exactly where it is or how to use it in the moment. Patience works beautifully right up until yours is gone. Every situation arrives without instructions, and every child responds differently to the same tool.

Not too long ago, I sat at a picnic table in a local park trying to convince a pissed-off 13-year-old that they needed to come home and that leaving home was not a realistic option.

It took every ounce of patience I had to resolve it.

As a child, my mother would have grabbed me by the ear and walked me home while every neighbor watched. Those days are long gone. Some of that is progress. Some of it leaves parents navigating without much of a map.

None of that excuses violence. It does remind us how little of a family’s hardest moment can be understood from an arrest affidavit or newspaper story.

I am hoping everybody involved gets the grace, help, accountability, and compassion these difficult situations require—especially the child.

The principal is currently on paid administrative leave pending an investigation. MNPS says that leave is standard practice and does not itself indicate corrective or disciplinary action.

That distinction matters.

We can take an allegation seriously without declaring that we possess the whole truth. We can protect a child without treating public humiliation as justice.

As we move toward fall, thoughts turn to what might be on the minds of state legislators when they reconvene in January.

Word on the street is that Metro Nashville Public Schools may be getting a financial audit.

House Speaker Cameron Sexton confirmed to FOX 17 News that Tennessee lawmakers are discussing the possibility of a forensic audit of MNPS. That review would be separate from the performance audit recently ordered by Metro Government.

The proposed state audit would resemble the one recently completed on Memphis-Shelby County Schools, at a final cost of just under $8 million.

The Comptroller’s Office released its final report in July. Auditors identified approximately $54.2 million in transactions they said were consistent with evidence of potential fraud, waste, or abuse. They identified another $65.1 million in transactions where evidence suggested violations of district policies and procedures.

Even as state lawmakers discuss a possible forensic audit, Metro Government is already moving forward with a comprehensive performance audit of MNPS. Metro Council included approximately $800,000 for the audit in its FY2027 budget, with half expected to come from the district’s budget.

Council members have publicly called for a deeper examination of how MNPS operates and spends taxpayer dollars.

Councilwoman Jennifer Frensley Webb wrote in June that she supported putting money in the budget for an MNPS audit, arguing that the district needs a “deep dive into everything.”

Councilman Russ Bradford also backed the performance audit, calling it “long overdue” and raising concerns about central-office spending and contracting.

It is important to note that an audit does not automatically mean wrongdoing has occurred. A flagged transaction is not a conviction, and a policy violation is not necessarily fraud. A forensic audit and a performance audit are also different tools.

It is the old “trust but verify” meme.

MNPS manages a massive public budget. Asking the district to show how that money moves is neither an act of war nor proof of corruption. But two overlapping audits can become political theater if the goal is to manufacture a headline. Nashville should welcome a legitimate review while remaining clear-eyed about who orders it and how the findings are presented.

Trust, but verify the verifiers as well.

Tennessee lawmakers are a funny bunch. Even with a conservative supermajority, they embrace ideas that run counter to conservative principles—especially caution about inserting government into family decisions.

Tennessee Attorney General Jonathan Skrmetti spoke to The Tennessee Star after announcing Tennessee’s nearly $752 million share of a historic $17.1 billion multistate settlement with Meta Platforms over allegations that Instagram and Facebook harmed children.

“We had sued Meta because Instagram was designed to be addictive, and kids’ brains were particularly affected,” Skrmetti said. “It was having really serious mental health problems across a generation, and they were misleading parents about the risks, so parents couldn’t make informed choices.”

He continued:

“The whole point in suing them was not to shake down a big company. It was to fix the problem and protect kids online, and help parents do a better job of keeping track of what their kids are doing and make meaningful choices.”

It all sounds pretty noble, but look at the settlement terms.

In addition to the money, the agreement includes a default two-hour daily limit for young users, mandatory breaks during extended use, restrictions on overnight access and school-hour notifications, stronger parental controls and age verification, and additional safeguards involving bullying, eating disorders, suicide, and self-harm content.

Some parents may welcome every provision. I understand why. Social media companies designed products to hold attention, and teenagers arrived with developing brains and pocket-sized computers. Meta deserves scrutiny for what it knew, built, and told parents.

Still, the settlement feels like a little bit of an overreach.

People on the other side are awfully quiet on this one. Banning ideas housed in books is bad. Restricting access to ideas housed on the internet is good. Go figure.

The comparison is not perfect, but the tension is real. The same political movement that talks constantly about parental rights has negotiated a structure determining how long young people may use private platforms, when they receive notifications, and how their ages are verified.

Maybe those are wise protections. But let us call them what they are: government-directed limits on speech and technology, adopted through litigation rather than legislation.

I cannot shake the feeling that part of this is a big-government shakedown.

Meta Platforms is valued at around $1.5 trillion. Tossing governments $17.1 billion over ten years to avoid courtrooms, executive testimony, and a potentially larger judgment may simply feel like a better use of company resources.

That does not prove the allegations were false. It also does not prove that every term of the settlement is wise.

I cannot remember the tobacco or opioid settlements including instructions for how plaintiffs could continue safely using the product. If it is harmful, it is harmful. If it can be beneficial with supervision and limits, perhaps parents should remain central to setting them.

It is worth noting that the overwhelming majority of Tennessee’s expected $752 million payment is headed to the newly created Children’s Digital Protection Fund.

Does anyone remember Governor Lee’s Child Mental Health Fund?

Yeah.

Government funds are born with stirring names and solemn promises. Then the cameras leave, the money moves, and citizens are expected to trust that “protection” remains the organizing principle.

Trust but verify.

There is that phrase again.

Maybe that is the thread running through all of this.

We admire Dolly Parton because she earned trust and placed books in children’s hands. We should resist deciding a family’s story from a headline. We should audit public institutions because trust without accountability becomes entitlement. And we should question settlements that promise protection while transferring money and power into government hands.

Dolly never needed to demand that people recognize her goodness. She just kept doing the work.

That may be the best tribute available to us now.

Not worship. Not sainthood. Not another glittering monument.

Find the need. Find the right tool. Do the work. And when possible, mail a child a book.

Dad Gone Wild: Nobody reads it, everybody quotes it.

If you value independent education reporting and commentary, you can support Dad Gone Wild through Venmo: @Thomas-Weber-10.

Categories: Education