school system – TYPiNG ouT oF THe BLue

For those who’d rather listen.

I Wonder as I Wander • Darem Placer

A public school teacher recently died during a classroom observation. The details are still being reviewed. What remains clear is this: the moment was not just about teaching. It was heavy. It mattered. And it happened inside a system many teachers quietly fear.

On paper, classroom observation sounds harmless. It is supposed to help teachers grow. Support. Coaching. Improvement.

In real life, it often feels very different.

Before the observation, there is already pressure. Lesson plans must be perfect. Objectives must align. Activities must fit the time. Even teachers who have taught the same lesson for years suddenly feel unsure. Teaching becomes scripted. Natural rhythm disappears.

During the observation, someone sits at the back of the room with a checklist. Every move feels watched. Every word feels measured. The teacher becomes hyperaware of pacing, questioning, classroom control, and time. Even calm teachers feel their heartbeat speed up. It is no longer just teaching. It feels like performing.

After the observation comes the part that defines everything.

In a healthy system, feedback feels human. Strengths are acknowledged. Weak points are discussed with care. The goal is growth.

In a toxic system, feedback feels like judgment. Lists of faults. Little empathy. No context. The teacher feels reduced to a score.

This is where anxiety lives.

What many people do not see is what teachers carry into that room. Fatigue. Back-to-back classes. Paperwork. Family worries. Sometimes health issues no one knows about. Observation does not happen in a vacuum. It lands on a person who is already tired.

That is why saying “it is just an observation” misses the point.

Observation should feel like support, not surveillance. Coaching, not interrogation. Teaching already demands emotional labor. It should not require fear to prove competence.

If an observation makes a teacher feel unsafe, the problem is not the teacher. The problem is the system.

Teaching grows best where trust exists. Not where people feel they are waiting to fail.

What stays after that?
I Wonder as I Wander.

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**Alone with a Piano** includes ***I Wonder as I Wander.***

⌨ ᴛʸᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᴏᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʙˡᵘᵉ ᵈᵃʳᵉᵐ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜ ᵇˡᵒᵍ

Back in 1979, Pink Floyd shouted against the cold, strict school system: “We don’t need no education, hey teacher, leave them kids alone.” It was rebellion against rulers on hands, chalks thrown at heads, and teachers using fear instead of guidance. The song wasn’t against learning—it was against cruelty.

Roger Waters, who wrote the lyrics, used the double negative on purpose. It wasn’t bad grammar—it was rebellion. “We don’t need no education” sounds raw, fits the rhythm, and captures the street voice of protest. I think the point was not to say “stop going to school,” but telling the school to “stop killing creativity and be human.” Roger Waters aimed his words at oppression. My view looks at what happened after—when protest turned into practice.

Fast forward today—the protest became the policy. Schools are now pro-students, hyper-sensitive to emotions, and allergic to any form of harsh discipline. The wall of fear is gone, but what replaced it is a wall of fragility.

Gen X grew up tough, with scars to prove it. Gen Z grew up safe, with feelings front and center. Both carry weight—one endured too much, the other often escapes too soon.

So what happened when the system followed Pink Floyd’s song Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)? Balance was lost. We moved from discipline without feelings to feelings without discipline. And that, too, is not good.

The irony? The song fought for creativity and humanity. Humanity was pushed, but creativity slipped away. Today, with AI doing the thinking for many students, the cry Pink Floyd started feels left unfinished—like a lost brick in the wall.