I’ve been thinking about that little tableau more than I’d expected over the last few weeks. After all, it would’ve been a whole lot easier for the lifeguard to say, “Good enough,” and call it a day. It keeps the kids happy. It eliminates the chance that irate parents will hassle him or complain to management. It’s the path of least resistance for all concerned.
That path is taken all too often by schools plagued by chronic absenteeism, misbehavior, and grade inflation. Truth is, ed schools, teacher trainings, and consultants obsessed with trauma have immersed educators in a culture of therapy, one where too many steadfastly avoid bluntly having to say, “That’s not good enough. Do better.”
Take the reaction to the White House’s recent announcement that President Trump was reinstating the Presidential Fitness Test (which was discontinued in 2013 as part of a shift away from “athletic performance” in favor of a more holistic “barometer” of student health). Those old enough will recall that the test involves sit-ups, pull-ups, a little running, and other basic exercises. Students who hit certain benchmarks get a certificate. Not a big deal, to say the least. Well, to get a sense of the trauma-soaked national imagination of 2025, check out the New York Times story on Trump’s decision, “For Some, Return of Presidential Fitness Test Revives Painful Memories”:
While some still proudly remember . . . receiving a presidential certificate, many others recoil at the mere mention of the test. For them, it was an early introduction to public humiliation. “You would see it,” Ms. Burnett said. Her classmates “would feel body shamed if they didn’t perform as well.”
My favorite quote in the Times story is the 60-year-old woman who laments, “It was survive or fail. It was Darwinist” (emphasis mine). Now, I don’t think Charles Darwin would think kids having to do pull-ups really captures the adapt-or-die essence of On the Origin of Species. But this kind of overwrought anxiety has become pervasive, undermining our ability to set clear expectations for kids or confidently stand by them.
I can’t help but think that this is a story about our discomfort with expectations. This matters. If it feels tough and unpleasant to maintain high standards, they’re less likely to be maintained. When high standards are dismissed as oppressive or cruel, people start seeing them as the enemy.
Now, there’s a built-in consequence that is immediate and quite public if one lazily judges a weak performance on a swim test “good enough.” If a kid jumps off the diving board, can’t make it to the side, and has to be pulled out of the water, well . . . it’s dangerous. There’s potential liability. All in all, not a great look. The lifeguard who okayed the kid’s swim test may well be called to account. This is the kind of backdrop that can help stiffen spines. But in a school setting, the consequences of lenient grading aren’t as immediately evident.
