What Parents Should Know About Underfunded Public Schools In America: My Real Experience
Last Tuesday, I waited outside my 10-year-old son Leo’s 4th grade classroom in 38-degree weather, watching steam curl out of kids’ mouths as they raced for the bus line. When Leo finally emerged, he pulled a crumpled math worksheet out of his backpack, printed on the back of a 2022 PTA cookie sale flier. “Ms. Henderson ran out of new copy paper again,” he said, twisting the nub of his eraser between his fingers—one that’s been worn down to the metal since October.
This is our average underfunded public school in northeast Ohio, a mid-sized working-class suburb where 40% of kids qualify for free or reduced lunch, and per-pupil funding runs almost $3,000 below the state average. I’ve heard people write off schools like ours as “failing” before they’ve even stepped foot in the building, but that’s not what I see. What I see is a thousand small cuts that add up to less fun, less breathing room, and less joy for kids and teachers alike. It’s not that the teachers don’t care—most of them here care more than any I’ve met at wealthy district events. It’s that they just don’t have the resources to do the little things that make school feel like more than a series of required lessons.
At back-to-school night last fall, I walked into Leo’s classroom and counted 12 stained, scratched whiteboards, only 4 of which had full sets of working markers. The science textbooks all have 2008 copyright dates, and the class hamster’s cage has a crack in the bottom held together with duct tape for three years. Ms. Henderson told me straight up that she spends about $700 of her own money every year on basic supplies the district doesn’t cover. When Leo was in first grade, I seriously looked into transferring him to the wealthy district 10 minutes away, or pulling him for homeschool. I bought into the idea that underfunded equals bad, that my kid was missing out. But when I sat down and talked to a few other parents, I realized the gaps aren’t unfixable with small, consistent effort—even while we keep pushing for bigger systemic change.
The first thing we did that actually worked was ditch the one big annual fundraiser that leaves parents feeling pressured and usually only raises a few hundred dollars to split across the whole school. Instead, we ask each teacher at the start of the year to share a short, specific wishlist of small items the district doesn’t provide. No fancy microscopes or new SmartBoards, just things like extra erasers, dry erase markers, copy paper, tissues, and kid-sized band-aids. We post the list on our class Facebook group, and just say “grab one thing if you can, no guilt if you can’t.” Last year, our class got 12 reams of copy paper, three boxes of markers, and enough tissues to last the whole semester. Ms. Henderson hasn’t had to print on the back of old fliers for two months now. It’s a tiny change, but it makes every day run a little smoother.
The next thing we tried came from a conversation with Ms. Henderson, who mentioned she just didn’t have time to plan extra fun activities on top of required testing, lesson planning, and all the other administrative work the district dumps on her. A handful of us who work from home or have flexible schedules asked the principal if we could lead one 45-minute “fun period” a month. We bring all the supplies ourselves, so it doesn’t cost the school anything. One month we did cookie math, where kids measured and baked sugar cookies to practice fractions. Another month we did a nature scavenger hunt around the school grounds with cheap clipboards we bought at the dollar store. Last month we did a board game day, all games donated from parents’ extra closets. Before we started doing this, Ms. Henderson said she usually skipped any extra fun events because she couldn’t afford to buy supplies or take time away from required curriculum. Now, the kids talk about Fun Friday all month.
I get why so many families leave underfunded schools. It’s exhausting to see the shortages every day, and it’s fair to want the best for your kid. But what people don’t talk about enough is that when families with means leave, enrollment drops, and funding gets even worse—creating a cycle that’s almost impossible to break. I’m not saying every family has to stay, or that it’s the right choice for everyone. But for those of us who can stay, even small contributions make a bigger difference than I thought they would. It doesn’t fix the broken system of tying school funding to property taxes, but it makes every day a little better for the kids who are here right now.
Last week, Leo came home waving a worksheet printed on brand new, blank white paper. He held it up like it was an award. We still don’t have a new slide on the playground—the old one has been roped off for two years because the district can’t afford to replace it. We still only have a part-time art teacher that comes once every two weeks. The school levy we voted on last fall failed by 120 votes, so things won’t get better any time soon. But the eraser bin is full right now. The kids get one fun period a month that they look forward to. Most days, Leo runs into school excited to see his friends and his teacher. Systemic change moves slow, and I still resent that we have to do the work the state should be doing. But for right now, this is what we’ve got, and it’s enough to get by while we keep pushing.
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