What Would Closing the U.S. Department of Education Mean For Your Kid’s School? A Parent’s Breakdown
I sat in a scuffed plastic folding chair by my 4th grader’s cubby last week for parent-teacher conferences, a half-built water cycle diorama propped on the desk between me and Ms. Henderson, my kid’s teacher. I was half-listening to her talk about his trouble with long division when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I snuck a glance, and the alert stopped me mid-nod: House Democrats move to impeach Education Secretary Linda McMahon over willful intent to close the Department of Education.
Ms. Henderson noticed I’d gone quiet. “What’s up?” she said, twisting the blue rubber band around her reusable water bottle. I showed her the alert. She sighed, leaned back in her chair, and said she’d heard rumblings about this from the district office for months.
She pointed to the paraeducator who was helping a group of kids with reading fluency through the classroom window. “Her salary is 70% paid for by an IDEA grant through the Department of Education,” she said. “If the department closes, that grant goes away. I’ve got three kids on IEPs in this class who need that one-on-one time. I can’t do it alone.”
I drove home after the conference with the kids yelling about ice cream in the backseat, and couldn’t stop thinking about that line. Like most parents, I’ve tuned out most of the DC noise around the Education Department lately. I knew McMahon had talked about shutting it down since before she was confirmed, framing it as unnecessary bureaucracy that gets in the way of local control. But until that conference, I never connected that idea to the everyday stuff happening at my kids’ elementary school.
My older son has dyslexia. When we moved here two years ago, the district tried to place him in general education without any dedicated reading time. I called the state education department three times, and got passed around to four different people who never called me back. I eventually got connected to a civil rights advocate who worked out of the regional Department of Education office. She helped me file a complaint, walked me through the paperwork, and got my son the reading specialist he’s had for the last year. If the department closes, that advocate’s job goes away. There’s no state budget line to replace it. Our state is already staring down a $2 billion deficit this year, and lawmakers are already talking about cutting education funding to balance the budget. No one’s going to pick up that work.
A lot of people I see on social media write this impeachment off as just another partisan stunt. I get that frustration—most DC fights feel disconnected from my life, too. But this isn’t about partisan drama. It’s about what the Department of Education actually does for regular kids and schools, that most of us never think about. Half the kids at our elementary get free or reduced-price lunch. That program is funded entirely through the Department of Education. The new ramp we built for the playground last year that lets kids in wheelchairs play with everyone else? The grant that paid for 80% of that came from the Ed Department. The after-school art program my younger kid loves? Also Ed Department funding.
I brought this up at our PTA meeting earlier this week, and almost every parent there had no idea how much of our school’s programming relies on federal Ed Department money. We got the principal to agree to share a full list of all the grants and programs our school gets from the department at our next meeting, so every parent can see exactly what’s at stake. That’s a small, concrete thing any parent can do right now, regardless of how you feel about impeachment or McMahon. If you’re wondering what this means for you, just ask your PTA or your principal to break down what federal education funding your school uses. It takes two minutes to bring it up, and most leaders are happy to share.
Another thing that takes five minutes total: if you have a kid who relies on special education, free lunch, or after-school programs, send a one-sentence email to your U.S. representative and senator. It doesn’t need to be a long essay. Just write: “I’m a parent in your district, and my kid uses [name the program, e.g. special education funding through IDEA] that’s run by the U.S. Department of Education. I ask that you oppose any effort to close the department.” That’s it. No fancy talking points needed.
I get the argument that the Department of Education has too much red tape. I’ve filled out that red tape for my son’s IEP, and it’s frustrating. I get wanting more local control. But what I haven’t heard anyone who wants to close the department answer is: what happens to the kids who rely on it, when the money and the protection go away? Wealthy districts in wealthy towns can raise property taxes to pay for paras and playgrounds and reading specialists. Poor districts in my state can’t. They already can’t afford to pay teachers enough, let alone replace hundreds of thousands of dollars in federal grants.
Last night, I helped my 4th grader glue cotton balls onto his water cycle diorama. He was telling me about how his class gets extra art time once a week from the after-school grant, and how his friend who uses a wheelchair loves the new ramp. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that all of that could go away, if the people in DC follow through on closing the department.
I don’t know if the impeachment will go anywhere. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the end. Right now, we’re just collecting the information, sending the emails, and showing up to the next PTA meeting. It’s not a big dramatic protest. It’s just parents asking what this means for our kids, one question at a time. That’s all we can do right now.
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