Why Schools Can’t Hire Enough Paras, Aides, and TAs — and What It Means for Kids
The intercom in Room 104 buzzed at 9:12 while I was cutting construction paper for a first-grade art project.
“Any available staff, please report to Room 106.”
Ms. Reyes did not look up from her guided reading table. The only para in the room, Dana, was already halfway out the door to cover a kindergarten class whose aide had called out. At the sensory table, a boy named Theo knocked over a bin of plastic cubes because his morning schedule had changed without warning.
I knelt down and started picking them up. I did not try to reason with him or ask him to explain. I just held out two cubes and said, “Green or blue?” He took the blue one and sat down. Two minutes later, he helped me put the rest away.
That small moment did not make the staffing problem disappear. It showed how easily a day can shift when there are not enough adults who know the children, know their plans, and have time to respond before frustration grows.
Dana later ate a granola bar while walking down the hall. She was supposed to support students in three classrooms that morning. She helps with reading groups, behavior support plans, toileting, feeding, data collection, transitions, and the small conflicts that happen at recess. She knows which child needs a two-minute warning before assembly, which one uses a communication device, and which one needs the lights dimmed after lunch.
She also makes $14.20 an hour, gets 25 hours a week, and has no health insurance. Her schedule splits in the middle of the day, so picking up a second job is difficult. A nearby warehouse is hiring for $17.50 an hour with full-time hours.
“I love these kids,” she said, checking her walkie-talkie. “But I can’t pay rent with love.”
That is the core of the shortage facing schools across the country. Paras, aides, and teaching assistants are often paid as if their job is simply making copies, tying shoes, and monitoring lunch. In reality, they are doing work that requires patience, training, quick judgment, and sometimes physical care. They may be asked to de-escalate a child in crisis, collect IEP data, adapt a math lesson, help a student use the bathroom, and then supervise 25 children on the playground—all before noon.
When the pay does not match those expectations, qualified people look elsewhere. Retirees, college students, and deeply dedicated staff may stay for a while, but schools cannot build stable support systems on goodwill alone. Parents see the result: canceled small groups, longer wait times for help, less supervision at recess, and more behaviors that could have been prevented with an extra familiar adult in the room.
This is not simply a school funding argument. It affects what happens at home, too. When my son Sam started first grade, his push-in speech group was often skipped because the para assigned to his class was covering another room. At pickup, he would be restless and easily frustrated. His teacher was doing her best, but she could not be in four places at once.
His school eventually improved when the team stopped relying on “we’ll try to get to it” and made a few concrete changes. Sam’s teacher placed a visual schedule near the door and gave him a help card he could put on his desk when he needed an adult. She also set up independent work bins with activities he had already practiced, so he was not waiting with nothing to do while she helped another group. Those changes did not replace a para, but they reduced the number of moments when he felt stuck.
Parents can ask similar questions without blaming the teacher. At a conference, ask: “Is the para or TA position in my child’s program currently filled?” “Who covers when that person is absent?” “Which services or supports might be shortened when staffing is short?” A teacher may not be able to solve the budget, but they can usually explain the actual plan for the day.
At home, simple routines can lower the amount of adult support a child needs at school. Practice the morning sequence in the same order each day: backpack by the door, lunch choice, shoes, coat. Use pictures or a written list instead of giving five reminders. Give two acceptable choices instead of open-ended questions: “Crayons or blocks?” “Walking feet or holding my hand?” These small patterns help children feel steady when school feels unpredictable.
If a child struggles with behavior, keep language short during the moment. “Blocks are for building. Hand it to me.” Afterward, when everyone is calm, name one thing they could try next time: “Next time you can show me your break card before you throw.” Long lectures rarely help when a child’s body is already overwhelmed.
Teachers I know have also stopped waiting for perfect staffing and made their rooms easier to run. They use visual timers for transitions, assign seats near calm peer models, create “calm corners” with three clear choices, and keep extra independent practice bins ready. One teacher sends a one-page note to paras covering her class: triggers, calming strategies, safe physical prompts, and two phrases that work. That page takes 10 minutes to write and prevents hours of confusion.
But classroom adjustments only go so far. Parents and staff can also show up at school board meetings and speak in specific, calm terms. Instead of saying “support staff need more money,” say: “Our first-grade classroom has had no regular para for six weeks. Those staff are asked to manage behavior, personal care, and instructional data for $14 an hour. The pay needs to match the actual job, or these positions will stay unfilled.” Budget meetings, contract negotiations, and local elections matter more than many parents realize.
Small kindnesses help, but they are not a substitute for fair pay. A coffee gift card does not cover rent. A thank-you note does not create predictable hours. Parents can thank paras while also demanding wages that allow them to stay.
Last month, the district raised the starting wage for educational aides to $16 an hour. Two people applied for the Room 104 vacancy. One accepted, but the background check and paperwork will take several more weeks. Dana is still there, still eating lunch while walking, still knowing exactly which child needs the lights dimmed. She is also taking a medical-office class at night.
The visual schedule in Sam’s classroom is working. Theo now hands a break card to an adult before he knocks over the cubes. Some days, the morning goes smoothly. Other days, the intercom buzzes and everyone waits.
Until schools pay support staff for the real work they do, the buzzer will keep sounding, and children and teachers will keep making do with less than they need.
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