How small, consistent investments in education benefit your child and future generations
Last Tuesday, I sat cross-legged on my laundry room floor helping my 10-year-old son Jax dump out his backpack after school. A crumpled granola bar wrapper rolled under the dryer, a neon green sock that’s been missing for two weeks popped out from between folders, and then he pulled out a smudged science worksheet covered in pencil drawings of spotted frogs. The final question about watershed pH was left blank, but in the margin, his teacher Mrs. Henderson wrote: Great frogs. Want to stay after tomorrow to test stream pH for real at the city park? I looked up at Jax, covered in grass stains from recess, and he said, “She said she had to buy the test strips herself. The office didn’t have money in the budget this semester.”
A month before that, I’d sat in the school cafeteria for a PTA meeting, on one of those hard plastic folding tables, eating a stale cookie from the fall fundraiser, talking about the upcoming property tax levy that would fund all the unbudgeted programs: the environmental club, the after-school art group, the extra reading books for kids who are behind grade level. A couple of parents stood up and said they couldn’t afford an extra $150 a year in taxes, that their kids didn’t need all these “extras” anyway, that the school should just stick to reading and math. I didn’t say anything then, but sitting on the laundry room floor with Jax’s frog worksheet, I got what this is really about.
Jax has never been the kid who aces every worksheet. He zones out during textbook chapters, forgets to turn in homework half the time, and would rather draw animals than answer multiple choice questions. Two years ago, his previous teacher sent home a note saying he wasn’t meeting grade level reading expectations, and suggested we do extra drill practice every night after school. But Mrs. Henderson, who took over that semester, noticed Jax carried a tattered field guide to amphibians everywhere, and asked if he’d rather use that for his weekly reading reports instead of the assigned chapter book. By the end of the year, he was reading 10 pages more a night than he was before, just because it was something he cared about. That flexibility, that ability to meet kids where they are, only exists when there’s extra support for extra supplies and extra time teachers can give.
A lot of people hear “invest in education” and think that means writing a big check to a college scholarship fund, or saving six figures for private school, or lobbying Congress for big policy changes. Those things matter, but most of us can’t do that. The investments that matter most for our kids and the next generation are the small, low-effort ones that any of us can make right now.
I started asking each of Jax’s teachers at the start of every semester what one thing they need that the school budget doesn’t cover. It’s never something big. One teacher needed 10 extra graphic novels for her classroom library, for kids who don’t like thick chapter books. I ordered them used from Thriftbooks for $17, and she told me three different kids who never checked out books before now borrow one every week. Mrs. Henderson needed those water test strips, which cost $22 for a three-pack. That’s less than I spend on coffee in a week. If you’re a parent or caregiver, that small question – “What do you need for the classroom that you don’t have funding for?” – takes 30 seconds, and it’s way more useful than a generic mug or apple-themed candle for teacher appreciation. If you don’t have kids in school, you can still ask your local elementary school office that question, or drop off a pack of notebook paper or extra pencils at the start of the semester. Small things add up.
When I was Jax’s age, my small town school cut the art program entirely to pay for new football uniforms. No one had extra money for a big district-run program, but a group of parents got together: one mom had an old empty barn she let us use every Friday after school, another mom brought half-used cans of paint from her house when she redecorated, my dad brought scrap lumber from his construction job for us to carve. I went every week for three years. I never became an artist, but I still paint on weekends when I’m stressed, and that space where I got to mess around and make whatever I wanted instead of following rules is more memorable to me than almost any high school test I took. Those small investments from those parents shaped how I relax, how I solve problems, how I see the world, and none of them cost more than a few dollars and a few hours a month. If you have an extra couple of hours a month, you can volunteer to chaperone one of these underfunded clubs – most teachers want to run them, they just need an extra adult to supervise to meet school rules.
Last week, Jax came home from the park trip caked in mud from the stream bank, holding a crumpled notebook full of his test results. He and three other kids found higher than normal nitrogen levels near the golf course that borders the park, and they’re writing a letter to the city council to ask the golf course to switch to organic fertilizer. It might not work. They’re 10, their letter has spelling mistakes and more frog doodles in the margins. But that’s the point: no one is born knowing how to show up for the place they live. They learn that by doing it, when someone gives them the space and the supplies to do it.
The levy passed last month by 11 votes, so next year the programs will still be there. But we don’t know what will happen when it comes up for renewal again in four years, when Jax is in high school. I don’t know if he’ll still care about frogs when he’s 16, or if he’ll go to college for environmental science, or if he’ll even remember this after-school club when he’s my age. But that doesn’t mean the investment is wasted. Investing in education isn’t about getting a guaranteed outcome, like a good job or a perfect college acceptance. It’s about putting one foot in front of the other, giving kids the space to explore what they care about, one $22 pack of test strips and one extra hour a week at a time. For my son, for all the kids sitting in classrooms right now, that’s the investment that will build whatever future comes next.
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