My kid’s two years of private school vs. online— I still don’t have a clean answer
I was standing in the physical private school parking lot yesterday, wiping mosquito bites off my ankle, waiting for my 10th grader to come out after soccer practice, when I started overthinking the tuition email I got that morning. Eighteen thousand four hundred dollars a year, for one kid. That’s before books, before the mandatory polo uniform I have to buy from their overpriced campus store, before the random “field trip fee” that pops up every other month. I still haven’t fixed the leak around our kitchen skylight because we prioritized tuition this year. So of course my brain goes to the thing everyone’s been whispering about lately: is this even worth it anymore? Has online school finally caught up enough that I’m just flushing money down the drain for tradition?
To be fair, I’m not just talking out of my rear here. We did a full year of accredited online private when my husband had a temporary work transfer across the state three years ago, so I’ve seen both sides up close. The online program cost less than half of what we pay for the physical one, and academically? It was totally fine. Better in some ways. My kid’s always been fast at math, hates sitting around doing busy work while the rest of the class catches up. Online, he’d finish his work in 30 minutes, log off, and go hunt for morel mushrooms in the woods behind the apartment we were renting. No one made him sit at a desk doing extra credit problems he didn’t need. He scored higher on his standardized tests that year than any year before or after. I can’t knock that part.
But man, the weird, awkward parts of that year that no one talks about. I still remember the time he forgot to turn his camera off during silent reading, and the whole class saw him picking at a swollen pimple on his forehead for ten minutes. He was mortified, wouldn’t go to class the next day, and I had to email the teacher begging for a make-up day that didn’t hurt his grade. And it wasn’t just the silly embarrassing stuff. I worked part time from home back then, and I swear I spent at least ten hours a week managing his school. Reminding him to log on at 9am, troubleshooting the Wi-Fi when it cut out mid-quiz, badgering him to turn in assignments that the auto-reminder somehow missed. Everyone talks about how flexible online school is, which it is— but that flexibility lands on you, as the parent, not just the kid. I had a client deadline blow once because I spent an hour on hold with the online school tech support because their portal wouldn’t load my kid’s midterm. That’s the unglamorous part no one mentions when they’re gushing about how great homeschool/online is.
Then there’s the social stuff, which I didn’t think would matter that much to me until we lived it. We went to one of those monthly meetups the online program organized at a local park, right? All the kids from our region came to hang out. I brought lemonade, hung back with the other parents, and watched them all. They just stood there, hands in their pockets, scrolling their phones, no one really talking. After 45 minutes we all packed up and left, and my kid got in the car and said, “It doesn’t feel like they’re actually my friends. I just know their usernames.” He didn’t have anyone to sit with at lunch, no one to text when he was bored on a weekend, because you don’t get that random mess of running into each other between classes, of accidentally ending up at the same table, of being forced to work on a group project together even if you don’t want to. That stuff is awkward and annoying half the time, but it’s how you learn to be around people, right?
Back to the physical private school. Yeah, it’s overpriced. Yeah, there’s so much dumb, unnecessary stuff. Last month I sat through a 45 minute parent meeting where the head of school tried to sell us on an extra “leadership institute” that’s another $2500 a year, and it’s basically just kids organizing the spring bake sale. I sat there nodding and smiling even though I thought it was a total scam, because I didn’t want to be the rude parent that makes a fuss. There’s still that one 11th grader that trips my son in the hallway between gym and English, and the administration just shrugs and says “boys will be boys.” It’s not perfect, not by a long shot.
But then there’s the stuff you can’t get online, no matter how good the platform is. Last semester my son failed an algebra quiz, and instead of just logging a zero and sending me an automated email, his teacher pulled him aside after class. She noticed he’d been slumping in his seat, not participating like he usually does, looked up his soccer schedule and realized he was having to leave school an hour early twice a week and was missing the new material. She started staying after once a week to re-teach it to him, no extra charge, no asking me to hire a tutor. That’s the thing a teacher can only pick up on if they see you every day, right? They can see the tiredness in your face, the way you’re dragging that day. An online teacher can’t see that when your camera’s off, or even when it’s on, half the time.
And last week he brought home this lopsided mug he made in after-school pottery. It has a chip on the handle, and it says “World’s Okay Mom” written in lopsided blue glaze. He wouldn’t have that if he was doing online school. The art program here lets kids stay as late as they want to mess around with clay, no extra fee, no rush to log off for the next class.
So do I have a clean answer? No, honestly. Is online school caught up? Academically, yeah, totally. It’s as good or better than most physical private schools for a lot of kids. If my kid was the kind of kid that hated the hallway drama, that wanted to go at his own pace, that had other stuff he cared about doing with his time— I’d absolutely do online in a heartbeat. It’s a great option now, way better than it was even ten years ago.
But right now, for my kid, this messy, overpriced physical private school is worth it. Even with the leaky skylight, even with the stupid leadership grift, even with the kid that trips him in the hallway. I don’t know if it’ll be worth it next year. If he comes to me tomorrow and says he wants to go back online so he can spend more time working on his mushroom foraging Instagram, I’ll probably say yes. There’s no one right answer for everyone, and that’s okay. I stopped looking for a perfect, universal conclusion a long time ago. (Word count: 1182)
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