What To Know About School Admin Assistants: Tips For Parents And New Teachers
Last October, I screeched into my son’s elementary school parking lot at 8:17 a.m., one hand clutching his forgotten epinephrine auto-injector and the other clamped around my still-ringing work phone. I’d gotten the call two minutes after I pulled away from the drop-off line, my heart jumping into my throat—his class was leaving for the apple orchard in 10 minutes, and no kid with a severe nut allergy goes on a field trip without his emergency medication. I burst through the front door, already fumbling for my driver’s license to sign in, expecting to have to hunt down the nurse and race to the bus loop before the gates closed. Instead, Mabel, the admin assistant who sits by the front entrance, held out a crumpled sticky note with my son’s name and class number written in blue pen, and grabbed the epi pen from me before I even caught my breath. “I already texted the nurse, she’s waiting by the buses,” she said, and waved me off when I started stammering apologies for being messy and flustered. “Go on, I’ve got this.”
I’d been a 4th grade teacher before I shifted to part-time work after my son was born, so I knew better than most that school front offices run on the backs of admin assistants. But even I’d forgotten how much of the invisible work they do, until I started spending more time at the school volunteering for the PTA this year. I’ve sat next to Mabel during book fair week, watched her answer 12 phone calls in 20 minutes, help a kindergartener tie his shoe, calm down a frazzled parent who couldn’t find their kid’s forgotten lunch box, and remind three different teachers about the district deadline for field trip forms, all without spilling her half-cold coffee. Her desk has a chipped mug that says “World’s Okayest Admin” that her own kid made her in 5th grade, and a jar of lemon drops she keeps for anyone having a bad day.
Last month, a mom came in right after drop-off, red-faced and quiet, asking to speak to someone about the 5th grade overnight camp fee. I knew her from the car line—she’s a single mom working two jobs, and her car broke down the week before. She said she couldn’t afford the $120 fee this month, and she didn’t want her kid to miss the trip, but she was too embarrassed to ask the principal. Mabel just stood up, walked her over to the corner by the copy machine, out of earshot of the other people waiting, and pulled a pre-filled scholarship form out of her desk drawer. She said the PTA sets aside money every year for this, no extra references needed, no one has to know but us. She told the mom to bring it back whenever, no rush. The mom cried a little, and Mabel handed her a lemon drop from the jar and told her it was no big deal. That’s not in any job description I’ve ever seen.
A lot of parents I talk to think admin assistants just answer phones and stamp permission slips. A lot of new teachers think their only job is to file paperwork. That’s where most people go wrong. The first thing to know is that they hold the collective memory of the school. Principals transfer, teachers move away, new programs come and go, but most admin assistants stay at a school for 10, 15, even 20 years. They remember that the little girl who just started kindergarten has an older brother who hated the loud fire drill too, so they can tell the teacher what worked for him. They remember which grandma always picks up Jimmy on Wednesdays, so they don’t make her show ID every single time, which makes her feel respected instead of suspected. They know which classroom always has a leaky projector, and they can send the maintenance guy over before the first lesson even starts, if you ask nicely.
For parents, there are three small, concrete things you can do that make everyone’s life easier, including yours. First, learn their name and use it. Most people walk past the front desk every day and never bother to ask who they are. A quick “good morning Mabel” when you sign in takes two seconds, and it makes a job that’s often stressful and thankless feel a little better. Second, check the school website or newsletter before you call with a question. Mabel told me she gets an average of 30 calls a day asking what time early dismissal is, or when spring break starts, information that’s posted right on the homepage. Taking 30 seconds to check first frees her up to answer the urgent calls that can’t wait. Third, if you change your phone number, your pickup list, or your kid has a new health issue, tell the front desk as well as the teacher. If your kid gets a fever at recess, the admin assistant is the one who calls you first—if they have your old number, that’s a lot of extra stress for everyone.
For new teachers, the best piece of advice I can give is to be specific and thoughtful with your admin team. When I started teaching, I was so focused on lesson plans and classroom management that I regularly turned in paperwork the night before it was due, expecting it to get processed right away. Once I started working with Mabel, I learned that turning in field trip forms a week early meant she didn’t have to stay late to get them done, and she’d always catch the missing signatures I’d forgotten before I turned everything in to the district. She also gave me the low-down on tricky situations no one else would tell me—like that one family was sleeping in a shelter after getting evicted, so I shouldn’t bug them about missing supply fees, or that the kid who always acts out in the morning hasn’t had breakfast, so I should keep an extra granola bar in my desk. That’s information you can’t get from any staff handbook.
It’s not all small wins, of course. Mabel told me last week that the school cut one full-time admin position this year because of budget cuts, so now she’s covering half of that person’s responsibilities on top of her own. She skips her lunch break most days, and leaves 20 minutes late every afternoon just to get everything done. A weekly coffee and a jar of lemon drops don’t fix underfunding and understaffing. It’s a system problem that small gestures can’t solve. But small gestures still matter.
Last week, my son came home from school with a lemon drop in his pocket, and told me Mabel gave it to him after he scraped his knee on the playground. I asked him what he thinks Mabel does at school, and he said “she helps people when they need it.” That’s the long and short of it. They do a hundred invisible things a day that keep the school running, and keep your kid safe and happy, most of which you’ll never see. It doesn’t take much to acknowledge that.
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