Why Do Students Have to Pay Extra Just to Access Basic Education? A Teacher’s Perspective
Right after my last parent-teacher conference last October, I was stacking attendance slips and dumping out a cold paper cup of coffee, when Lila, Mia’s mom, hung back by the door. She was twisting the lanyard with her grocery store cashier ID around her wrist, and didn’t make eye contact at first. “I don’t know how to ask this,” she said, “but is there any way Mia can still do the extra math practice if I can’t pay the $25 subscription fee this month? My old Honda needed new tires, and that ate all the extra we had.”
Mia is a 7th grader in my pre-algebra class, and the district had just mandated we use this new online program for homework. The free version only lets students complete three problems a week, which isn’t enough to build the skills she needed to catch up after missing two weeks of school with flu earlier that semester. Twenty-five dollars isn’t a lot of money to a lot of people, but I knew Lila worked 30 hours a week bagging groceries and had two other kids in elementary school. I told her not to worry about it, that I’d cover it, and she exhaled like I’d just taken a weight off her chest.
After she left, I stood by my desk and started counting how many extra fees I’d asked families to pay just that semester. There was the $12 field trip fee to the state science museum, the $15 PE uniform fee, the $97 AP exam fee for my high school test prep students, and now this $25 monthly math subscription. None of these are “luxury” costs – the field trip ties directly to our earth science unit, the AP exams let kids earn college credit that saves them thousands in tuition later, and the math program is required homework. None of them are covered by the base school budget anymore.
The next week, when the rest of the grade loaded onto the buses for the science museum, I walked past the library to drop off attendance, and saw four kids sitting at empty tables, filling out generic busy work worksheets because their families couldn’t pay the entry fee. Javi, who always brings me dandelions he picks on the walk to school and rambles about wanting to be an astronaut, was scrolling through the museum’s planetarium photo gallery on his hand-me-down phone. He looked up and smiled and said “It’s okay, I don’t mind missing it,” but I knew he’d been talking about that planetarium show for a month.
People ask why this happens, why students have to pay extra just to access the education that’s supposed to be guaranteed to them. It’s not that school boards or principals are greedy. Most public school districts get the bulk of their funding from property taxes and state allocations, and neither has kept up with inflation over the last 20 years. When budgets get tight, districts cut teaching positions and support staff first, then start passing small, “optional” fees along to families for things that used to be included. It’s death by a thousand cuts: each fee is small enough that people who can afford it don’t think twice, but for families living paycheck to paycheck, they add up fast. That $25 subscription plus $12 field trip plus $97 AP exam is almost $150, which is a full tank of gas or a week of grocery money for a lot of households.
Three years ago, after a senior of mine skipped his AP physics exam because he couldn’t afford the fee, I started making small changes in my own classroom that any teacher or parent can replicate. I started a no-questions-asked fee fund, and when I send out my annual list of required fees at the start of the year, I add one simple line at the bottom: “If you are able, please consider adding $5 or $10 to your payment to help cover fees for classmates who need it. All contributions stay in our classroom, no paperwork required.” Last year, we raised almost $800, which covered every fee for every kid in my three classes that needed help. I keep the cash in a locked drawer, and no one ever has to share their financial situation to get help. I just cover the fee and move on, no fanfare, no stigma.
I also work around the paid online program rules: every Sunday night, I screenshot the full week of homework problems from my teacher account and upload them to our free class Google Drive. That way, any kid who can’t afford the subscription still has access to every problem, just like the kids who can pay. The district doesn’t love the workaround, but they haven’t stopped me yet, and it means no kid gets a zero on homework because their family is short on cash that month.
For parents who are struggling to cover a fee, the most concrete step you can take is to ask your kid’s teacher directly. Most of us know about hidden district fee waivers that no one advertises, or have small pools of money set aside for exactly this situation. You don’t have to share your whole budget, just say “I can’t cover this fee this month, is there any help available?” If you can afford to chip in an extra $5 when you pay your own kid’s fees, do it – it adds up faster than you think, and it makes a huge difference for a family that’s stretched thin.
Last week, Lila brought me a tin of warm chocolate chip cookies after she got her holiday bonus at the grocery store, and paid for Mia’s subscription for the rest of the semester. Mia’s math grade went up 11 points in a month, because she can finally do all the practice she needs. We’re covered for all the kids who need help this semester, thanks to the parents who chipped in extra back in August. But I know next year, there will be more new fees, more kids whose families can’t pay, and our small fund will only stretch so far.
This isn’t a solution. No kid should be blocked from learning because their parent can’t come up with an extra $25. But until the people who set education budgets fix the system, this is what we do: we chip in, we work around the rules, and we make sure no kid has to sit out because they can’t pay.
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