Why Texas’ 90% High School Graduation Rate Doesn’t Tell the Whole Story (and What Parents Can Check)
Last May, I sat across from 17-year-old Javi at a chipped laminate table in my high school college and career room, the smell of burnt microwave popcorn drifting from the staff lounge down the hall. He jabbed at his school-issued Chromebook, its cracked screen held together with clear packing tape, and clicked “submit” on his final algebra 1 credit recovery assignment. That score pushed him just over the line to meet graduation requirements, making him one of the roughly 90% of Texas public high school students who walked across graduation stages that month.
Javi had failed algebra 1 as a sophomore, when his mom picked up a second housekeeping shift and he had to watch his 8-year-old sister three nights a week, missing most of his free after-school tutoring. The self-paced online credit recovery course he took to make up the credit was mostly multiple-choice; he told me he retook unit quizzes three or four times until the questions looked familiar enough to guess correctly. He passed the class, but he failed the math section of the Texas Success Initiative, or TSI, the state test that determines whether students can take credit-bearing college classes. His local community college’s automotive technology program required him to sign up for a non-credit remedial math course first, which cost $300 out of pocket and didn’t count toward his certificate.
“I still don’t get how to calculate interest on a car loan, honestly,” he said, shoving the Chromebook back in his backpack, where a crumpled welding program flyer stuck out of a side pocket. “But I graduate, right? That’s what everyone keeps saying matters.”
A week later, the Texas Education Agency released its official graduation rate numbers, and headlines popped up across local news: 90%, a record high, up 12 points since 2012. My sister, who has an 8th grader in a public middle school outside San Antonio, texted me a screenshot with a relieved emoji. “At least she’s basically guaranteed to graduate,” she wrote.
I thought about that text a few days later as I sat in the graduation ceremony bleachers, watching kids line up in wrinkled navy gowns. There was Tyler, a career and technical education student who’d earned a national welding certification before graduation and already had a job lined up at a local pipeline company for $22 an hour. He’d skipped the TSI entirely, since he had no plans for a four-year degree. There was Mia, a straight-A student with four AP classes on her transcript, who’d missed 19 days of school the previous fall after anxiety attacks made it hard to leave her bed. Her teachers had let her make up work with take-home packets, and she’d memorized enough unit test facts to pass, but she told me later she’d never written a research paper longer than three pages. She dropped her entry-level college English class the first semester, overwhelmed by the 10-page writing requirement.
At our end-of-year staff debrief, campus leaders passed around a sheet cake with blue frosting that read “Class of 2024: 90% and Counting.” Our special education coordinator Lila waited until everyone had a slice before pulling up the school’s full state report card on the projector. Our feeder elementary schools’ 3rd grade reading proficiency rate sat at 41%. Our campus chronic absenteeism rate – the share of kids who missed 10% or more of the school year – hit 24%. Only 37% of our graduating seniors scored at college-ready level on both sections of the TSI, and just 28% of low-income students hit that mark.
None of this means the 90% graduation rate is bad news. Districts across the state have added real supports over the last decade: free after-school tutoring, evening classes for students who work full time, on-campus childcare for teen parents. Those changes have kept thousands of kids who would have otherwise dropped out in school long enough to earn a diploma, and that diploma has tangible value. Most entry-level office jobs, military roles, and trade programs require it as a basic application threshold. But the rate only measures whether a student crossed the finish line – not how high that finish line was set, or what skills they carried with them when they crossed. Some of the rate’s growth comes from looser credit requirements and simplified credit recovery courses, pushed in part by state rules that tie school funding and ratings directly to graduation numbers.
When my sister called that weekend to ask what she could actually do, beyond trusting the headline number, I didn’t tell her to drill her kid on flashcards or hire an expensive tutor. I gave her three small, low-lift moves that work for both parents and classroom teachers.
Once a semester, ask a kid to walk you through one open-ended homework problem from their core math or English class – not “how’s math going?” but “can you show me how you worked through that grocery store discount word problem last night?” If they can’t explain the steps, even if they brought home a B, shoot their teacher a two-sentence email asking for a 10-minute weekly practice sheet or free online tool to firm up that specific skill. Don’t wait for a failing grade to reach out.
Once a year, look up your school’s full TEA report card by searching the campus name plus “TEA school report card.” You don’t have to parse every line of jargon. Just note three numbers: 3rd grade reading proficiency, chronic absenteeism, and the college, career, and military readiness, or CCMR, rate. That last number counts students who leave high school with a usable credential, not just a diploma – a passing TSI score, an industry certification, or military enlistment eligibility. It tells you far more about post-grad options than the graduation rate alone.
If a student is taking summer school or credit recovery, don’t only ask if they passed. Ask what one skill from the class they expect to use after graduation. If they can’t name one, 15 minutes a day of free grade-level practice on Khan Academy, tied to real tasks like budgeting or recipe measurements, fills gaps far better than cramming for retakes.
Javi started community college that fall, and he stopped by my office during my Tuesday and Thursday planning periods with a cup of gas station sweet tea, asking for help with his remedial math worksheets. Most of his paycheck from changing oil at the local shop went to tuition. Last month he showed me a photo of a custom trailer hitch he’d welded for his boss, who’d promised him a raise once he finished his remedial courses and moved into credit-bearing classes.
Last week I sat in on a district working group where administrators debated tightening credit recovery rules to match grade-level skill standards. Several principals pushed back, saying the change could drop the district’s graduation rate by 5 or 6 points in the first year, and push students already balancing work and childcare to drop out entirely. No one has landed on a fix yet.
My sister now sends a short note to my niece’s math and reading teachers once a month, asking for one quick skill to practice while they make dinner. Javi texted me yesterday with a screenshot of his first for-credit college math quiz: an 88%. The official graduation count already marks him as a success. The rest of it is still playing out.
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