The Real Cost of Public Education

A few days ago I got to witness first-hand what so many of you deal with every single day. My son, a high schooler who had been attending an out-of-area school for athletics, decided he needed more academic rigor. Naturally, we thought moving him back to our home school—the public school in our neighborhood—would be straightforward. After all, that’s the whole idea behind catchment areas: ensuring that students can attend the schools in their own communities. I reached out to the school to initiate the transfer, expecting nothing more than a routine administrative process. But I was met with an unexpected roadblock: the school was capped. They were already 500 students over their 1,500-student allotment and couldn’t take on any more.  Wait, what?  I was floored. How could a public school in our area, built specifically for the children living here, turn away those very students? Through a bit of digging, I found out why. The school wasn’t just bursting at the seams due to local demand—it was also housing a specialized arts and music program. But here’s the kicker: almost 100% of the slots in that program were filled by international students, each paying nearly $20K per year for the privilege.  That’s right—our local public school was effectively operating like a private institution, cashing in on international tuition dollars while turning away the kids who lived right down the street.  And so began my bureaucratic odyssey. I contacted the school again and spoke to a lovely, albeit stressed, secretary. She was fielding calls from countless parents, all local, all frustrated, all blocked from enrolling their children in the school they were supposed to attend. The secretary politely explained that I would need to provide a mountain of documentation—proof of residency, home ownership, bank statements, utility bills, and even passports—because, as she put it, “too many international students were using forged documents.” I could hardly believe what I was hearing. How did we get here?  Undeterred, I spent the better part of a day gathering the necessary documents, ensuring every 'i' was dotted and every 't' crossed. When my appointment day arrived, I went to the school, expecting a routine process. Instead, I walked into a scene straight out of a bad movie.  The main office was cavernous, yet there were only two secretaries on duty. As I waited, I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation ahead of me—a local family was trying to enroll their child, a SPED student, who would need to take assessments in ESL and math. The catch? The earliest available appointment at the local assessment center was five weeks away. Five weeks out of school for a kid already struggling with the language and math.  The tension was palpable, but the father remained calm. The mother, on the other hand, was visibly frustrated as she filled out the endless paperwork. And then, the bomb dropped The secretary informed the stepfather that because he wasn’t the legal guardian, the mother would need to redo the entire stack of paperwork.  What happened next was pure chaos. The mom exploded. She screamed at the secretary, accusing her of bias against her child. The secretary, doing her best to remain professional while visibly shaken by the suddenness of the mother's attack, explained that she didn’t make the rules—she just enforced them. But the mom wasn’t having it. She continued her tirade, escalating to tears and threats, until she demanded to speak with the superintendent.  Of course, the superintendent wasn’t available. It’s August—why would they be in the office?  The secretary, trying to defuse the situation, apologized repeatedly and offered to help guide them through the process. But it was too late. The damage was done. The mom stormed out, leaving the office in stunned silence. As I stood there, watching this unfold, I couldn’t help but think about the real cost of the decisions made by those far removed from the front lines. Decisions driven by money, prestige, and perhaps power, that wreak havoc not just on parents and students, but on the front-line workers like that secretary, who bear the brunt of the frustration and anger. This is the state of public education today—where policies created in ivory towers leave the very communities they’re supposed to serve out in the cold. And since I know you've all been on the receiving end of this broken system, you know exactly how it feels. We’re living it. We’re watching it unravel, one ridiculous policy at a time. And it’s concreate proof that something needs to change.  But the stark reality is that we can't affect change from the inside.  So the question becomes:  How much longer can we watch the fire burn before we find our exit? Remember… When decisions from above leave you feeling unheard, undervalued, and frustrated with the impact on your students and your well-being, it’s a sign that it might be time for a change. The Exit Plan isn’t just about finding a new job – it’s about reclaiming your professional life. It’s about stepping away from an environment that no longer serves you and into a career that values your contributions, aligns with your principles, and respects your time. If you’re feeling the urgency to make a change, the next cohort of The Exit Plan launches on September 1st, 2024. Let’s work together to create an exit strategy that not only gets you out but moves you forward into a role that truly fits your values and aspirations. Don’t wait for another year of poor decisions. Take control of your future now. Onward!