Why Do We Still Rely So Much on Volunteers at School?

Four years ago, I took a break from being an attorney. I spent some time looking for jobs, but realized I would have the same problem with any new job I started, which is that I would get too excited and end up putting in long hours, when I really wanted to have more time to do “mom stuff.” So for the past four years, I have been what I call a professional volunteer, which has been really rewarding and enjoyable. I apply my legal skills to advocate for various issues, often but not always education-related, and I volunteer at my children’s schools or for organizations related to their activities.

But it has been a lot of WORK, especially this year. Work I love, but definitely work. I have always appreciated the parents who did more than their fair share, but even more this year during the pandemic, when my children’s schools were overwhelmed and so were many parents. I found myself doing things I always relied on other more skilled parents to do — planning graduations and parties, fundraising, or even keeping track of the class schedule. And so for over four years, I keep thinking about the unpaid, unrecognized labor of parents, mostly women, how we devalue this labor and skill set, and what the impact is on women’s ability to have careers but also on the growing inequities in our society.

I have read articles talking about this issue and the answer seems to be to get Dads to participate, and I would agree with that wholeheartedly. But the reality is that roughly 60–70 percent families have all parents in the household participating in the labor market. There aren’t enough volunteer bodies to do the work that was once done.

Moreover, as I learned this year, when I fought with my older daughter’s school for the permission for me to do basic things like a yearbook or a promotion event (not asking them to do it — asking them to let me do it) — there is a culture of dismissing this work. The attitude from the school was that celebrations, etc., were frivolous in this year. My argument was that they were even more necessary than ever.

At one point, in the midst of these debates, I texted a mom who had always created so much joy at my daughter’s elementary school. Our kids hadn’t been in school together for years, but I kept thinking about how much work she had always done to plan these wonderful events that I appreciated but also took for granted. I thanked her, because I missed having someone like her at my school.

I will be real; I was not always so gracious this year. I think at some points, my emails to the middle school list serve went something like this: LAST CALL FOR VOLUNTEERS OR YOUR KIDS WILL GET NOTHING THIS YEAR — I AM NOT GOING TO BE THE ONLY ONE TO PLAN THIS STUFF. I AM NOT GOOD AT THIS EITHER. (I am NOT — anyone who works with me knows I do not enjoy planning events whatsoever. That is not me. But sometimes you do what you have to do, because there is literally nobody else doing it.) Or: NOBODY HAS VOLUNTEERED FOR TOMORROW — WE NEED VOLUNTEERS!!!

At the same time, I also understood that every single parent was under a tremendous amount of stress, and that in schools with fewer resources all around, with parents struggling just to make ends meet, sure, these things seemed frivolous and dispensable. Except that at those schools, it seemed even more necessary.

My son’s affluent private school had amazing celebrations, planned by parents with time and resources, but ironically our children were the best off during the pandemic, as their parents had jobs they could do from home or a parent who could afford not to work, and they could plan safe supervised outdoor activities for their children and childcare. At my daughter’s Title I middle school, some families didn’t even have a desk or adequate study space for their children, some families were having trouble paying for utilities, and I was warned that many families would not even come to a promotion event. (They were wrong- most of the class did). Our budget was a fraction of my son’s private school budget.

But in the end, I sat there at my daughter’s promotion parade and watched the students come in, acting nonchalant at first, but then hesitantly warming up, having a chance to laugh at their teachers dance, having their parents take pictures of them in front of the photo background, and finally having a moment to cherish and appreciate what they had accomplished during this tough year. There were those whose families didn’t know about the PTA barbecue, so I handed out ice cream tickets and they showed up. The students needed it. And I will never again make the mistake of thinking any of this was frivolous.

We have all spent a year realizing the value of these social interactions, these moments of joy, that the school community creates. I just wonder if we should also take a moment to think about what happens during the other years. Do we really value the work of volunteers who do this year in and year out? Do we just say thanks and leave it at that? Should we be creating pay and other structures to actually compensate for this work? For example, in my State of Maryland, the president of one of the largest education advocacy organizations in the State of Maryland, the county umbrella organization of PTAs, spends countless hours on complex education issues and organizing volunteers, but is not paid. If she ran other non-profits and did the same valuable work, she would be.

And how do we address the huge inequities across schools? Paying parents itself would pose an equity issue — affluent schools will always have more funds. But affluent schools also have more volunteers. If left to volunteers, there is hidden inequity there too as affluent schools often have more volunteers with more hours and skills to spare than other schools — a valuable labor force. Maybe the answer is to use school funds to pay actual employees or contractors to cover some of these tasks— and not teachers either, who already have enough on their plate.

I end this by noting that, exhausted after this spring and summer, I have realized there is no way I can put together a yearbook for my daughter’s eighth grade class. It is too much for me. And yet to have these students leave middle school without anything — it honestly breaks my heart. If we don’t make a yearbook now, the moment is gone — there’s no going back in a couple of decades when the kids are older and want to look back at their memories.

So yes, I finally messaged a parent at another school, a professional, who had offered to do it for a fee. I don’t know how much it will cost. But maybe we should start acknowledging that these things require time and skills and start putting a price on it. There is a great hole in the labor market, that unpaid women used to fill. We need to start thinking about how to account for it.