Parents, this is going to be uncomfortable.
We say we would do anything for our children.
But will we ask a question that makes a meeting awkward? Will we challenge someone we like? Will we examine a candidate we have supported for years and admit their answer isn’t good enough?
Will we keep asking after someone tells us everything is being handled?
How much reassurance are we willing to accept while our child keeps struggling?
I’m asking myself these questions, too.
There is a speech I want parents to hear. In his 2009 farewell address, then–National Education Association General Counsel Bob Chanin said:
“NEA and its affiliates are effective advocates because we have power.”
He described power built through membership and dues. NEA’s own account identifies union power as central to his argument.
The fuller context matters. Chanin identified improving education as a goal, defended employee rights and collective bargaining, and argued that representing members effectively would help the organization achieve its vision for schools. He was explaining a union’s purpose and influence.
That leaves parents with a question we need the nerve to ask:
Who represents your child when your child’s needs conflict with an organization’s position?
Don’t answer with a slogan.
Name the person. Explain the responsibility. Tell me what happens when they fail.
Teachers deserve fair treatment. Their rights matter. Good working conditions can help create good learning conditions.
But respecting educators does not require parents to surrender their judgment. And a union’s responsibility to its members does not relieve elected officials, administrators, or school boards of their responsibility to students.
Every institution should be able to withstand a parent asking: “How does this decision help my child?”
If that question makes the room uncomfortable, keep asking.
A child who cannot read well enough to keep up needs help that produces progress. A student afraid to go to school needs safety they can feel. A child whose educational setting isn’t working needs adults willing to consider what could.
Another meeting can be useful. Another plan can be necessary.
But eventually, someone has to explain what changed for the child.
What did your child gain while the adults were talking?
That is where this gets personal.
I know what it means to care deeply about a school that has helped your family. Our public cyber charter school changed our lives. Tabby and I saw the difference in our children.
That experience is why I fight for families to have options. It also means I have a responsibility to keep asking questions of the people and organizations I support.
If I demand accountability from a district but excuse a charter school, my standard means nothing. If I criticize one party’s excuses and repeat the other party’s talking points, I have stopped doing my homework.
Parents, we have to be willing to examine our own side.
The candidate you like. The organization whose posts you share. The school you defended. The advocate you trust.
Me included.
Ask what we are proposing. Ask what evidence supports it. Ask who benefits, who bears the cost, and what happens to the students for whom it does not work.
Agreement should never buy anyone a permanent exemption from scrutiny.
Tabby understood the importance of getting to the child in front of you. She helped parents work through questions about their children’s education because those families needed something concrete.
An answer. A service. An opportunity. A way forward.
Since losing her, I have thought a lot about how to continue that work. And I keep returning to the same responsibility: help parents recognize that they have a voice, then encourage them to use it.
Even when speaking up is uncomfortable.
Especially when staying quiet allows a problem to continue.
I know parents are exhausted. Some are working multiple jobs. Some are managing disabilities, caregiving, grief, or all of it at once. Getting through the day can take everything you have.
Participation has to be possible for those families, too. It might begin with one email, one question, or asking another parent to stand beside you.
But if you have time to share the outrage, make time to read the proposal.
If you have time to defend the candidate, make time to examine the record.
If you tell another parent to be patient, ask yourself whether you would accept that same delay for your own child.
Whose child are we asking to absorb the consequences of keeping the adults comfortable?
That question belongs in every education debate.
It belongs beside the funding announcement, the campaign promise, and the endorsement graphic.
Who issued the endorsement? Whom do they represent? What did the candidate promise them? What does that commitment mean for your family?
An endorsement can inform your decision. You still have to make it.
Your child depends on you to look past the photograph and read what is underneath it.
I am not giving you a candidate’s name. I am asking you to bring a harder question to every candidate:
When a powerful supporter wants one thing and students need something else, how will you decide—and will you explain that decision to the families affected?
Listen carefully to the answer.
Then pay attention to what they do.
Your child gets one childhood. One third-grade year. One chance to experience high school at that age, with those possibilities ahead of them.
Adults can revisit a policy. They can rewrite a platform. They can run in another election.
Your child keeps getting older while they sort it out.
That is why I am pushing. That is why I want parents involved. That is why another polished assurance is not enough.
Before you share another post saying children come first, ask yourself:
What am I willing to question to make that true?
Watch the Chanin video. Read the context. Make up your own mind.
Then ask the question you have been putting off.