Commentary by Melanie Waffle
I serve on a school board, and I’m also a mom. That means I live in two parallel worlds: the public one, where policy is debated under the lights and eyes of a public meeting and the private one, where someone still has to ask about homework, check grades and talk about the awful thing that happened on the news before bed.
In the public world, I often hear, “We need the schools to address this.” Anxiety, social media, scary headlines — parents want help. Of course they do. Schools are where kids spend the most time, and educators care deeply. But somewhere along the way, the line between partnership and outsourcing blurred. We started asking schools to be the first responder to every hard conversation families avoid at home.
It’s time for a reset. Schools should be partners, not substitutes. There is essential work that belongs at home — simple, repeatable talks that build values and resilience. If we don’t do that work around our kitchen counters or in the car after practice, schools are left to fill a gap they were never designed to fill on their own.
We also have to tell the truth: not every child goes home to dependable parents, guardians or housing. For some students, school is their only safe place. A caring adult, a predictable routine, a warm meal and a classroom where they’re known by name might be the only stability they have. Recognizing that isn’t an argument for schools to replace families; it’s a reminder that schools are a lifeline for many children, and that the home-school partnership must include compassion for kids whose “home” is complicated or unstable.
In our house, “family dinner” is like a Sasquatch sighting — rare and exciting when it happens. Still, we make the connections. We use three small habits that travel across busy schedules and make room for the hard stuff.
First, name it. Kids don’t need a lecture, they need a calm adult who says, “Here’s what happened.” Quick and honest wins. When the news is scary, I start with: “We’re okay. Here’s what we know. Here’s what we don’t know.”
Second, ask one question. Not 20, just one. “What do you think about this?” “How does this make you feel?” “What do you think we should do?” or “Do you want me to fix it, or help you fix it?” Kids, especially teens, open up when we stop cross-examining them and keep it brief.
Third, make a tiny plan. It can be embarrassingly small: “Phones away at 9 p.m.,” “Let’s reconnect in an hour,” or “If you see that again, tell me or a teacher you trust.” The plan matters less than the modeling that grown-ups respond, we don’t just react.
Where do schools come in? Right beside parents. Schools can offer shared language and structure — lessons, counselor office hours, wellness rooms and social-emotional check-ins — without taking over the job of parenting. They can equip families with resources that mirror what’s taught on campus, so we’re rowing in the same direction. They can host educational nights on mental health, community risks and healthy home habits that help kids feel safe and seen.
For school boards, the job is to hold both truths at once: schools nurture the whole child, and families build values and resilience at home. Our role is governance, funding what helps (counselors, family education nights, clear communication routines), asking for home tools that mirror what is being taught at school, and resisting the urge to allow our schools to become replacements for parenting. We model calm, we back programs that help steady our students, and we maintain space for educators to do their very best work.
For students without a steady adult at home, schools can be the consistent anchor during the day that holds trusted relationships with teachers, counselors, bus drivers, coaches and office staff; routines that lower anxiety; and spaces where expectations are clear and kindness is non-negotiable. That stability matters.
What schools can’t do, at least not well, is replace the ordinary, frequent, slightly weird conversations that live at home. Districts can write policies, teachers can design lessons and principals can share resources. But only the grown-ups our kids live with can provide the daily presence that becomes their baseline for “I’m okay right now.”
If you don’t have a Norman Rockwell dinner table, welcome to the club! Try a different table. Talk on the way home from practice. Take a five-minute walk. Declare a family meeting. Be present. Stick a Post-it on the bathroom mirror or cereal box with the one idea you want your family to carry into the day. Family dinner is nice. Consistent check-ins are necessary. Kids will always remember who cared and who showed up.
On my school board, we hear from worried parents who want the district to do more. Sometimes we should. But often, what’s missing isn’t a new program — it’s families taking the first step to shrink the problem and start the conversation at home. Name it. Ask one question. Make a tiny plan. Repeat as needed.
Presence lasts, humor helps and love carries. There’s plenty to go around when home and school share clear roles and a common purpose.
Melanie Waffle is a board member in the Orcutt Union School District, a human resources professional and a mom.
