[“Sabbath” is Career Calling’s Sunday feature on intersections of work and life.]
School Supplies
About a week ago I started buying school supplies, which is odd since I don’t have kids. About three year ago, my Kiwanis Club started collecting supplies to help local schools. Many parents can’t afford pens, paper, and other essentials. Teachers often spend hundreds of dollars each year buying supplies that their cash-strapped schools can no longer afford. Our club wants to do our bit to help in this difficult situation.
That’s one way school supplies are significant. They remind us that schools across America are in trouble. Not only do many schools lack the funds for basic supplies, many are laying off teachers and support staff (400 teachers and 200 staff were cut in Chicago last week; 241 in Washington DC). Over recent years several local communities have voted not to increase school funding. Property owners are choosing lower taxes over education. That’s short term thinking that will have serious long term consequences (a less educated work force, more crime, weaker communities).
When we buy school supplies, another hard reality hits home: the end of summer. It’s still July and forecasts for next week call for temperatures in the 80s and 90s. Even so, pro football camps open next week. The selection of fruits and vegetables at farmers markets is starting to change. Soon we’ll see apples, a sign that fall is coming.
I also enjoy my school supply purchases because they signify hope. It’s easy to find bad news about public education and “kids today.” The reality is that many students across the country are working very hard in school, learning new skills each year, growing more curious about what is possible – how to build the iPhone or create the next FaceBook. I’ve seen firsthand students at Chicago Public Schools who have great futures ahead of them. It’s a small sacrifice to buy some paper or pens for these deserving young people. They need more than our help with school supplies. They need us to believe in them. That’s the least we can do.