Help! I’m Done Chasing Parents Who Don’t Want To Be Involved

Dear We Are Teachers,
I’m reaching out because I’m at my wit’s end trying to engage the parents of my 7th graders who just don’t seem to care. Whether it’s emails, calls, or conferences, I’m often met with excuses or, more often, silence. I know parental involvement matters, but I’m exhausted from putting in so much effort with little-to-no payoff. How do I stop wasting emotional energy chasing parents who won’t show up, without neglecting my responsibility to the kids?
—They’re Just Not That Into Me

Dear T.J.N.T.I.M.,

First, this situation is so common. So, so, so common. I say that not to undermine your feelings but to validate them. It is exhausting and emotionally draining.

The first thing you want to do—and I know this sounds harsh—is to create an environment where students can thrive without super-engaged parents.

Is it easier for a student to succeed with parents engaged in what’s happening at school? Yes. But we can’t control what parents are doing. Instead, pour your energy into what you can control: creating a warm, consistent classroom where students know what to expect and feel supported. Set up clear systems: a weekly class newsletter, scheduled grade updates, templates for emails about grades, and documentation of all your outreach.

You will still have parents checked out after this, no matter how transparent you make your due dates and deadlines. That’s where it needs to be escalated to someone above you, alongside a (written!) note of, “This student is failing. Here are the three times I’ve called, three times I’ve emailed, and three tutorial offerings that have gone unattended. Let me know how we should proceed.”

The other thing I recommend that is crucial: Assume positive intent.

It’s easy to label parents who are tough to get a hold of as ones who just don’t care. I’ve done it. But it’s a shortsighted view of so many parents, and, more importantly, just not true. The vast majority of less-involved parents do care a lot about their child’s education. But one or more circumstances—negative experiences with school, a loaded and inflexible work schedule, not being able to communicate in English, a family member who requires far more resources, time, and energy than the 7th grader in my ELA class—prevent them from being as involved as they’d like to be.

Assuming positive intent doesn’t mean you simply ignore everything bad, by the way. Then we start veering into toxic positivity, a space that always makes me shudder. I just think that when it comes to the parts of our job that we don’t and will never have control over, it’s better for our minds and bodies to focus on how most parents are doing the best they can with the resources they have.

Dear We Are Teachers,
I’m starting at a new school this year, and while my team has been kind and welcoming, I’m realizing that we don’t exactly see eye to eye politically. This wouldn’t bother me except that they often speak as if we all voted the same way—making jokes or comments that assume agreement. I want to stay professional and not stir the pot, but it’s starting to make me uncomfortable. How do I navigate this without creating tension?
—Politely Purple in a Red-Blue World

Dear P.P.I.A.R.B.W.,

Ah yes, the old “We all agree, right?” minefield.

Here’s the thing: Teaching is political. The number of desks we have in our classroom is determined by politics. How often the hallways are cleaned is determined by politics. Here in Texas, the science and history textbooks (and the information removed from them) are determined by politics. Your salary: political. Your students’ healthcare: political. The 10 Commandments hanging at the front of your public school building: political.

You see where I’m going here.

I won’t say that teachers shouldn’t be discussing politics at work, because I don’t believe that. But staying silent while they speak as if you’re in agreement isn’t always sustainable either—especially if those “jokes” edge into territory that disparages students, their families, or your own well-being.

Try a gentle redirect first:

• “That’s not really my take on that topic. …” Abrupt subject change, such as, “Have you seen that they sell burnt Cheez-Its? What’s that about?”
• “Hmm. We may not see that the same way. But I bet there are plenty of other points on this topic we do agree on.”
• “I don’t know, I actually think [insert opinion here]. Do you want to thumb-wrestle to see who’s right?”

If the comments continue or become hostile, document them and consider looping in a trusted admin or mentor. Everyone deserves a workplace where they feel safe and respected—even (especially!) in a profession where politics are increasingly in the air we breathe.

You don’t have to be the classroom diplomat, but you can be a boundary-setter. And if you’re modeling respectful disagreement? Honestly, that’s teacher leadership in action.

And if you decide to settle it with a thumb-wrestling match, please document and send it to me.

Dear We Are Teachers,
I’m genuinely excited to head back to school—I love setting up my classroom, meeting my new students, and getting back into the rhythm. But there’s one thing I’m not looking forward to: packing lunches and snacks. Every. Single. Day. I know it’s a small fish in the larger sea of school stresses, but for whatever reason, I dread it. I don’t want to meal-prep or take longer than a few minutes from start to finish. Any ideas for eating at school with minimal—and I do mean minimal—prep?
—Tired of Tuna Tuesdays

Dear T.O.T.T.,

Oh boy. There’s nothing quite like hitting the third-period sugar crash and realizing your lunch is a hunk of purple onion you thought was a plum when you packed it at 5:50 a.m.

The solution? Low-prep, low-expectation food. You’re not trying to impress Gordon Ramsay here—you’re just trying to stay vertical until 3:30.

Here are some go-to “teacher fuel” combos that require zero cooking:

• Protein box knockoff: Hard-boiled eggs (store-bought if boiling is a deal-breaker), string cheese, crackers, baby carrots, and a handful of almonds. Try packing it in a dishwasher-safe Bento box for easy compartmentalizing and cleaning.
• Wraps: Tortilla + deli meat + hummus or cream cheese. Done. No slicing. No heating. You can even bring the ingredients to school in a small grocery bag and assemble them there if packing every day feels too hard.
• Emergency drawer stash: Stow away shelf-stable items in a drawer, like granola bars, trail mix, jerky, peanut butter, roasted chickpeas, and dried fruit. When you’re in a bind, head to the drawer.
• Cereal solution: Bring a whole box of hearty cereal, your choice of milk, and a bowl and spoon you can wash out Monday through Friday.
• Be a cafeteria connoisseur: Buy your lunch! I know a lot of teachers who do this regularly. Some schools even offer discounts or special “grab and go” areas for teachers.

And if you find something you like? Eat it on repeat until you hate it. Then rotate to the next no-prep food group. You’re not a failure for eating like a college student—you’re a working adult with more important things to think about (like managing 125 Chromebooks).

Do you have a burning question? Email us at [email protected].

Dear We Are Teachers,

Recently, a friend sent me a video going viral on TikTok. A student had been recording me throughout the year and created a series of clips highlighting my Midwestern accent. It’s innocent enough and I’m not offended by the content (I do have a strong accent!), but I do feel uncomfortable that these recordings happened in class without my knowledge or permission. When I brought it up to my principal, I got a lukewarm response. Should I push back? What are my rights here?

—Not for Netflix