The letter: Chronic absenteeism, missed connections, and me

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Fall is always an exciting time. The weather is changing, a new school year is starting, and among other things, our friends at the National Center for Community Schools (NCCS) host their annual Community Schools Fundamentals conference in New York City.

This year, I brought my six-year-old with me for his very first trip to the Big Apple. I wanted him to see the city I used to call home, so we let school know we’d be out for a couple days and headed East.

We saw The Lion King (yes, it is as good as everyone says), made a trip to the incomparable Dylan’s Candy Bar, visited the Museum of Natural History, and spent much needed time with extended family.

A scientist in training, my kid wondered aloud, “why is there smoke coming out of the street?” Of the subway tunnels, “why is it hot underground?!” He made so many observations about things that are different from what he sees on the streets near home or school (new place, new sights, new experiences!).

At the conference, I got to introduce him and his grandmother to my mentors and work friends (THANK THE UNIVERSE FOR GRANDMAS). He got a glimpse into mom's work life and the people who populate it. It was a memorable trip.

Not long after we got back, I got an email from school informing me that my kid’s truancy – based on the number of days he missed school – was a problem, and one with potentially serious consequences. 😳 It was a computer-generated letter, and while I know in my deeply-passionate, policy-loving, chronic-absence-hating heart, it was a “must-do” for our school, it still made my heart sink.

Does it sound like I had a problem with the letter…? Let me explain.

To be clear, I understood every part of the letter. We know that kids who are chronically absent are at serious risk of falling behind in school. We know that chronic absenteeism can impact reading proficiency, and high school graduation rates. And we know that schools across California and the nation are experiencing a chronic absence crisis: rates have more than doubled, from 14% in 2020–21 to 30% in 2021–22. Students of color, socio-economically disadvantaged students, students with disabilities, and students experiencing the foster care system account for the most worrisome spikes.

It’s a good thing that my kid’s school – just like every other public school in California – is legally required to report chronic absenteeism data, share that data with families, and (hopefully) make plans to address absenteeism.

So why the hand-wringing? I’m just not sure a form letter alone is the best way to do this. At their core, community schools are about relationships. At CSLX, we have a button we hand out at our events that reads, “I am valued and supported at my community school.” It’s a crowd favorite, because so many of us know that that is EXACTLY what it takes to create schools that are places of belonging.

In New York, I’d just spent a bunch of time with community school colleagues from across the country to talk about the importance of centering relationships, the priceless value and assets of lived experience, and the significance (and challenge) of sustaining and strengthening enduring invitations to partner.

So the whiplash I felt when I read the automated form letter on our return? It was harsh. I didn’t feel important or valued. I didn’t feel understood or supported. Reading the “legally-mandated” text that told me I could be subject to prosecution didn’t feel awesome. I certainly didn’t feel that my experiences, or my kid’s experiences, mattered. What I did feel was nervous. I felt ashamed. I felt defensive. I felt like I was a problem to be solved, not a partner to be engaged. The invitation to “partner with the school” felt empty and trite – something to soften the blow.

As a parent, I want my kid to be safe, happy, healthy, and learning. I want my kid’s teacher to know that I take my responsibility seriously. I want my kid’s teacher to share those priorities. I want school staff to want to get to know me, our family, my kid – the good, the bad, the funny, the less funny. I want them to value me, my time, my relationship with my kid, and my relationship with my community. And then with all of that, I want us to figure out the best way to work together and support each other to be effective.

My “wants” are not unique – I believe that all parents want this. But the truth is, our systems and practices were not built to invite meaningful partnership. Right now, it’s a lot to ask for.

It’s easy to talk about relationship-centered work, to talk about designing for belonging, creating safe spaces for inclusion, valuing partnership, and treating families as essential to student success. But, let’s be real. We’ve got a lot of unlearning and retooling to do. This is the real challenge of “partnership” – what happens when things are not so predictable or easy – what it looks like, feels like, and how the invitation to work together comes across.

All in all, chronic absence and truancy are serious warning signs. But letter alone, absent a meaningful connection outside of it, is a lost opportunity at best, and alienation at worst. Even when the intentions behind the letter go beyond “checking the box”. A relationship-centered community school might instead prioritize not just the letter, but also the human connection and trust that could walk alongside it; an invitation to a more genuine conversation where caregivers can feel like valued partners – co-creators of solutions. Not problems to be solved.

Thanks for reading.

Hayin

P.S. ‘Tis the season for connection and gratitude. I’m grateful to all of you for your commitment to center young people as we grow into a better way to “do school.” Thank you for your work and your partnership. Happy Holidays!