At the start of each new academic year, I can almost predict what will appear in my inbox before I even open it. Without fail, a message arrives from a weary and increasingly desperate member of the Parent-Teacher Association—nearly always a mother—imploring fellow caregivers to step forward and assume the largely invisible and often thankless position of room parent. Over the span of the past fourteen years, in which all four of my children have passed through different schools, the ritual has been identical: the same plea, the same anxious wording, and eventually the same mounting urgency as the days tick by with no volunteers in sight.
The role is so notorious for being demanding and underappreciated that the initial email is rarely enough to recruit sufficient helpers. Frequently, the poor mother responsible for coordinating must resend her appeal multiple times, her tone wavering between hopeful encouragement and outright exasperation, until every classroom position is finally filled. After one year of particularly agonized requests, I capitulated and put my name forward—though reluctantly at first. That single decision led me down an unanticipated path, and since that moment, I have continued serving in this capacity for over a decade. For one child or another, I have taken up the mantle of room parent for ten continuous years, most recently committing to the role yet again for my son’s class, marking the seventh consecutive year in which I have volunteered. While I continue to wrestle with its challenges and heavy workload, I find the experience consistently worthwhile.
Yet, my duties are rarely simple and often uncomfortable. A central and unavoidable part of serving as a room parent is repeatedly asking other parents for contributions, whether in the form of their valuable time or their limited financial resources. Regardless of how many times I do it, the task never feels natural. I constantly weigh how frequently and how forcefully to ask, wondering whether I am imposing too heavily or failing to adequately support the class.
Over the course of the year, the Parent-Teacher Association calls upon me to compose and distribute appeals for urgent fundraising needs, sometimes with little notice. Beyond the PTA’s initiatives, I am also tasked with organizing donations from families for more tangible and immediate purposes: covering the cost of field trips, replenishing classroom supplies crucial for daily learning, and pooling money to present meaningful tokens of appreciation to teachers. Often, my responsibilities extend even further into the realm of reminders—nudging parents to pay for a book fair purchase, prompting them to acquire carnival tickets, or even suggesting upgrades like special bracelets granting children endless rounds of cotton candy. At various other times, I am recruited to secure volunteers for hands-on help at classroom celebrations, staffing athletic events such as field day, or shepherding children during excursions. Each time I hit “send” on these messages, I imagine recipients groaning to themselves, dreading another email with my name attached, and thinking, ‘What is she asking for now?’
The responses to these requests are never uniform, and the disparity among families is always evident. Some parents, secure in their finances and with more flexible schedules, can offer assistance with remarkable generosity. Others, however, are less able to spare time away from work or to stretch their household budgets for yet another contribution. I have seen how guilt seeps in even with small requests, like when a parent worries that they have no photos to share of a class event for the WhatsApp group chat. More poignantly, I have watched some parents grow visibly tense or apologetic when I ask for donations they cannot afford. Although I fully recognize these dynamics and dislike being—even unintentionally—any contributor to feelings of inadequacy or shame, I also understand that this unfortunate emotional undercurrent simply comes with this role.
What makes the job even more demanding is the irregular rhythm of the workload. At a minimum, I find myself responding to obligations at least once or twice a week. Although most of this can be handled from the comfort of my home—crafting emails, organizing sign-ups, or relaying updates—it invariably consumes time and interrupts the fragile balance of my already overloaded to-do list. During certain peaks in the school year, such as Teacher Appreciation Week or the stressful weeks preceding the school’s annual fundraising auction, my responsibilities can quickly multiply, leaving me feeling as though I am permanently “on call.” I might need to answer the teacher’s urgent query about whether the class fund can stretch to cover costumes for the school play, or draft yet another last-minute email highlighting an upcoming event that requires swift attention. Compounding these pressures are requests from fellow parents—some perfectly reasonable and some bordering on absurd. Over the years, parents have approached me with everything from minor questions and grievances to astonishingly inappropriate requests, like asking me to distribute their child’s birthday invitations because I had access to sensitive class contact lists. As a working mother of four, never knowing when the next responsibility might arise can prove uniquely stressful.
For all its challenges, however, I have never truly considered giving up the position. Having reflected on my many years in this role, I fully understand the hesitation of parents who avoid it, but I am also convinced of its extraordinary rewards. Serving as a room parent allows me to remain deeply engaged in my children’s educational environment, which is a privilege I treasure. It fosters closer relationships with teachers, providing me with insights into classroom activities and priorities that I might otherwise miss. It also accelerates my connections with other parents, as I quickly become the individual everyone seeks out for questions and clarifications.
Beyond the logistical aspects, there are joyful and playful elements. I have the privilege of designing activities for classroom parties, a responsibility my son relishes since it ensures his favorite events—such as cookie decorating—always make the list. The role also brings practical benefits; I generally learn of field trips in advance, enabling me to rearrange my schedule to chaperone whenever possible. Perhaps most creatively, I get to guide our classroom’s contribution to major school events like the auction, and I delight in brainstorming with my children to create imaginative and engaging themes—ranging from a cherry blossom–inspired picnic basket to a curated “family game night” package.
In the end, although the position of room parent demands energy, patience, and resilience, it also delivers meaning, joy, and a real sense of community building. I harbor no regrets about the years I have spent in this service, and I remain committed to continuing, with the hope that others might one day raise their hands as well. Institutions like schools flourish when parents step into roles like this, imperfect though they may be.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/room-parent-duties-responsibilities-worth-it-school-community-2025-8
