Your cart is currently empty!
I’m Over Fundraising Madness
When I was a kid, joining a soccer team was as simple as my mom signing me up at the local rec center. Five bucks and a permission slip later, I was a proud member of the “Red Rockets,” ready to hit the field in my vibrant red T-shirt. The refs were volunteers, we brought our own water, and we played on a school field. There were no mandatory “work bonds” for parents, and no pressure to sell anything to enjoy organized sports. Best of all, I got to keep my T-shirt at season’s end.
My mom didn’t have to pester our friends or neighbors to buy overpriced junk. Sure, some teams occasionally needed to fundraise for a trip to state championships, but that usually meant selling candy bars from a cardboard box. Honestly, the only time I remember fundraising was when I took a UNICEF box trick-or-treating, collecting coins to help children in need. Parents weren’t expected to deplete their bank accounts just to fund extravagant trips or parties. Life was simpler and a lot more affordable back then.
Fast forward to today, and I find myself coerced into selling coupon books, gaudy wrapping paper, and candles. My kids have sold cookie dough and pizza kits to unsuspecting relatives. We’ve hawked candies, pies, and flowers—whatever it takes to meet the financial demands of schools and extracurricular activities. I’ve organized car washes, collected clothes, and dined at fast-food joints to contribute. It’s a wonder my family still answers the phone given how many times I’ve kicked off a call with, “So, your niece is selling insert overpriced item that nobody in their right mind would buy.”
Recently, I was asked to sell candles to fund a school trip. The trip cost $75, and the kids got a paltry 10% of the sales. The candles were $25 each, and while they came from a well-known brand, they were smaller than what you’d find at the store. In other words, half the candle for double the price—what a steal! So let me get this straight: You want me to sell $750 worth of scented wax to fund a trip to a waterpark? That’s 30 candles, folks! I don’t even know 30 people, let alone anyone whose air quality is so poor that they need a lifetime supply of candles.
I understand the financial realities of running a school; I used to be the president managing the PTA funds. I know how much an assembly costs and what dances run. But come on—is everything really that over the top? Field trips are practically mini-vacations now, complete with plush buses and Wi-Fi. Class parties have transformed into major events featuring fancy snacks and crafts that would make Martha Stewart proud. Everything seems to be bigger and pricier, which is tough on families with tight budgets.
I get that fundraising is meant to help those who can’t afford extra costs, ensuring kids don’t miss out. But can we please focus on more affordable options? The class parties I remember involved a game of Simon Says, a small cookie, and some juice. My mom wasn’t out there selling chocolates and hoagies.
And let’s not even start with the “It’s for the kids!” excuse. Seriously? Most of these extravagant events are organized by parents in the community, not kids asking for bounce houses and DJs with light shows. Kids would be just as happy with a tray of brownies and an iPod filled with songs, but the parents with too much time on their hands keep pushing the “bigger is better” narrative.
I say this as someone who’s also contributed to this fundraising frenzy. I’ve chased down parents for school iPads, solicited businesses for donations, and organized parties that had way too much sugar. But when will it all end?
We need to return to basics. Less truly is more, and parents today seem to have forgotten that kids don’t need a lot to be happy. We have PTAs with operating budgets that would make your head spin and sports associations flush with more cash than some families earn in a year. It’s ridiculous. What are we trying to prove?
I’m officially stepping off the fundraising rollercoaster, and I hope more parents will join me in voicing their concerns. That doesn’t mean I won’t support my kids; I’ll just be asking what the actual costs are, skipping the stale pies in odd flavors that end up in the trash.
But hey, if anyone’s selling those chocolate-covered pretzels in pretty tins, feel free to swing by!