DALLAS — With wide eyes, Colleen and Steven Howk took in the courtyard lined with picnic tables, the skyscrapers hovering in the distance.
This was where the school held its dances. And over there, the gleaming playground. Here, they believed, attentive teachers could help Yua, 12, and Haruki, 14, thrive.
Sending their kids with Down syndrome to a private school school for students with disabilities always seemed out of reach. But when the Howks were approved for school vouchers, attending the Notre Dame School of Dallas became a real possibility.
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“It’s shiny. It’s sparkly,” Colleen said. “When people go to college, they have their ‘reach school.’ It felt like a ‘reach school.’”
“I was wanting it really hard.”
But would the school accept them?
As the inaugural year of the Texas Education Freedom Accounts begins, North Texas families are preparing to leave their public school. They’re grateful to exit a system they say isn’t working for them. But finding a private school hasn’t been easy, requiring some to weather disappointment and scramble to cover additional costs.
At the heart of the school choice debate, lies a contentious question: Will school vouchers benefit students with disabilities or leave them behind? Proponents say vouchers are a dissatisfied family’s ticket out of public schools, but critics believe the program will leave promises unfulfilled for Texas’ most vulnerable children. They worry private schools will deny admission, while those accepted will lose legal protections enshrined in public schools.
The Texas Comptroller of Public Accounts, which runs TEFA, has awarded funding to nearly 110,000 students, as of June. Under the program, students with disabilities are eligible to receive $30,000, though the vast majority were awarded less than that. If they are homeschooled, they are allotted $2,000.
Tuition can get expensive
Danisha Nunn wanted a school that could accommodate the needs of Ezra, her 8-year-old son with autism, epilepsy and cerebral palsy. They visited Novus Academy, a Southlake school that seemed a good fit.
Then, she heard the cost. Her son was approved for a $16,000 voucher, but after the registration fee, the total came out to roughly $27,000.
As a single mom, she said, “that was absolutely not feasible.”
She chose Thrive Beyond Academy, a microschool in Fort Worth, instead. Her two children will spend three days a week there, and the other two at home. She was drawn to its low teacher-student ratio. The owner promised her: “We’re doing this together.”
“That was the selling point for me,” Nunn said.
But Ezra keeps nudging his mom about Novus Academy. Each time she reminds him, her chest tightens, and she tries to let him down easy.
“He’s just like, ‘Aw, I want to go there. They like me there,’” Nunn said. “I’m like, I’m sure you’ll have the same experience at this new school.”
At the start of the search, the Howks considered Green Oaks School, which was closer to home. During their visit, an employee promised it was “the closest to heaven on earth,” sending the family’s hearts soaring.
But getting this close to heaven, they realized, came at a price they couldn’t afford.
Last school year, the tuition was $15,900, but this year, it was raised to $23,000. The vouchers no longer covered the cost.
Colleen Howk tried her best to understand. The aging playground weighed on her mind. If vouchers could help her own kids, she thought, maybe they could help this school, too.
“If you’ve been on campus, it’s clean, it’s friendly and homey,” she said. “But you can see that they don’t have deep pockets.”
Finding a school that will say yes
Then, the Notre Dame School of Dallas came along. It’s not easy to secure a spot at a private school for students with disabilities. Nor are there many schools like this one, which tend to be concentrated in urban metro areas.
At Notre Dame, it takes $27,000 to educate a child, but tuition is subsidized by donations, whittling the cost down to $13,500. The state awarded the Howks $16,895 for each child, leaving funds to spare.
Whether Notre Dame — with its set number of available seats — would accept their children was up in the air. The parents didn’t fret about Yua, who is outgoing, but Haruki has trouble participating.
The school called Haruki in to complete an additional on-site evaluation. That day, his mom anxiously waited in the city, hoping he would do well.
Yua is “going to jump in and do whatever the teacher wants her to do, and she’s gonna have a great time about it,” Steven said. “He’s not defiant or anything. He’s just, ‘I don’t want to do it.’”
If Haruki didn’t get in, his parents could homeschool him. It was an option, just not ideal. They’ve tried it before, but it never seemed to stick.
His mom told school officials: “This is going to be so much better for him to go to your school. If he refuses (to) work 80 days out of 180, it’s still gonna be better than if he were home with me.”
Both children were accepted.
Faced with limited options
Other Texas families are less fortunate. Thousands of families have since opted out of the TEFA program.
Donielle Cottrell wanted to find a private school for her son with autism. The 4-year-old gets frustrated easily. Sometimes, he starts crying, and other times, he swipes things off the table.
Thinking about her son’s fate in a public school was agonizing. Would he get lost in a sea of students? Would his needs be met?
“Every child has their own set of challenges, and with autistic kids, they have their own set of behaviors,” she said. “My fear is that someone won’t take the time to know what his behaviors are or what makes him frustrated.”
Despite her initial hopes, the search to find a private school turned “challenging” and “confusing.” Calls and emails went unanswered.
Faced with limited options, she accepted the TEFA homeschool award. With her $2,000 voucher, she bought an online curriculum, sensory boxes, a tablet and more.
When the school year begins, so does the search for a private school. Come September, she wants to hit the ground running.
“I’m determined,” she said. “I’m going to find something.”
A new school year ahead
What the Howks once yearned for will become their children’s real routine. They will soon dance in the courtyard, scurry around the playground, and learn underneath the shadow of the Dallas skyline.
Uncertainties need to be figured out. Like how to get there.
Notre Dame offers buses, but the two drop-off locations are nowhere near where the Howks live. They worried their old van wouldn’t be able to handle the drive, as each day could require more than two hours on the road.
To afford a new car, Colleen Howk picked up a part-time job at a dessert shop.
“Either way, we’re going to make some sacrifices to educate our child,” she said.
On a recent summer evening, the family gathered in their living room. Yua rushed out of her room, jumped on the burgundy sofa, and snuggled up close to her parents.
“Are you excited for your new school?” her mom asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where are you going?”
With a smile stretched across her face, Yua didn’t take a beat to respond.
“Big city!”
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