I slid into the backseat of a rideshare in Raleigh on a recent, ordinary weekday, expecting little more than a quiet ride, maybe some chit chat. But what unfolded was a deeply personal story that cut through the narrative and highlighted the reality behind one of the most hotly debated education programs in our state: the Opportunity Scholarship Program (OSP).
My driver was friendly, quick with a warm welcome, so I started with my standard, “So how long have you been driving Uber?”
As we talked, he shared that he drives Uber full-time. His wife, a nurse, works long shifts, and together they juggle parenting, work, and bills. He told me candidly, without knowing my profession or my stance on education policy, about the defining decision they made for their children’s future — and why North Carolina is the best place for their family; because of the education system here. It is not the test scores or the universities, but the choices they can make for their family.
He and his wife live within the Wake County School Board-drawn boundaries of a public school that they described as unsafe. “We couldn’t afford to move,” he said, eyes catching mine in the rearview mirror. “And private school? That’s crazy — way out of our reach.”
When his elementary school-aged son became depressed and hated school, they were desperate for an answer. They couldn’t give up an income to homeschool, but in digging around they stumbled across the Opportunity Scholarship Program. Both of their children now attend a private school they love, and the OSP supplement dropped the cost to just $1,000 a year. That difference? He makes it up with a few extra trips a week behind the wheel.
“They’re thriving,” he said, beaming. “Happy, learning, safe.”
He didn’t know I’ve reported on this very program, nor that I’ve heard the criticisms — that it’s a giveaway for wealthy families to escape public schools. I didn’t tell him that day. I just listened.
But I imagine he’d beg to differ with the anti-choice narrative. For his family, this wasn’t about privilege — it was about survival, dignity, and a shot at something better.
“It’s turned how we view school on its head, because my father was never involved in my schooling, we just went were the government told you to go — when I wasn’t cutting class,” he added with a grin.
And in truth, the program’s design supports his view. The Opportunity Scholarship Program is tiered to serve low- and moderate-income families first. Students from households qualifying for free or reduced-price lunch — generally the lowest income tier — can receive up to 100% of the average state per-pupil allocation. Families earning between 100% and 200% of that threshold are eligible for up to 90%.
Far from being a tool for the wealthy, the program isn’t even accepted at the most expensive private schools in Wake County. In contrast to other narratives that the OSP schools aren’t accountable, any school that does accept OSP money must comply with several health, safety, and nondiscrimination laws. Schools that enroll more than 25 voucher recipients also have to report standardized test scores.
The OSP offers its most generous support to those in greatest need — families like my driver’s, who couldn’t afford to move, but refused to settle for a failing school.
He’s already thinking about what comes next. As his kids grow and their needs change, he’s considering a homeschool co-op or a microschool — approaches once seen as niche, now becoming viable thanks to expanded educational choice.
A microschool is a rapidly growing trend; kind of a modern take on the one-room schoolhouse. It can really look like whatever the parents want it to, but generally it has fewer than 50 kids, often fewer than 15. It can have a customized curriculum and be led by a certified teacher or a team of parents. It offers an option to families who believe that traditional public schools are too “one-size-fits-all.”
A microschool, if it’s registered as a private school, can also qualify for the state OSP program and can offer families the flexibility to be nimble and meet the changing needs of the children and community it serves. Without the program, many families cannot consider another choice, but once people see the open door that choice provides, it gets them thinking about the possibilities, and opportunities, in a customized education. At least, that’s what it did for my new friend.
His story isn’t one you’ll see in most headlines or hear in debates on the floor of the North Carolina General Assembly. But maybe it should be. Because behind the data points and policy arguments are real families, cobbling together futures in the front seat of Ubers and the late-night shifts at hospitals. The OSP didn’t make them rich. It made them hopeful.
And in a time when educational opportunity too often depends on your ZIP code, that kind of hope is revolutionary.
For more information on microschools, visit Jumpstarting Microschools in NC: Addressing Challenges and Overcoming Barriers, sponsored by the John Locke Foundation, publisher of Carolina Journal.
