By: Mike DiMatteo 
When I first began teaching in 1987, I can still recall how excited students were when it was time to head to wood shop, auto mechanics, electronics, or what was once called metals. If I go further back—back to my own high school days—I remember everyone trying to get into Home Economics. Freshly baked cookies, learning how to cook, and once a quarter, they’d put on a “dinner service” to teach kids what it might be like to run a restaurant: doing line cooking and preparing food for customers. I never made it into the Home Ec class, but I got similar training in real life working at my family restaurant 42 hours a week while in high school.

What I distinctly remember was the look on those kids’ faces when they’d leave my history class and head over to one of the shop classes. For some of them, it was the best part of their day—akin to grade school kids racing out the door for recess or Friday pizza day in the lunchroom. They loved it, and for many of them, they were good at it. One of my friends in high school became a well-known chef in Chicago because of that Home Ec class, and I’m sure there are a million more stories of students who, because of taking such classes, went on to have careers in those trades.

Something happened along the way, however. Many schools—some of them I worked in—abandoned those metals, woods, autos, and Home Economics classes. There are several reasons why Home Economics faded. Politically, some critics objected to how the class was presented, seeing it as training young women to be unpaid laborers while boys were trained for careers. The old notion of Home Economics was rolled into a broader class called Family and Consumer Science, though the real reasons went deeper.

The materials needed for a proper Home Ec class were expensive—kitchen equipment, supplies—but more than that, Home Ec came to be considered non-academic, meaning it lacked the rigor of traditional academic classes. As funds shrank, Home Ec became an easy target. Administration grew more concerned with test scores, and Home Ec simply didn’t fit the criteria. By the early 2000s, STEM was front and center, and anything that didn’t directly translate into the workforce was often deemed expendable.

Much the same could be said for shop classes. They were expensive, non-academic, didn’t translate into measurable test scores, and were seen as less rigorous than academic courses. For many school boards and administrators, it felt more important to push students toward college prep than to teach skills that might lead directly to a trade.

In short, high schools became high school–to–college pipelines—and entire swaths of students found themselves preparing for something they didn’t want, couldn’t afford, or were simply not interested in.

Much of this academic push came from the George W. Bush administration’s No Child Left Behind policy, which emphasized academic rigor and improving national test scores in reading and math. Shop classes? They weren’t going to help us keep up academically with other countries. Hands-on trades were increasingly seen as distractions rather than assets—the academic world looking down on the “shop” kids.

The Psychological Element
There is a psychological element here, one that is rarely spoken of but should be addressed. Admittedly, this comes from my personal experience over a thirty-five-year career, but it bears mentioning. Most who go into education are academic by nature, meaning few spent summers roofing, standing in front of a 550° oven slinging pizzas, or cleaning grease traps. They went to school, worked hard, maybe had a summer job, but were largely insulated from the blue-collar workforce. Consequently, many teachers simply don’t understand the hands-on mentality—a world in which working with one’s hands provides satisfaction that academics may never experience.

That said, their hearts were in the right place: prepare students for college, not necessarily the workforce, because studies show college-educated students make more money over their lifetimes. And yes, academic life is often easier than pipe fitting, mechanic work, or similar trades.

While there’s some logic to that mindset, those in academia often overlook one thing—and many still do: without skilled tradespeople, things don’t get built, repaired, or created. Automation can’t replace plumbers, HVAC technicians, electricians, carpenters, or oil well workers anytime soon—and many of them earn more than local mathematicians.

Some people love working with their hands, getting dirty, creating—because it makes them feel good, as though they accomplished something. And they did. While academics might have had the right intentions, they got it wrong.

Today, college tuition is astronomical, which prices many students out or saddles them with debt before they even start their lives. For decades, society—and education—has sent the message that trade work is somehow lesser, that students can “do better” by becoming an accountant when their passion is in hands-on work. This has been a disservice to students nationwide.

Numbers—Who Doesn’t Like Numbers?
Typical U.S. Trade Pay (National Averages)

This chart contains national averages—and I personally know people in these trades who make significantly more.

Over time, the U.S. has de-emphasized the trades, historically the backbone of the nation. In doing so, we’ve saddled students with mountains of debt and pushed many into academic paths they didn’t want. Educators talk about igniting students’ passions, and I agree. But education has overlooked the trades, and countless students never found their passion as a result.

One Final Note
About ten years before my retirement, I began dedicating a day each spring to discuss trades, opportunities, and benefits. I’d talk about being your own boss, learning a trade, and branching out into business. I shared my own experience working in my father’s restaurant and managing the business by sixteen. I wanted students to see alternatives—fantastic opportunities for lifelong careers. And I saw faces light up, realizing they weren’t stuck “having to go to college.”

On one of my final days, two young men came to see me.

“Mr. D, we just wanted to stop by and talk for a minute.”
“What’s going on, fellas? How can I help you?”
“Remember when you told us about jobs and stuff?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, leaning back.
“Well, I just wanted you to know that I’m going to barber school. I’ve always wanted to cut hair, and now I’m going to do it.”
“You’re kidding! That’s awesome!”
“And Ernie—he’s…”
“Let me tell him,” Ernie said.
We laughed.
“I’m going to be an electrician. I saw that program you talked about, and I’m going to try it.”
“No way! That’s awesome. I’m so proud of you guys, and I wish you the best of luck.”
Both kids were smiling.
“You just made my day.”