Every August, like clockwork, a tutor received the same message: “Will you take Alex this year?” Years ago, he’d worked with the boy, but the partnership ended when he raised his rates. Each time he replied with his updated fee, the mother would go silent. It had been four years of this quiet ritual, and Alex—now a ninth grader—still hadn’t returned.
This year, curiosity got the better of him. He asked the mother why she kept reaching out only to disappear. Her answer was blunt: “We’re waiting for your prices to drop.” He blinked, surprised by the expectation. “Why would they drop when everything else gets more expensive?” he asked.
She scoffed. “Because people aren’t fools. Tutors shouldn’t cost so much. In tough times, discounts should be automatic—or you’ll lose students.” He paused, then replied, “But Alex isn’t gaining knowledge while you wait for discounts.” Her response was swift and sharp: “If a tutor’s good, they’ll catch him up in a year.”
Before he could say more, she added, “And while you were arguing, we found someone better—someone who gives us a discount. We no longer need your services.” The message stung, not because he lost a client, but because of what it revealed: a transactional view of education, where value was measured only in price.
He closed the chat, not bitter, but resolved. He knew his worth, and he knew that true learning wasn’t built on bargains. It was built on consistency, respect, and time. Alex deserved better than a yearly scramble—and so did he.
And so, the tutor moved on, grateful for the students who understood that knowledge isn’t discounted. It’s earned, nurtured, and invested in—one lesson at a time.
