The New Classroom Reality: How School Parking Lots Are Becoming Sanctuaries for Homeless Families

This report was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, nonpartisan news outlet focused on education.

As an 8-year-old boy maneuvers his bicycle in rhythmic figure eights across a patch of asphalt, his mother plates dinner—pizza and fresh pineapple—in an outdoor kitchen shared with a dozen other families. This is not a campsite or a traditional shelter; it is a school-adjacent parking lot, a makeshift community that represents the front line of a burgeoning national crisis.

The mother, identified as M. to protect her family’s privacy, carries the plates past the sedan that serves as their only physical asset and, until recently, their only shelter. She places the meal inside a recreational vehicle (RV) assigned to them for the next six months. The ritual is precise: dinner, homework assistance, a shower, and teeth brushing. The following morning, she makes the 10-mile commute to her son’s school, where she serves as a part-time site monitor. While she works, their stability—their beds, their belongings, and their private bathroom—remains secure at a city-owned safe parking site.

“He likes it here,” M. says of her son. “We can actually cook. I waste less money. There’s a lot to like.”

The Anatomy of an Unfolding Crisis

Family homelessness in the United States has reached a record high in 2024. The convergence of expired federal pandemic-era assistance, persistent inflation, and a stagnant labor market has forced an unprecedented number of families with children out of permanent housing.

According to the Department of Housing and Urban Development’s (HUD) January 2024 census, nearly 260,000 people living in families with children are experiencing homelessness—a surge of more than 50 percent compared to pre-pandemic levels. However, experts warn that these figures are likely conservative estimates. They often fail to account for "hidden" homelessness: families couch-surfing with relatives, cycling through motels, or living in vehicles, all in a desperate attempt to avoid the visibility of the streets.

In California, the epicenter of the nation’s housing crisis, family homelessness has spiked by 14 percent since 2019. As traditional shelters overflow and waiting lists for housing vouchers close, school districts have begun to view their underutilized real estate—vacant lots and parking facilities—as a critical tool for survival.

A Chronology of the "Safe Parking" Model

The evolution of the safe parking model in San Diego began in 2017 when the city partnered with the nonprofit Jewish Family Service (JFS) to transform underused lots into secure, sanctioned sleeping areas.

• 2017: The first of four safe parking lots is established by the city and JFS.
• 2023: The city opens its first lot specifically prioritizing families. Shortly thereafter, responding to a citywide ban on public camping, the San Diego Unified School District (SDUSD) proposed using a vacant elementary school site as a temporary shelter.
• Late 2025: Funding finally materializes for the school district project, allowing for the immediate referral of over two dozen families into the Central Elementary parking lot.
• Spring 2026: Inspired by the California model, Cincinnati Public Schools prepares to open its own safe parking facility, with Kentucky’s Fayette County Public Schools following suit.

Supporting Data: Why the Model Works

The data surrounding the JFS-managed sites suggests that these "way stations" provide a significantly better bridge to stability than traditional emergency shelters.

A 2024 study examining the JFS program found that 40 percent of households that stayed at a site between March 2020 and November 2021 transitioned into permanent or long-term temporary housing. More recently, JFS reported that 53 percent of all households in the program, and a remarkable 76 percent of those at the Rose Canyon lot, successfully secured stable housing. By comparison, the national average for moving from homeless services to permanent housing remains below 34 percent, and many standard emergency shelters in the San Diego region report transition rates as low as 9 percent.

These numbers highlight a stark reality: families who feel safe and autonomous are better positioned to focus on the bureaucratic hurdles required to escape homelessness.

The Human Cost: Voices from the Lots

For parents like M., the journey to the parking lot was paved with systemic barriers. After the expiration of a federal rental subsidy, she faced a sudden, impossible rent hike. "They’re all asking for three times the rent and a 650 credit score," she explains. "That’s impossible right now."

For Dezarae S., whose family recently moved from a lot into a three-bedroom apartment, the experience was a cycle-breaking moment. Having spent her own childhood in shelters and cars, she was determined to provide a different life for her four children. Her twin sons, both autistic, were able to receive specialist care while living in the Rose Canyon RV, and her four-year-old daughter reached developmental milestones in a stable, albeit temporary, environment.

"It doesn’t feel like we live in an RV," Dezarae says. "My kids are my world, and my kids are still happy. We do everything in our power to keep their childhood innocence."

Official Responses and Political Friction

The implementation of these programs has not been without controversy. Residents and private developers in San Diego have voiced concerns regarding potential impacts on property values and neighborhood safety.

On the national stage, the political landscape remains polarized. While the Trump administration has characterized safe parking lots as "dystopian" and "reprehensible," critics argue that such rhetoric ignores the immediate, life-saving nature of these programs. Furthermore, the irony is not lost on advocates: while federal officials criticize local stopgap measures, they are simultaneously overseeing significant cuts to long-term federal housing assistance.

Progressive skeptics also raise concerns, questioning whether these programs inadvertently distract from the root causes of homelessness—specifically the lack of affordable housing and stagnant wages.

"Parking lots are a terrible option, but there are options that are worse," says Jennifer Erb-Downward, director of housing stability programs at the University of Michigan’s Poverty Solutions. "Often the only other option is literal homelessness, in your car and on the streets. This creates a middle ground where you can get families into the system, where you can try to meet their needs and in a place that keeps them safe."

Implications: A "Way Station" or a Permanent Patch?

The school district’s role in this crisis is framed by necessity. "The goal is for this to be a way station," says Kristy Drake, the SDUSD liaison for homeless and foster youth. "When families drive onto this lot, they come into this wider network of support and resources. The goal is to move on."

However, the structural challenges remain immense. Hourly school staff in San Diego, such as classroom aides and bus monitors, may earn as little as $1,800 a month, while the median rent for a one-bedroom apartment exceeds $2,200. The math simply does not work for the working poor, creating a perpetual pipeline into homelessness.

In other regions, the shift toward school-based support is gaining momentum. In Cincinnati, Rebeka Beach of the public school system is overseeing the construction of a new lot that will include laundry and shower facilities. She admits it is not a permanent solution, but a vital response to an acute crisis. "We know it’s not a solution," Beach says. "It’s just a bridge."

Conclusion: The Path Ahead

As M. watches her son ride his bike, the scene is deceptively normal. But beneath the surface lies a profound struggle to maintain dignity in a system that offers little margin for error. The parking lot at the former Central Elementary school is a testament to both the failure of the broader housing market and the extraordinary lengths to which families—and the schools they rely on—will go to protect their children.

For now, the policy remains a "stopgap"—a necessary response to a society that has yet to ensure that every child has a roof over their head. As M. puts it, "There’s no getting ahead. We just got to make it work." Until systemic, long-term housing solutions are prioritized at the federal level, these asphalt sanctuaries will continue to serve as the only line of defense for the most vulnerable members of our educational communities.