Let us start with this premise: The teachers in my town deserve their compensation. Credentialed teachers here start their careers making less than $37,000 a year. Their maximum ending salary, with a master's degree, at least 20 years in the district and a whole lot of additional continuing education, is around $78,000 – less than the top range of what our town pays a beginning firefighter, a city planner or the bicycle/pedestrian coordinator.

The people who live in my town believe they deserve great teachers and great schools. Over the years, they've dug deep into their own pockets to fund that premise.

For more than two decades, residents have paid a parcel tax that now annually amounts to $200 a year for single-family homeowners. That $4 million pays for wonderful programs that support teachers, including reading specialists, teacher training, school-based technology and class-size reduction.

In November, Davis residents, facing alarming school budget cuts, approved an additional parcel tax, Measure W, by a margin of 3-to-1. That measure, which costs single-family residents $120 a year, provides an additional $2.4 million to preserve elementary school science and music programs, class periods for core classes in science, math, English and social studies, and school librarians.

Davis residents also donate generously to schools and education. Last spring, the community raised $1.7 million in just a few short months to head off teacher layoffs. The money came from wine tastings, lemonade stands, special shopping days and other old-fashioned fund-raising.

One donor, a retired Davis High School science teacher, wrote a check to the Davis Schools Foundation for $100,000.

There are also campaigns to support education at individual schools: pizza sales, auctions, wrapping paper and wreath sales. The check writing never stops. We are proud of our district, supportive of our teachers, happy to do what we can.

But here's the bad news: There's a hole in the bucket. As fast as we pump money into our schools, declining enrollment and a plummeting state economy drain it away. Like other school districts in California, we have a structural deficit. In Davis, we're looking at a $3.8 million budget shortfall. And that estimate could increase in the next few months. Already, the district has sent pink slips to Davis teachers, administrators and staff members. A total of 54 school positions are to be eliminated, 15 of them elementary school teaching jobs.

What can the teachers do to help? In February, our district's superintendent asked Davis Joint Unified School District teachers and staff to consider a 2.5 percent pay cut to help save their colleagues' jobs. The Davis Teachers Association surveyed its members and found little support for the plan.

Well, who would want a salary reduction? Not the 200,000 state workers who have had to take a more than 9 percent pay cut as a result of mandatory furloughs. Certainly not anyone in the private sector who has had work hours or paychecks reduced. Not the Yolo County employees who, since last year, have been taking voluntary furloughs to head off mandatory reductions.

Unfortunately, the district is too deep in the hole this year for parents and taxpayers to rescue it single-handedly. If Davis educators considered a pay cut of even a single percentage point, they could save the district half a million dollars. If they agreed to forgo annual salary step increases for a single year, they could save the district around $600,000. It wouldn't plug the hole, but it would be a start.

Let's end with this premise: Teachers in my town earn their pay. Every single Davis teacher I have ever met, worked with or watched in the classroom has been professional, creative and completely dedicated to educating kids.

It's not their fault that their district – like districts all over California – faces layoffs, program cuts and burgeoning class sizes, any more than public and private employees are to blame for the pay cuts and layoffs they face. But in a crisis, all partners must shoulder part of the solution.

It's what we all deserve.

Jill Duman is a journalist, parent and part-time playground attendant.