Twenty-two states passed cell phone restrictions in 2025 alone. New York became the largest state to implement bell-to-bell bans. Massachusetts mandated phone-free schools by fall 2026. California, Florida, South Carolina, and dozens more followed suit, locking student phones away from morning attendance to final dismissal.

But here’s what nobody’s talking about: the phone isn’t the problem.

When students reach for their phones every three minutes during class, when they check Instagram instead of listening to lectures, when they text friends while their teacher explains quadratic equations, we see a symptom. Not a cause. The real question isn’t whether we should ban phones. It’s why students would rather be anywhere else than fully present in their own education.

Why so many schools are banning phones right now

The movement gained momentum fast. By December 2025, thirty-five states and Washington, D.C. enacted laws or policies restricting student cell phone use in classrooms. Oklahoma implemented a year-long ban. Wisconsin required districts to prohibit phones during class time. New Jersey mandated that schools develop policies blocking phone use on campus during the entire school day.

The timing wasn’t random. U.S. Surgeon General advisories on youth mental health and social media’s harmful impacts pushed the issue into public conversation. UNESCO recommended limiting phone use in schools worldwide. Policymakers from both parties united behind a rare bipartisan cause, and the Biden-Harris administration promoted online safety for youth.

Research provided ammunition. A Pew Research Center survey found 72% of U.S. high school teachers say cellphone distraction is a major problem in the classroom. Common Sense Media reported that 97% of students aged 11 to 17 used their phones during the school day, with a median of 43 minutes of daily in-school screen time. Some students logged up to six and a half hours.

Parents worried about emergency communication. Districts like Los Angeles Unified School Board voted to ban phones and social media during school hours in June 2024, with policies taking effect in February 2025. New York allocated $13.5 million for phone pouches and storage solutions. Schools purchased locking pouches, installed phone lockers, and created detailed enforcement procedures.

The message was clear: phones are distracting our children. Remove the distraction, restore focus. Problem solved. Right?

What the research actually says about phones and learning

The data tells a more complicated story than simple bans suggest. Rutgers University researchers found that phone distraction harms not just students using devices, but everyone in the classroom. When phones were allowed, even students who didn’t use them scored worse on end-of-term exams, suggesting device use damages the group learning environment. Another study showed students distracted by classmates’ phone use scored 15 points lower in mathematics than students in phone-free environments.

But the relationship between phones and learning isn’t uniformly negative. Research from China involving over 10,000 college students found that using mobile learning and news apps increased academic performance, while playing video games and engaging in social media decreased it. When teachers prompted students to use smartphones to assist with instruction, performance gains increased significantly compared to when phones were banned entirely.

The distinction matters. Educational researcher studies revealed that about 80% of students spent time distracted on smartphones when allowed to use them at will, with an average of 57% of their distraction time on phones. However, students spent similar amounts of time learning regardless of whether phones were banned or allowed. This consistency suggests inherent limitations of attention spans prevent students from allocating 100% of lecture time to learning, phones or no phones.

What happens when students do pull out their phones? They switch between academic tasks and their devices an average of 3.52 times during an hour-long lecture. Each switch costs them. Students can take up to 20 minutes to refocus on learning after being distracted. The number of times students checked phones correlated negatively with academic performance. Just the mere presence of a phone, even with the screen off, can harm ability to fully focus on tasks.

But here’s what the research also reveals: the causes of phone distraction include boredom and monotonous learning, notifications and checking habits, academic use, social influence, and coping strategies for difficulty understanding material. Phone use isn’t just triggered by technology but by psychological, social, and learning conditions.

The case for phone bans: focus and mental health

The arguments supporting bans are substantial. Teachers report that classroom management became nearly impossible with constant phone use. Imagine trying to conduct a meaningful discussion when half the class is scrolling through social media. Picture attempting to explain complex concepts while students receive notifications every few minutes. Consider the challenge of building community when teenagers are physically present but mentally elsewhere.

Mississippi Lieutenant Governor Delbert Hosemann noted that research shows the decline in mental health among children and adolescents is connected to near-constant smartphone and social media use. He emphasized that students should concentrate on learning, not texting during classroom instruction. School safety and ensuring parents can contact their children are important concerns, but those must be balanced against protecting classroom learning from distractions.

The mental health connection runs deep. Students report anxiety from constant connectivity. They compare themselves to the curated, flawless lifestyles displayed on Instagram and TikTok. They fear missing out on social interactions happening in real time while they’re stuck in geometry class. One Oklahoma teen described how her state’s phone ban allowed her distance from Instagram’s endless comparisons, freeing time to read science fiction and dystopian novels instead of staying glued to her phone.

Research from the University of Southern California found that 78% of teens reported their schools have policies limiting or completely banning phones in 2026. While only 40% of teens support classroom phone bans, the majority of adults favor restrictions. Notably, students with bell-to-bell bans report using cell phones much less during lunch and in hallways, suggesting the policies achieve their immediate goal of reducing phone use.

Without phones, some teachers report improved classroom dynamics. Students make more eye contact. Conversations happen during lunch. Attention spans seem longer. The constant pull toward digital distraction lessens, at least during school hours.

The case against bans: autonomy and real-world skills

But removing phones doesn’t address why students reach for them in the first place. And it may create new problems while solving immediate ones. College students strongly resist instructor actions that make them feel infantilized. Policies that attempt to police student behavior can damage rapport, making students less likely to seek support or engage actively in learning. This matters because the relationship between students and teachers forms the foundation of effective education.

There’s also the autonomy question. The world these students will enter after graduation includes ubiquitous technology. They’ll need to manage their own attention, regulate their own behavior, and make their own decisions about device use. When do they learn these skills if we simply remove the temptation? When does self-regulation develop if we rely on external control?

Digital citizenship doesn’t emerge from compliance. It develops through practice, failure, reflection, and growth. Students need opportunities to make choices about their technology use, experience the consequences, and develop their own strategies for managing distraction. They need to learn how to determine when a phone supports their goals and when it undermines them.

Some students require phone access for legitimate reasons. Medical conditions that need monitoring. Learning accommodations that depend on specific apps. Mental health support systems accessed through devices. While most policies include exceptions for these situations, enforcement becomes complicated. Schools must verify needs, make individual accommodations, and ensure equity while maintaining overall restrictions.

Parents worry about emergency communication. What if there’s a school threat? What if a child becomes ill? What if family situations require immediate contact? Schools address these concerns by maintaining office phones, creating emergency protocols, and allowing limited access in certain situations. But the anxiety persists, and not without reason given legitimate safety concerns in modern schools.

The real problem isn’t the phone—it’s student engagement

Here’s what gets lost in debates about phone policies: when learning is compelling, students don’t reach for their phones. When curriculum connects to their lives, their interests, their questions about the world, they stay present. When they have agency over their education, when their voices matter, when they’re genuinely challenged and supported, phones stay in pockets.

Research on digital distraction in education reveals that boredom and monotonous learning constitute major causes of phone use. Traditional lecture formats without breaks for interaction strain student attention, making students more likely to seek new input from their devices. The teaching modality isn’t the only factor creating student boredom, but incorporating engagement during class sessions reduces opportunities for students to lapse into boredom and use phones.

Think about it. How often do students pull out phones during an activity that captivates them? When they’re debating ideas they care about? When they’re building something with their hands? When they’re tackling challenges that genuinely push their thinking? The phone can’t compete with authentic engagement because authentic engagement meets fundamental human needs: connection, competence, autonomy, purpose.

The phone ban debate reveals deeper questions about the state of education. If our response to distraction is confiscation, what does that say about our confidence in the learning we’re offering? If we need external controls to keep students focused, are we addressing engagement or just managing symptoms?

We’ve created educational environments where many students feel like time is something to endure rather than experience. Where learning happens to them rather than with them. Where curiosity gets scheduled into forty-minute blocks and assessed with multiple-choice questions. And then we wonder why they’d rather be on TikTok.

How progressive schools handle technology differently

Our approach starts from a different place entirely. We begin with the assumption that humans, including adolescent humans, are naturally curious, naturally engaged, naturally drawn toward meaningful challenge when given the opportunity. The question becomes: how do we create conditions where that natural engagement can flourish?

In our High School program, students tackle real-world projects that integrate academic content with questions they actually care about. When a student is designing a sustainable agriculture program with a local farm partner, analyzing data on crop yields, creating business plans for marketing produce, they’re not reaching for their phone out of boredom. The work itself demands their full attention because it matters, because it’s real, because they have ownership over the outcome.

When students work on building food truck business plans, creating alternative energy systems, or preparing for international learning experiences, technology becomes a tool rather than a distraction. They use their phones to contact mentors, research industry standards, document their progress, collaborate with partners. The device serves their goals rather than competing with them.

This doesn’t mean phones are unrestricted. It means restrictions emerge from the work itself rather than from external control. A student focused on building a functioning alternative energy station doesn’t have time for Instagram. A group preparing their Mont-Talk presentation to parents and peers cares more about their project than their notifications. Intrinsic motivation crowds out distraction.

Our multi-age classrooms across all levels create natural accountability. When younger students see older students deeply engaged in their work, they absorb expectations about how we use our time here. When community members depend on each other for collaborative projects, phone distraction affects more than just the individual. Social learning shapes behavior more powerfully than any policy.

We also teach explicitly about technology use. Students explore research on attention, distraction, and digital wellness. They examine their own phone habits, identify patterns, set personal goals. They discuss strategies for managing notifications, creating boundaries, protecting focused work time. These conversations happen in the context of project work that requires sustained attention, so students experience directly why these skills matter.

Teaching digital citizenship vs enforcing compliance

There’s a fundamental difference between teaching students to manage their own technology use and managing it for them. The first approach develops capacity. The second maintains dependence.

Digital citizenship education includes understanding how platforms are designed to capture attention. Students learn about infinite scroll, autoplay features, notification systems optimized to interrupt focus. They study the business models that profit from their distraction. This knowledge doesn’t automatically translate into perfect self-regulation, but it provides the foundation for informed choice.

Students also need practice with metacognition about their technology use. When do I reach for my phone? What triggers the impulse? How do I feel after scrolling for twenty minutes versus after working deeply on a project? What purposes does my phone serve in my life? Which of those purposes align with my values and goals? These questions can’t be answered in the abstract. They require ongoing reflection in real contexts.

We create structures that support developing self-regulation. Study blocks where phones stay in lockers, not because of a ban but because students have committed to focused work time. Group agreements about phone use during collaborative projects. Individual check-ins about technology patterns and their impact on learning goals. Check-ins that respect student autonomy while providing accountability.

The goal isn’t perfect compliance. The goal is developing human beings who can function in a world where technology is ubiquitous, where attention is constantly under assault, where the ability to choose focus becomes a crucial life skill. That can’t happen if we simply remove the choice.

This requires trust. Trust that given support, information, and appropriate structures, young people can develop better relationships with their devices. Trust that engagement in meaningful work matters more than external control. Trust that human curiosity and the desire for competence are more powerful than the pull of social media when we create conditions that honor those drives.

What parents should ask when schools ban phones

If your school implements or considers a phone ban, certain questions can help you understand the policy’s foundation and implications for your child’s education. What’s the underlying theory of learning that informs this decision? Is the assumption that removing distractions automatically improves engagement? What evidence supports that assumption in your school’s specific context?

How does the school plan to teach students about technology use, digital wellness, and self-regulation? Will these skills be developed elsewhere, or does the ban represent the entire strategy for managing phone distraction? What happens when students leave the controlled environment and need to make their own choices?

What does student input look like in this decision? Have students been part of the conversation? Do they understand the reasoning? Have they had opportunities to propose alternatives or offer insight into why they reach for phones during class? Compliance without understanding produces different outcomes than buy-in based on shared values.

How will the school handle exceptions for medical needs, learning accommodations, or emergency situations? What’s the process for requesting and receiving accommodations? How will equity be ensured so that students who need devices aren’t stigmatized or disadvantaged?

What changes to teaching practice accompany the phone ban? Are teachers being supported to create more engaging lessons, incorporate more active learning strategies, provide more choice and autonomy? Or is the ban expected to solve engagement problems without addressing their roots?

How does the school balance safety concerns with phone restrictions? What protocols exist for emergencies? How can parents contact their children during the school day if needed? These logistical questions matter to families, especially given legitimate safety concerns.

Finally, what’s the school’s vision for student learning? Is the goal compliance and order, or is it developing capable, engaged, self-directed learners? Both matter, but they’re not the same. And the answer to that question reveals much about what kind of education your child will experience.

At Westmont, we believe the path forward isn’t about eliminating distraction through control. It’s about creating conditions where authentic engagement makes distraction irrelevant. Where students are challenged by meaningful work, connected to community, given autonomy over their learning, and supported to develop the self-regulation skills that will serve them for life.

This doesn’t mean phones never present challenges. It means those challenges become opportunities for growth rather than problems to eliminate. It means treating adolescents as developing adults capable of learning complex skills rather than as problems to be managed. It means trusting that human curiosity, properly supported, will always be more powerful than whatever the algorithm is serving up today.

Your Grade 8 student brings home a science textbook. Page after page of dense paragraphs explaining photosynthesis, cell division, climate systems. Charts with data. Diagrams with technical labels. Questions requiring synthesis of information from multiple sections.

She can read every word. She cannot understand what any of it means.

This is the hidden reading crisis affecting middle school students across Canada, and it’s getting worse. While Canada still ranks in the top ten countries globally for literacy, our students’ performance has been steadily declining for two decades. In PISA 2022, Canadian 15-year-olds’ reading scores dropped 13 points compared to 2018 — and BC, once among Canada’s highest performers, fell below the Canadian average for the first time.

The pandemic accelerated the decline, but the downward trend started long before COVID-19. Students currently in middle school represent the cohort hit hardest by learning disruptions, and they’re now facing texts that require comprehension skills many haven’t developed.

Here’s what every Victoria parent needs to understand about this crisis, why traditional middle schools often miss the warning signs, and what to look for in schools that actually address reading comprehension at this critical stage.

The data every Canadian parent should know

The numbers tell a troubling story. Between 2018 and 2022, Canadian students’ average reading scores declined 13 points on PISA, the international assessment measuring literacy, mathematics, and science proficiency among 15-year-olds. According to PISA methodology, a 20-point decline roughly equals one full year of learning lost. Canada’s 13-point drop represents more than half a year of reading development students didn’t gain.

But the decline didn’t start with the pandemic. Canada’s reading scores peaked in 2009 and 2012, then began a steady descent. The PISA 2022 results simply confirmed and reinforced a negative trend that began earlier. While Canada scored 507 points in reading — still above the OECD average of 476 points — this represents the lowest Canadian performance in reading since PISA began in 2000.

Provincial results reveal even more concerning patterns. BC’s reading scores have declined significantly when compared to 2015, the last assessment before pandemic disruptions. Some provinces saw sharper drops than others, with variations ranging from minimal changes to substantial decreases. The students most affected by these declines are precisely the cohort now navigating middle school — the years when reading demands shift dramatically from learning to read to reading to learn.

The long-term consequences extend beyond school. Nearly half of adult Canadians (48%) have literacy skills below Level 3, the threshold considered necessary to function effectively in today’s job market. According to the 2022 Programme for the International Assessment of Adult Competencies (PIAAC), 19% of Canadian adults aged 16-65 score at literacy Level 1 or below, meaning they can at most understand short, simple sentences.

These aren’t just statistics. They represent real people struggling to navigate a text-heavy world, facing barriers to employment, health information access, and civic participation. The reading comprehension gaps emerging in middle school don’t disappear. They compound over time, limiting opportunities and outcomes throughout adulthood.

Why middle school reading is different (and harder)

Elementary students learn to decode words. By fourth or fifth grade, most can sound out unfamiliar terms and read passages aloud with reasonable fluency. Parents see their children reading chapter books independently and assume reading skills are solid.

Then middle school arrives, and the game changes entirely.

Middle school texts require completely different skills than elementary reading materials. Instead of decoding individual words, students must synthesize information across multiple paragraphs or pages. They must infer meaning from context when concepts aren’t explicitly explained. They must recognize when authors present arguments versus facts, identify bias or perspective, connect new information to prior knowledge from different sources, and adjust reading strategies based on purpose and text type.

Consider what a middle school science textbook demands. A single section might introduce fifteen new vocabulary terms, each with specific technical meanings different from everyday usage. The text might present a process (photosynthesis), explain cause and effect relationships (how changing one variable affects outcomes), include data in tables or graphs requiring interpretation, and assume background knowledge about related concepts. A student who can read every word but lacks comprehension strategies will struggle with every single subject.

Mathematics becomes increasingly word-problem-heavy in middle school. Students must extract relevant information from verbal contexts, translate between linguistic and mathematical representations, understand precisely what questions are asking, and recognize when additional information is needed. Strong readers excel at math word problems not because of superior computation skills but because they comprehend what the problems are asking.

Social studies texts assume students can distinguish between primary and secondary sources, recognize author bias and perspective, understand historical context affecting interpretation, make connections across time periods and geographic regions, and synthesize information from multiple sources to form conclusions. These aren’t reading skills taught in elementary school. They’re sophisticated comprehension strategies that must be explicitly developed.

English language arts becomes more complex with longer texts requiring sustained attention and recall, literary analysis requiring recognition of themes, symbolism, author’s craft, comparison across multiple works, and formal writing requiring evidence from texts to support arguments. Students who read well mechanically but lack deeper comprehension strategies find themselves increasingly lost.

What schools miss: the invisible struggling reader

Traditional middle schools often fail to identify students with reading comprehension deficits because these students don’t fit the profile of typical struggling readers from elementary school. They passed reading benchmarks in earlier grades. They read aloud fluently in class. They don’t require decoding interventions. On surface measures, they appear fine.

But comprehension struggles stay hidden until students face consequences. A student might “read” an entire chapter for homework but retain almost nothing. They complete assignments by copying information without understanding. They rely heavily on peers or online summaries to access content. They avoid elective reading entirely because it feels difficult despite fluent decoding.

Teachers see the symptoms — incomplete assignments, low test scores, apparent lack of effort — without recognizing the underlying cause. Students who can’t comprehend complex texts start disengaging because school becomes a place where they constantly feel confused and behind. By the time problems become obvious, significant gaps exist.

Middle schools also face structural challenges addressing reading comprehension. Content-area teachers focus on subject expertise rather than literacy instruction. There’s an assumption that students arrive with adequate reading skills for grade-level texts. Limited time exists within subject classes for explicit comprehension strategy instruction. Reading interventions, when available, often focus on decoding rather than comprehension strategies.

The students most vulnerable to these gaps include those who learned to read during pandemic disruptions, English language learners still developing academic language proficiency, students with undiagnosed learning differences affecting comprehension, and those who haven’t been exposed to complex texts at home or haven’t built broad background knowledge supporting comprehension.

Middle school represents a critical intervention window. Students this age still have neuroplasticity supporting skill development. They’re developing metacognitive abilities enabling them to monitor their own comprehension. They’re building background knowledge supporting future learning. But they need explicit instruction in comprehension strategies, extensive practice with increasingly complex texts, and support connecting reading across subject areas.

How pandemic learning disruption compounds the problem

The current cohort of middle school students experienced learning disruptions at particularly vulnerable ages. Students now in Grades 7-9 were in Grades 4-6 during pandemic closures — the years when reading instruction typically transitions from learning to read to reading to learn.

Research on Canadian students during this period reveals significant impacts. School closures varied by province but averaged three to six months of disrupted learning. The PISA 2022 assessment found that across participating countries, students who experienced longer school closures scored lower in mathematics and reading. In Canada specifically, students whose teachers were available during closures scored higher than those without teacher support.

The loss wasn’t just about missed instruction time. Students lost sustained reading practice with increasingly complex texts, opportunities to discuss and analyze texts with teachers and peers, explicit instruction in comprehension strategies during the critical transition period, exposure to diverse text types and academic vocabulary, and feedback helping them develop metacognitive awareness about their comprehension.

Many adapted through online learning, but the quality varied enormously. Some students thrived with strong home support and access to resources. Others fell significantly behind, lacking devices, internet access, learning space, or adult support for independent learning. The achievement gap between students from different socioeconomic backgrounds widened during this period.

Now these students face grade-level expectations assuming they received complete, uninterrupted instruction in reading comprehension strategies. Teachers often don’t realize students lack foundational skills that should have been developed two or three years earlier. Students feel frustrated and confused when texts are incomprehensible, but they don’t always recognize that missing comprehension strategies, not intelligence or effort, are the issue.

The good news: middle school isn’t too late for intervention. With appropriate support, students can develop strong comprehension skills even if they missed critical instruction during pandemic years. But they need schools that recognize the gap and address it directly rather than assuming students should have arrived with these skills already developed.

Why comprehensive literacy approaches work better

Traditional middle school models separate reading instruction from content learning. English class teaches reading skills. Other classes teach content, assuming students can access grade-level texts independently. This fragmented approach fails students with reading comprehension gaps because they need consistent strategy instruction across all subjects.

In our integrated approach, literacy development happens everywhere. When students work on multi-week projects requiring research across disciplines, they practice reading diverse text types with varying difficulty levels and purposes, develop strategies for extracting and synthesizing information, build background knowledge supporting future comprehension, and receive coaching on comprehension strategies as they encounter authentic challenges.

Consider a student working on our sustainable agriculture project over an eight-week cycle. They might read scientific articles about soil composition and crop yields, government documents about agricultural regulations and subsidies, historical texts about farming practices and their evolution, economics materials about market systems and supply chains, and environmental impact studies requiring data interpretation.

This extensive reading practice happens in context of meaningful work toward real goals. Students aren’t reading to complete comprehension worksheets. They’re reading to solve actual problems and create tangible outcomes. The motivation difference matters enormously for sustained effort and engagement.

Our teachers explicitly teach comprehension strategies within project contexts. When a student encounters a dense scientific article, they learn to identify main ideas and supporting details, recognize text structure and use it to guide comprehension, identify and define technical vocabulary from context, distinguish between claims and evidence, and synthesize information with knowledge from other sources.

These strategies aren’t taught in isolation through workbooks. They’re coached in real time as students work with authentic texts for authentic purposes. Students learn when and why to use different strategies, not just how to apply them mechanically. This metacognitive awareness transfers to future reading situations.

Multi-age classrooms support literacy development by allowing struggling readers to observe and learn from more skilled peers, providing opportunities to explain and teach, reinforcing their own understanding, and reducing stigma around receiving support since all students work at their own pace. A Grade 8 student who needs additional comprehension support doesn’t face the embarrassment of being pulled out for remedial reading because differentiation is built into our structure.

Integration across subjects also builds background knowledge crucial for comprehension. Students working on projects that combine science, history, economics, and mathematics develop conceptual frameworks supporting future reading in all these areas. Broad background knowledge is one of the strongest predictors of reading comprehension because it enables readers to connect new information to existing schemas and make inferences about content not explicitly stated.

Middle school reading comprehension matters more than most parents realize. Students who don’t develop strong comprehension strategies during these years face accumulating disadvantages throughout high school, post-secondary education, and adult life. The skills required for success — synthesizing complex information, evaluating sources, adapting to different text types — are precisely the skills middle school should build.

The current crisis is real. Canadian students’ reading performance has declined for two decades, with the pandemic cohort now in middle school facing the sharpest impacts. But the crisis isn’t inevitable or irreversible. With appropriate instruction, support, and extensive practice with complex texts in meaningful contexts, students can develop strong comprehension skills even if they’ve fallen behind.

The question isn’t whether your child can read. It’s whether they can comprehend increasingly complex texts across diverse subjects, think critically about what they read, synthesize information from multiple sources, adapt their reading strategies to different purposes, and maintain engagement with challenging material. These are the literacy skills that actually matter for future success.

Schedule a campus tour to see how we integrate literacy development across all learning.

The conversation usually starts at a dinner party. Someone mentions their child attends private school. The questions follow immediately.

“Is it worth it? What do you actually get for that tuition? Don’t public schools work fine?”

These are fair questions. Private school tuition in Victoria represents a substantial financial commitment. Families deserve honest answers about what they’re paying for, and more importantly, whether those things matter for their specific child.

Let me be direct: private school isn’t worth it for everyone. There. We said it. But for certain families, with certain children, seeking certain outcomes, it’s extraordinarily valuable. The trick is understanding the difference.

This isn’t a sales pitch. It’s an honest examination of what private education actually provides, what differentiates various types of private schools, and how to determine whether that value aligns with your family’s priorities and your child’s needs.

Beyond small class sizes: what really differentiates private education

Yes, private schools typically have smaller classes. Victoria families researching independent schools will hear this immediately. And yes, it matters. Research consistently shows that lower student-to-teacher ratios contribute to better academic achievement, more personalized attention, stronger relationships between teachers and students, and improved overall outcomes.

But that’s just the beginning. Anyone who tells you private school is primarily about small class sizes either doesn’t understand private education or is oversimplifying to avoid the more complex conversation.

Here’s what actually differentiates independent education:

Educational philosophy and approach. Private schools can choose their pedagogical methods rather than following mandated approaches. This autonomy allows schools to align their entire program around specific educational philosophies.

At Westmont, we’ve built everything around Montessori principles and experiential learning. We believe children learn best through direct engagement with materials and environments, through self-directed exploration, through real-world application. Our 143-acre campus backing onto provincial land isn’t decoration. It’s fundamental to how we teach.

Other private schools emphasize different approaches. Some focus on classical education. Others on international curricula. Some on specific religious frameworks. This philosophical clarity matters because it means families can choose schools that match their values and their child’s learning style rather than accepting whatever approach happens to dominate their district.

Curriculum flexibility. Independent schools aren’t bound by the exact same curriculum requirements as public schools, though they remain accountable to provincial standards. This flexibility allows schools to offer broader subject choices, to dive deeper into topics, to integrate disciplines in ways that make sense pedagogically rather than administratively.

We can spend weeks investigating coastal ecology because that’s where student interest leads and that’s where profound learning happens. We’re not constrained by pacing guides designed for entirely different contexts. When a question emerges that deserves sustained exploration, we explore it.

Selective admission and values alignment. This is controversial but honest: private schools choose their students. This creates communities where families share fundamental values about education, about childhood, about what matters.

When every family at a school believes education should develop critical thinking rather than just transmit information, when everyone values outdoor time and experiential learning, when shared principles guide decision-making, you get coherence. Students aren’t navigating contradictory messages between home and school. Families aren’t fighting institutional inertia to get what they believe their child needs.

Does this create more homogeneous communities in some ways? Yes. Is that tension worth acknowledging? Absolutely. But the alignment around educational philosophy creates an environment where everyone moves in the same direction, which benefits children profoundly.

Long-term relationships and continuity. Many private schools, including ours, offer education from early years through high school. This continuity matters more than most families initially realize.

Transitioning schools is disruptive. New environments. New expectations. New peer groups. New teachers learning your child from scratch. When a child spends their entire education at one school, teachers know them deeply. They understand learning patterns, strengths, challenges, interests. They build on what came before rather than starting fresh.

We’ve watched students from our Early Years program develop into confident High School leaders. We’ve seen their growth across more than a decade. That institutional memory, that sustained relationship, that’s something public education rarely provides due to its structural fragmentation.

Nimbleness and responsiveness. Independent schools governed by boards of trustees can pivot quickly when needed. New programs. Curriculum adjustments. Facility improvements. Innovation in teaching approaches.

We’re not waiting for district approval or navigating bureaucratic processes designed for institutions serving thousands. We identify what our community needs and we respond. This matters particularly in times of rapid change, like the current AI revolution in education.

These advantages, collectively, create something distinct from what public education provides. Not better in every way for every child. But meaningfully different in ways that matter significantly for certain students and families.

Not all private schools are created equal: understanding your options

Here’s what many Victoria families don’t realize until they start researching: calling something a “private school” or “independent school” doesn’t tell you much. The category includes enormous diversity.

Some private schools function essentially like public schools with tuition. Traditional classroom instruction. Focus on standardized testing. Conventional grading. The main difference: smaller classes and more resources.

Others, particularly schools rooted in specific educational philosophies like Montessori, Waldorf, or progressive approaches, operate from fundamentally different premises about how children learn and what education should accomplish.

Understanding these differences matters crucially because they lead to radically different experiences for students.

Traditional academic-focused private schools emphasize preparation for university through rigorous coursework, AP or IB programs, extensive test prep, and competitive environments. They measure success through university placement, test scores, and academic achievement.

These schools work well for students who thrive in structured, achievement-oriented environments where external validation drives motivation. They’re excellent for families whose primary goal is maximizing competitive advantage for university admissions.

What they typically don’t provide: significant flexibility in learning approaches, emphasis on process over outcomes, allowance for different developmental timelines, deep focus on social-emotional development separate from academic achievement.

Progressive independent schools like Westmont prioritize holistic development over purely academic achievement. We measure success not just through test scores but through genuine learning, creative thinking, problem-solving capacity, self-direction, and character development.

Our approach works exceptionally well for students who need room to develop at their own pace, who learn best through experience rather than lecture, who need their education to feel meaningful rather than arbitrary, who benefit from nature-rich environments, and whose families value education for life preparation rather than just college prep.

What progressive schools may not provide: environments focused on competitive achievement, intensive standardized test preparation, rigid structure some students need, preparation specifically optimized for traditional university admissions metrics.

Specialty schools focus on particular populations or approaches: special education, gifted programs, single-sex education, religious education, arts-focused programs, outdoor education, or other specialized niches.

These schools serve families whose children have specific needs or interests that mainstream education, public or private, doesn’t adequately address.

The honest truth Victoria families need: there is no single “best” private school. There are schools that fit certain children well and others that don’t. The expensive school with the most impressive facilities might be completely wrong for your child. The less well-known school with a specific philosophy might be perfect.

This is why understanding what you’re actually looking for, what your child actually needs, and what different schools actually provide matters more than reputation or status or what other families choose.

The long-term return: college readiness and life skills

Let’s talk about outcomes. Because ultimately, families paying private school tuition want to know: does this actually lead somewhere meaningful?

Research shows that private school students generally perform well on standardized tests and college entrance exams, with many schools reporting high percentages of students attending their university of choice. But here’s the more important question: what happens after university? Ten years out? Twenty years out?

Studies examining long-term outcomes of private education find that benefits extend well beyond college placement. Private school graduates often demonstrate stronger professional networks, enhanced civic engagement, higher earning potential, and greater career satisfaction. But isolating causation is complex. Are these outcomes due to the education itself, or to family resources and expectations?

Based on 67 years of observing Westmont alumni, we see patterns worth noting. Our graduates don’t all attend elite universities. That’s not the goal. But they consistently demonstrate certain capacities that serve them throughout their lives.

They know how to learn independently. When they encounter new challenges, they figure out what they need to know and teach themselves. This matters far more for long-term success than any specific knowledge acquired in school.

They think critically rather than accepting information uncritically. They question assumptions. They evaluate sources. They recognize when they’re being manipulated. In an age of misinformation, this capacity proves essential.

They solve problems creatively rather than waiting for prescribed solutions. Real life rarely provides clear instructions. Our graduates develop confidence in approaching novel situations without predetermined answers.

They collaborate effectively with diverse people. Success in virtually any field requires working well with others. Students who spend years in our mixed-age classrooms, on group projects, in collaborative problem-solving develop these skills naturally.

They maintain connection to nature and understanding of environmental stewardship. Students who spend significant time outdoors, learning through direct engagement with natural systems, carry that relationship throughout their lives. This matters increasingly as environmental challenges intensify.

They possess strong intrinsic motivation rather than depending on external validation. They do things because they find them meaningful, not because someone will reward them. This internal drive sustains them through challenges and allows them to pursue work they find genuinely fulfilling.

These outcomes don’t show up on standardized tests. They’re hard to measure in traditional ways. But they compound over decades, ultimately mattering more than any specific academic achievement.

Are these outcomes worth the financial investment? That depends entirely on what you value. If your primary goal is maximizing competitive advantage for university admissions and early career opportunities, other schools might serve better. If your goal is developing a capable, thoughtful, internally motivated human being prepared for lifelong learning and adaptation, this approach delivers profound value.

What progressive independent schools offer that others don’t

Let me be specific about what distinguishes progressive independent schools like Westmont from both traditional public schools and more conventional private schools.

Learning through experience rather than primarily through instruction. Students don’t just read about watersheds. They investigate actual watersheds. They don’t just study ecosystems. They spend time in actual ecosystems observing, questioning, documenting. They don’t learn history as abstract narrative. They examine primary sources, visit historical sites, connect past to present.

This experiential approach isn’t supplementary enrichment. It’s fundamental pedagogy. Research demonstrates that experiential learning produces better retention, deeper understanding, stronger transfer to new contexts, and greater engagement than traditional instruction alone.

Emphasis on questions as much as answers. In many educational settings, students learn to answer questions teachers ask. In progressive schools, students learn to ask better questions themselves. This shift matters enormously. The world doesn’t provide pre-framed questions with correct answers. Success requires identifying what questions need asking.

We spend significant time helping students develop their capacity to wonder, to notice what’s interesting, to frame investigations, to pursue their own curiosity. This can look less structured than traditional education. But it develops capacities traditional education often neglects entirely.

Integration across disciplines rather than artificial subject separation. Real problems don’t divide neatly into math, science, history, literature. They’re messy. Interdisciplinary. Requiring knowledge from multiple domains applied simultaneously.

Our project-based approach requires students to draw on various disciplines to address authentic questions. They’re not learning subjects in isolation. They’re learning to apply integrated knowledge to complex situations. This mirrors how adults actually use knowledge in professional and personal contexts.

Developmental respect and appropriate autonomy. We trust children’s capacity to make meaningful choices about their learning. From our Early Years program where three-year-olds choose their work materials, to our High School program where students design year-long capstone projects, we provide age-appropriate autonomy.

This isn’t absence of guidance. It’s structure that supports growing independence rather than enforcing compliance. Students develop self-direction not through being told they should be self-directed, but through practiced experience making choices and taking responsibility for their learning.

Deep connection to place and environment. Our 143-acre campus isn’t just location. It’s curriculum. Students learn through sustained engagement with the natural systems around them. They develop ecological literacy, environmental consciousness, and physical competence through years of outdoor learning.

This distinguishes us not just from public schools but from many private schools. Education that treats nature as fundamental rather than supplementary produces different outcomes. Students develop relationship with the living world that shapes their values and choices throughout their lives.

Community size that allows knowing every child deeply. We’re intentionally small. Everyone knows everyone. This creates accountability, yes, but more importantly, it creates genuine care. Teachers don’t just know your child’s academic performance. They know your child as a complete person.

That depth of relationship allows for individualized support impossible in larger institutions. It creates safety. It allows teachers to challenge students appropriately because they understand each child’s actual capacity. It builds community where students feel genuinely known and valued.

These elements, collectively, create educational experiences fundamentally different from what conventional schools, public or private, typically provide.

Victoria’s educational landscape: comparing your options

Let’s be honest about Victoria’s specific context because it matters for these decisions.

Greater Victoria offers excellent public schools. Families choosing public education aren’t settling for inadequate options. Many public schools provide strong academic programs, dedicated teachers, good resources, diverse student populations. For many students, particularly those who thrive in structured environments with clear expectations and diverse peer groups, public schools work well.

Private options in Victoria range widely. International Baccalaureate programs. Religious schools. Traditional academic institutions. Specialty programs. Montessori schools including ours. Each serves different populations with different needs.

What distinguishes Westmont specifically in Victoria’s landscape:

We offer the only Early Years through High School continuum in the region where Montessori principles and experiential learning remain central throughout. Students can spend their entire education with us, experiencing coherent philosophy and approach from age three through graduation.

Our 143-acre campus in Metchosin backing onto provincial land provides something unique: genuine wilderness access integrated into daily education. Students don’t take field trips to nature. They’re embedded in nature as fundamental learning environment.

Our High School program’s project-based approach, where students design work around their passions while meeting curriculum requirements, differs significantly from traditional high school experiences available elsewhere in the region.

We’re accredited and recognized by the Ministry of Education, meaning our graduates receive standard BC Dogwood diplomas. We’re not an alternative that limits future options. We’re an alternative that expands them.

We’re intentionally small. Many families actually want larger schools for their children. More students. More programs. More variety. That’s legitimate. But for families who value depth of relationship, coherent community, individualized attention, our size becomes strength rather than limitation.

We’ve been doing this for 67 years. We’re not a startup experiment. We’re an established institution with proven track record and alumni who send their own children here.

Making the financial decision: is private school right for your family?

Let’s address the hardest part: money.

Private school tuition represents significant expense. For most Victoria families, it requires sacrifices. Maybe one parent works primarily to cover education costs. Maybe the family lives in a smaller home, drives older cars, foregoes expensive vacations. These aren’t trivial tradeoffs.

So how do you determine whether the investment makes sense?

First, be honest about your actual motivation. Are you considering private school because you genuinely believe your child will benefit from what it offers? Or because you feel social pressure, because it seems like what successful families do, because you want the status?

If the primary driver is status, save your money. That’s an expensive way to signal to other people, and your child will sense the inauthenticity.

Second, assess what your child actually needs. Not all children thrive in every environment. A student who needs significant structure, who excels in competitive environments, who’s motivated primarily by grades and external achievement might not benefit from progressive education despite its advantages.

Conversely, a child who withers under pressure, who learns best through hands-on experience, who needs room to develop at their own pace, who’s intensely curious but struggles with traditional instruction, that child might flourish in progressive independent school in ways impossible elsewhere.

Third, examine your family’s values about education. What do you actually believe education is for? Preparation for competitive university placement? Development of lifelong learners? Character formation? All of the above? Something else entirely?

If your primary goal is maximizing test scores and university placement at elite institutions, be honest about that. Some private schools optimize for those outcomes. Progressive schools generally don’t, though our graduates do fine in university. We optimize for different outcomes.

Fourth, consider alternatives honestly. What are your local public schools actually like? Not their reputation. Not what neighbors say. Actually visit. Talk to teachers. Observe. Many families discover their public options are better than feared.

Also consider that private school for some years but not all might make sense. Maybe elementary years in progressive school building foundation, then public high school. Maybe public elementary developing social breadth, then private high school for individualized college prep. There’s no rule requiring all-or-nothing.

Fifth, if you’re considering private school primarily for academic advantage, be realistic about returns. Yes, private school students often perform well academically. But motivated students with involved parents do fine in public schools too. The academic advantage alone rarely justifies the cost differential unless your public alternative is genuinely inadequate.

The stronger argument for private school investment rests on things beyond pure academics: educational philosophy alignment, developmental approach, community values, specific pedagogical methods, environmental factors. If those matter significantly to your family, the investment makes more sense.

Finally, remember that financial sacrifice to provide opportunities for your children is noble but shouldn’t extend to unsustainable stress. A family strained to breaking point paying tuition, parents working multiple jobs and never present, siblings with unmet needs, that’s not worth it. Your presence and stability matter more than school choice.

Many private schools, including ours, offer financial aid. Don’t assume tuition is barrier without investigating assistance. Schools want diverse communities and work hard to make education accessible.

But also don’t stretch beyond what your family can realistically sustain. Your child needs stable, present, less-stressed parents more than they need private school.

Questions to ask when evaluating private schools

If you’re seriously considering private education, here’s what to actually investigate:

Visit multiple schools. Don’t choose based on websites or reputations. Physically visit. Observe classes. Watch how teachers interact with students. Notice the environment. Talk to current students and parents.

Ask about educational philosophy specifically. Not marketing language. Actual pedagogical approach. How do students learn here? What drives curriculum decisions? What matters most to this school?

Understand how learning is assessed. Traditional grades? Narrative reports? Portfolio assessment? How do they measure progress and communicate with families?

Investigate what happens when children struggle. Not if, when. Every child struggles sometimes. How does this school respond? What support exists? How do they differentiate instruction?

Ask about social-emotional learning and character development. What values does the school actively cultivate? How is community built? How are conflicts resolved?

Understand the actual time commitment for families. Required volunteer hours? Frequent events? How much involvement is expected?

Talk honestly about what happens next. Where do graduates go? Not just which universities, but what do they do? How do they perform? What skills do they carry forward?

Ask hard questions about what this school doesn’t do well. Every school has weaknesses. Schools that claim otherwise are lying. What’s missing? What do students here not get?

Trust your instincts about fit. You know your child. When you visit, imagine your specific child in this environment. Can you see them thriving? Or does something feel off?

The right school isn’t the most expensive or most prestigious. It’s the school where your child will flourish.

It’s January. Families across Victoria are researching schools. Comparing options. Calculating costs. Wondering whether private education justifies the investment.

The honest answer: it depends entirely on your specific child, your family’s values, your financial reality, and what specific school you’re considering.

Private school isn’t universally better. It’s different. For certain students seeking certain outcomes, that difference matters profoundly. For others, it doesn’t.

What we know after 67 years: students who come to Westmont because our approach genuinely matches their needs and their families’ values consistently thrive. Not because we’re magical. Because alignment between child, family, and educational philosophy creates conditions where genuine learning flourishes.

That’s what private school tuition buys: alignment, individualization, community coherence, flexibility, continuity. Whether those things matter enough to justify the investment, only your family can determine.

We’re here if you want to explore whether we might be that right fit. Come visit. Walk our trails. Observe our classrooms. Talk with our students. See if this feels like where your child belongs.

Because that feeling, that sense of rightness, matters more than any discussion of return on investment.

As AI automates routine cognitive tasks, education must pivot from teaching what AI can do to developing distinctly human capabilities like critical thinking, creativity, adaptability, and ethical reasoning that remain essential regardless of technological change.

The eighth grader sitting across from you can ask an AI to write their essay. Grade their math homework. Explain historical concepts. Generate code. Analyze data. Solve complex problems.

All in seconds.

So what’s the point of school?

It’s January 2026. AI isn’t coming to education. It’s here. Already embedded in how students work, how teachers teach, how learning happens. The question isn’t whether AI will change education. The question is: what kind of education remains valuable when AI can do so much of what we traditionally taught?

This isn’t hypothetical. It’s urgent. And the answer isn’t to ban AI or pretend it doesn’t exist. The answer is to fundamentally rethink what education is for.

The 2026 education landscape: what’s really changing

Five years ago, AI in education was mostly theoretical. Pilot programs. Research studies. Experimental platforms. Something people discussed as a future possibility.

Now? It’s infrastructure. AI already handles scheduling, admissions, student support, compliance, reporting. These behind-the-scenes applications feel safe, practical, uncontroversial. Schools adopt them because they work.

But the more significant shift is happening in classrooms and at kitchen tables. Students use AI for homework. Not occasionally. Routinely. They generate essays, solve problems, get explanations, receive feedback. Some teachers embrace this. Some resist it. Most feel caught between two realities: the AI that exists and the educational system designed for a pre-AI world.

Research from 2026 confirms something educators already know instinctively: when students recognize they’re being asked to develop skills that seem irrelevant, they disengage. And AI makes irrelevance impossible to ignore. Why practice procedural tasks AI handles instantly? Why memorize information AI can retrieve perfectly? Why spend hours on assignments AI completes in seconds?

This creates what researchers call “rational disengagement.” Students aren’t lazy. They’re logical. They correctly identify that certain traditional academic tasks provide minimal future value, leading them to seek efficient completion rather than meaningful learning.

The problem isn’t that students use AI. The problem is that much of conventional education was already teaching things AI does well: recall, procedural execution, pattern recognition, routine problem-solving. Those skills mattered when humans were the only ones who could perform them. Now they don’t.

So what remains? What can’t AI do? What will always require human capabilities?

Skills AI can’t replace: why critical thinking matters more than ever

AI is remarkable at many things. It processes vast amounts of information instantly. It recognizes patterns. It follows rules precisely. It generates content quickly. It automates routine cognitive tasks.

But AI fundamentally lacks certain human capacities. It doesn’t truly understand context. It can’t navigate genuine ambiguity. It doesn’t possess judgment. It can’t create original ideas beyond recombination of existing patterns. It has no values. No wisdom. No ethical framework. No lived experience.

Most crucially: AI can’t ask the right questions.

It answers what you ask. But it can’t determine what you should be asking. It can’t recognize when a problem is framed incorrectly. It can’t notice what’s missing. It can’t challenge assumptions. It can’t say “wait, we’re approaching this wrong.”

These distinctly human capabilities, what education experts call “21st century competencies,” matter more in 2026 than ever before. Critical thinking. Creative problem-solving. Complex reasoning. Ethical judgment. Adaptability. Communication. Collaboration. The ability to work with ambiguity and uncertainty.

Research on AI in education consistently identifies these as the skills that remain uniquely human and increasingly valuable. Studies emphasize that as AI handles routine cognitive work, education must prioritize critical thinking, analytical reasoning, creativity, and the ability to work effectively with AI systems while maintaining human judgment.

Here’s what that means practically: education needs to shift from teaching students what to think to teaching them how to think. From knowledge recall to knowledge application. From following procedures to solving novel problems. From consuming information to evaluating it critically.

This isn’t new educational theory. It’s existed for decades. But AI makes it non-optional. When students can access any information instantly, memorization becomes pointless. When AI can follow any procedure, procedural knowledge becomes insufficient. When standard problems have automated solutions, the only valuable skill is approaching non-standard problems.

The goal isn’t to compete with AI. That’s impossible and unnecessary. The goal is to develop the human capabilities that complement AI. To do the thinking AI cannot do. To ask the questions AI wouldn’t think to ask. To make the judgments AI cannot make.

Education focused on these capabilities looks fundamentally different than traditional schooling. It’s less about transmitting information and more about developing thinking. Less about right answers and more about asking better questions. Less about individual performance and more about collaborative problem-solving.

This is where progressive education approaches like ours become essential rather than alternative.

Project-based learning as preparation for an AI-driven world

Consider two scenarios.

Scenario one: A student learns about environmental science through textbooks, lectures, tests. They memorize the carbon cycle. They answer multiple-choice questions about ecosystems. They write an essay summarizing research others conducted. All tasks AI could complete or significantly assist with.

Scenario two: A student investigates actual watershed health in their local area. They collect water samples. They interview community members. They research relevant environmental policies. They collaborate with scientists. They design interventions. They present findings to local officials. They encounter genuine problems with no predetermined solutions.

Which student develops skills AI can’t replace?

The second scenario isn’t hypothetical. It’s how we’ve approached education for 67 years, and it’s exactly what our High School program does daily. Students place their passions at the center of their education, designing projects that meet curriculum requirements through work they genuinely care about.

Project-based learning doesn’t just make education more engaging, though it does. It fundamentally changes what students develop. When you work on real problems, you encounter true complexity. Ambiguity. Conflicting information. Stakeholders with different perspectives. Solutions that create new problems. Reality doesn’t provide neat answers. Neither does project-based work.

This matters enormously for preparation for an AI world. AI excels at well-defined problems with clear parameters. It struggles with genuine ambiguity, with situations requiring nuanced judgment, with problems where the solution depends on human values and priorities.

Students working on authentic projects develop exactly those capacities AI lacks. They learn to frame problems, not just solve pre-framed ones. They navigate uncertainty. They make decisions with incomplete information. They communicate with diverse stakeholders. They iterate based on real-world feedback. They balance competing priorities. They make ethical judgments about which solutions to pursue.

Our High School students complete eight projects over their junior years, covering core curriculum through integrated, interdisciplinary work. By senior year, they design year-long capstone projects driven by their own questions and interests. These aren’t school assignments disconnected from reality. They’re genuine investigations into questions that matter.

Research confirms what we observe: when students engage in project-based learning that requires critical thinking, problem-solving, and creative application of knowledge in authentic contexts, they develop exactly the skills that remain valuable as AI automates routine cognitive work. These skills transfer across domains. They adapt to new situations. They remain relevant regardless of technological change.

The key is that project-based learning requires students to actually think, not just follow procedures or recall information. It pushes them to approach problems from multiple perspectives, to analyze information critically, to develop solutions creatively. These are the capacities education must develop if it wants to remain relevant.

Real-world problem-solving in action

Let me get specific about what this looks like in practice.

A student interested in marine biology doesn’t just learn about ocean ecosystems from textbooks. They design a project investigating local marine environments. They spend time on our campus trails hiking down to Witty’s Lagoon, observing actual tidal zones, collecting data on organism populations, researching climate impacts, connecting with marine scientists, analyzing their findings, and presenting recommendations.

The learning isn’t theoretical. It’s experiential. And crucially, it involves cognitive work AI cannot replicate. The student must ask: what question actually matters? How should I approach this investigation? What data do I need? How reliable are different sources? What do these findings mean? What should we do about it? How do I communicate this effectively?

These questions require judgment, creativity, ethical reasoning, critical thinking. All distinctly human capacities.

Or consider a student passionate about social justice who designs a project examining housing equity in Victoria. They research zoning policies. They interview affected residents. They analyze economic data. They study successful interventions in other communities. They collaborate with local advocates. They develop policy recommendations.

Again: genuine complexity. No predetermined answer. Requires navigating multiple perspectives, evaluating conflicting information, making ethical judgments, communicating effectively with diverse audiences. Everything AI struggles with.

This approach doesn’t minimize content knowledge. Students still learn science, history, math, literature. But they learn it in service of answering questions they genuinely care about. The content becomes meaningful because it’s useful for something that matters.

And importantly, they learn that AI is a tool they can use in this work. They might use AI to help analyze data, research background information, organize their findings. But AI can’t do the fundamental thinking: framing the question, determining what matters, making judgments, designing interventions, communicating with stakeholders.

Teaching with AI vs teaching about AI: getting the balance right

There’s confusion about AI’s role in education. Should we teach students to use AI? Should we teach them how AI works? Should we restrict AI use to preserve traditional skills? Should we embrace it fully?

The answer: yes to all of these, appropriately balanced.

Students need technological literacy. They need to understand how AI systems function, what their capabilities and limitations are, when to use them and when not to. This is essential 21st century knowledge. Ignoring AI in education would be educational malpractice.

But students also need to develop human capabilities that remain valuable regardless of AI advancement. Critical thinking. Creativity. Ethical reasoning. Communication. Collaboration. Problem-solving. These can’t be outsourced to AI.

The balance looks like this: use AI as a tool while developing capacities AI cannot replace.

In our programs, students use technology extensively. Our High School Exploration Lab includes 3D printers, laser cutters, CNC routers, and yes, AI tools. Students learn to leverage these resources effectively. But the emphasis remains on human thinking. Students use AI to support their work, not to do their thinking for them.

Research on responsible AI integration in education emphasizes this principle: AI should support learning without replacing the cognitive work essential for developing future-ready skills. Studies recommend that AI provide scaffolding and feedback while ensuring students maintain genuine engagement with critical thinking, creative problem-solving, and analytical reasoning.

Practically, this means: AI might help students research background information, but students must determine what questions to ask. AI might analyze data patterns, but students must interpret what those patterns mean. AI might generate initial drafts, but students must critically evaluate and substantially revise. AI might provide feedback, but students must develop their own judgment.

The goal isn’t to eliminate AI use. That’s impossible and counterproductive. The goal is to ensure AI enhances rather than replaces the thinking students need to develop.

This requires significant pedagogical skill from teachers. They need to design assignments that require genuine human thinking even when AI is available. They need to teach students when AI use is appropriate and when it undermines learning. They need to help students develop the judgment to evaluate AI output critically rather than accept it uncritically.

It also requires honest conversations about why certain work matters. Students will ask: why shouldn’t I use AI for this? If the only answer is “because those are the rules,” that’s insufficient. Students need to understand that certain cognitive work develops capacities they need, even if AI could complete the task faster.

The most effective approach treats AI neither as threat nor savior but as one tool among many, useful for some purposes and inappropriate for others, requiring human judgment to deploy effectively.

How Westmont’s High School prepares students for careers that don’t exist yet

Here’s a question that should terrify traditional education: how do you prepare students for jobs that don’t exist yet, using technologies that haven’t been invented, to solve problems we haven’t identified?

You can’t teach specific job skills for roles that don’t exist. You can’t provide training for tools not yet created. You can’t prepare students for challenges we can’t predict.

So what can you do?

You develop adaptability. You cultivate curiosity. You teach how to learn. You build confidence in navigating uncertainty. You create students who can figure things out, who can teach themselves, who can collaborate effectively, who can think creatively about novel problems.

This has always been our educational philosophy. It’s just become non-optional.

Our High School program operates on principles that align perfectly with preparing students for an uncertain future. We don’t try to predict what knowledge will remain relevant in 2040. We develop learners who can acquire whatever knowledge becomes relevant.

We do this through several key practices:

We emphasize self-directed learning. Students choose their projects, design their approaches, manage their time, take responsibility for their education. They’re not passive recipients of predetermined curriculum. They’re active agents of their own learning. This develops exactly the autonomy and self-motivation essential for lifelong learning in a rapidly changing world.

We provide mentorship from professionals in various fields. Students work with experts who help them understand how knowledge applies in real contexts. They see how people actually work, how they approach problems, how they continue learning throughout their careers. This demystifies professional environments and shows students that learning doesn’t end with school.

We structure the year in four eight-week cycles, each culminating in immersive learning experiences: outdoor education, university campus visits, biennial international trips. These experiences expose students to diverse contexts, broaden their perspectives, and help them understand how different environments require different approaches.

We offer an Exploration Lab equipped with current technology. Students learn to use tools available now while developing the fundamental understanding that allows them to adapt to whatever tools emerge later. The specific technologies will change. The capacity to learn new technologies transfers.

Most importantly, we create a learning culture where uncertainty is normal, where not knowing is the starting point for investigation, where questions matter more than answers, where creativity and critical thinking are valued over compliance and memorization.

Research on future workforce preparation confirms that adaptability, continuous learning, and complex problem-solving are the capacities organizations will value most. Studies indicate that employers increasingly seek professionals who combine technical literacy with critical thinking, emotional intelligence, creativity, and the ability to work effectively with emerging technologies.

Students who graduate from programs emphasizing these capacities don’t emerge with perfect knowledge of everything they’ll need. That’s impossible. They emerge with the tools to figure out what they need to know and the confidence to teach themselves.

That’s the only kind of preparation that makes sense for an uncertain future.

Independence and adaptability: the ultimate future-proof skills

There’s a common thread running through all the capacities education should develop: they all require independence.

Critical thinking requires thinking for yourself rather than accepting what you’re told. Creative problem-solving requires generating your own solutions rather than following prescribed procedures. Adaptability requires adjusting your approach when circumstances change rather than rigidly following plans. Lifelong learning requires taking responsibility for your own development rather than waiting for someone to teach you.

All of these rest on independence. And this is where traditional education often fails most dramatically.

Traditional schooling frequently treats students as passive recipients of predetermined curriculum. Teachers decide what to learn, when to learn it, how to learn it, what counts as success. Students follow. They comply. They demonstrate they’ve absorbed what was presented. But they rarely develop genuine independence.

This worked adequately when the goal was preparing workers for relatively predictable roles in stable industries. It fails catastrophically when preparing students for an unpredictable future where they need to direct their own continuous learning.

Montessori education has emphasized independence for over a century. We believe children are capable of directing significant aspects of their own learning when provided appropriate support and environments. From our Early Years program through High School, we structure education to develop independence systematically.

Young children choose their work within prepared environments. They learn to assess their own progress. They develop self-regulation. They experience the satisfaction of mastery achieved through their own effort.

As students progress, independence increases. Middle School students make more choices about their learning paths. High School students design their own projects, manage their time, seek resources they need, take ownership of their education.

This isn’t absence of structure or guidance. It’s structure that serves the development of independence rather than enforcing compliance. Teachers provide frameworks, offer resources, give feedback, ensure students develop necessary competencies. But students maintain agency. They’re learning to be independent learners, not compliant recipients of instruction.

This matters profoundly for future readiness. When AI can provide answers, tutorials, explanations, and feedback on demand, the most valuable skill is knowing what you need to learn and taking initiative to learn it. That’s independence.

Research on self-determination theory shows that autonomy is one of three fundamental human needs driving intrinsic motivation. When students experience genuine agency in their learning, they develop the internal drive to continue learning throughout their lives. This intrinsic motivation proves essential when the external structures of formal education end.

Students who develop independence in school don’t graduate waiting for someone to tell them what to do next. They identify opportunities. They recognize gaps in their knowledge. They seek resources. They teach themselves. They adapt. They persist through difficulty because they’ve learned to trust their capacity to figure things out.

That’s the ultimate future-proof skill. Not any specific knowledge. Not any particular technical capability. But the confidence and capacity to learn whatever becomes necessary.

It’s January 2026. AI isn’t the future. It’s the present. And education can’t pretend otherwise.

The question isn’t whether AI will disrupt traditional education. It already has. The question is what kind of education remains valuable when AI can do so much of what we traditionally taught.

The answer: education that develops distinctly human capabilities. Critical thinking. Creativity. Ethical reasoning. Adaptability. Independence. Communication. Collaboration. The capacity to ask better questions, to navigate genuine complexity, to make judgments AI cannot make, to solve problems AI wouldn’t recognize as problems.

This isn’t new educational philosophy. It’s the foundation we’ve built on for 67 years. It’s just become essential rather than progressive.

Students who develop these capacities won’t compete with AI. They’ll work with it effectively. They’ll do the thinking AI cannot do. They’ll create the future AI cannot predict. They’ll ask the questions AI wouldn’t think to ask.

That’s what education for the future before us actually means. Not predicting what knowledge will matter in 2040. Not trying to teach every possible skill students might need. But developing learners who can figure out whatever they need, who can adapt to whatever emerges, who can think independently and critically about an unpredictable future.

That’s the kind of education that remains valuable regardless of how AI evolves. That’s what progressive schools do. That’s what students need.

The bottom line: While some learning regression occurs during extended breaks, research shows that experiential and outdoor learning activities maintain academic momentum far more effectively than traditional “catch-up” methods, without sacrificing the rest children need.

Your child just returned from winter break. Two weeks away from school. Maybe they spent those days sleeping in, gaming with friends, building snow forts, visiting family. Maybe they didn’t touch a single textbook or worksheet.

And now you’re wondering: did they forget everything they learned in the first semester?

The answer is complicated. Yes, learning loss during breaks is real. Research confirms it. But here’s what most parents don’t know: the typical response to this problem actually makes things worse.

Drilling multiplication tables over hot chocolate. Assigning practice problems between holiday parties. Forcing reading logs alongside gift unwrapping. These interventions feel productive. They’re visible. Measurable. They give parents the sense they’re doing something to prevent the dreaded “slide.”

But they miss something fundamental about how children actually learn and retain information. And they sacrifice something precious: the mental restoration that breaks are supposed to provide.

What research actually shows about winter learning loss

The concept seems straightforward enough. Students spend months building skills and knowledge. Then they take time away from formal instruction. When they return, they’ve regressed. Teachers spend weeks reteaching material. Everyone starts behind.

This pattern, commonly called learning loss or regression, has been documented across various contexts. Research from multiple studies confirms that some students do experience measurable skill loss during extended breaks from instruction, particularly in procedural subjects like mathematics.

However, the research is far more nuanced than the headlines suggest.

Studies using different assessment methods produce wildly different results about the extent and nature of learning loss. Some standardized tests show substantial regression after breaks. Others show virtually none. The variability suggests that what we measure, how we measure it, and when we measure it all significantly impact what we find.

What we know with reasonable confidence: math skills, particularly procedural computation, are more susceptible to regression than reading comprehension. Younger students typically show less dramatic losses than older ones. Students from different socioeconomic backgrounds experience varying degrees of impact, with disparities often widening during breaks.

But here’s what gets missed in most discussions of learning loss: the regression isn’t inevitable. It’s not some universal law that children’s brains automatically erase knowledge during time away from formal schooling.

The loss happens primarily when specific conditions are met: complete disconnection from any activities that exercise the relevant cognitive skills, extended periods of passive entertainment rather than active engagement, and absence of experiential learning opportunities that naturally incorporate academic concepts.

In other words, it’s not the break itself that causes regression. It’s what happens during the break.

Consider two scenarios. In the first, a child spends winter break primarily on screens, with minimal physical activity, few conversations requiring complex thought, and no engagement with activities involving problem-solving or creativity. In the second, a child spends break hiking with family, cooking meals together, reading books they chose, building projects, exploring museums, engaging in outdoor play.

Both children took a break from formal schooling. But their brains had vastly different experiences. The first truly became passive during the break. The second remained cognitively active, just in different contexts.

Research on outdoor and experiential learning demonstrates something crucial: learning doesn’t only happen in classrooms, and cognitive development doesn’t require worksheets. In fact, studies indicate that outdoor learning significantly enhances children’s cognitive, linguistic, and motor skills, with outdoor activities particularly effective when they arise from children’s own ideas and interests.

This matters enormously for understanding winter learning loss. The question isn’t whether children should engage their minds during breaks. The question is how.

Why traditional ‘catch-up’ methods often backfire

When parents discover their child might experience learning loss during winter break, the intuitive response is to impose additional academic work. Workbooks. Flashcards. Practice problems. Tutoring sessions. Keep drilling those skills so they don’t disappear.

This approach feels logical. If disuse causes regression, then continued use should prevent it. Simple.

Except it doesn’t work that way. At least, not sustainably.

First, the practical problem: compliance. Children resist. They’re on break. They see their friends playing. They want rest. Forcing academic work during time they understand as vacation creates conflict, resentment, and often, incomplete effort. Parents spend energy enforcing something children perform halfheartedly.

More importantly, this approach fundamentally misunderstands motivation and learning retention.

Research on intrinsic motivation shows that when learning feels externally imposed, particularly during time designated for rest, it actually undermines the natural drive to engage with challenging material. The worksheets assigned over break become associated with obligation rather than curiosity. The practice problems feel like punishment rather than growth opportunities.

Children learn to view intellectual engagement as something forced upon them by adults rather than something arising from their own questions and interests. This damages their relationship with learning itself.

Additionally, the traditional catch-up method ignores something essential about how our brains consolidate learning. We need periods of rest. We need time away from intensive focus. Our minds require space for what psychologists call “diffuse mode thinking,” where our brains make connections and consolidate information without direct conscious effort.

Constant drilling doesn’t just fail to prevent regression. It prevents the mental restoration that actually supports deeper learning when formal schooling resumes.

There’s also the content problem. Most worksheet-based practice focuses on procedural skills, isolated from meaningful contexts. A child drills multiplication facts divorced from any purpose beyond getting the right answer. They read passages followed by comprehension questions, disconnected from genuine curiosity about the content.

This type of practice does little to address the actual mechanisms of learning loss. Skills fade when they’re not used in authentic contexts. Practicing them in artificial contexts, devoid of meaning or purpose, doesn’t transfer effectively to retention in real-world application.

Here’s what we see repeatedly in educational settings: students who spend breaks engaged in genuine, meaningful activities that naturally incorporate academic skills retain knowledge far better than students who complete assigned academic exercises.

A child who cooks with family and adjusts recipe quantities practices math more effectively than a child drilling fractions on worksheets. A child who explores nature and documents observations engages scientific thinking more deeply than a child completing multiple-choice questions about the scientific method.

The difference isn’t just about engagement, though that matters. It’s about how our brains encode and retrieve information. We remember what matters to us. We retain skills we use for purposes we care about. We forget isolated procedures practiced solely because adults demanded it.

Active learning vs passive review: what actually works

If traditional worksheets don’t prevent learning loss, what does?

The answer lies in understanding the distinction between active and passive engagement with knowledge.

Passive review involves consuming information without significantly processing or applying it. Reading a textbook chapter. Watching an educational video. Completing fill-in-the-blank exercises. The student receives information but doesn’t do much with it cognitively.

Active learning requires the student to think with the material. To apply concepts in new contexts. To solve authentic problems. To create something. To explain their understanding. To make connections. To wrestle with challenges.

Research consistently demonstrates that active learning produces better retention and transfer than passive review. And crucially, active learning during breaks doesn’t feel like “school work” to children, which means they’re more likely to engage willingly.

On our 143-acre campus in Metchosin, we watch this principle unfold daily. Students don’t learn science by reading about ecosystems. They hike through the forest backing onto our school, observe actual organisms in actual habitats, ask questions arising from genuine curiosity, and investigate answers through hands-on exploration.

This experiential approach doesn’t just make learning more engaging, though it does. It fundamentally changes how knowledge becomes embedded in memory. When students learn through direct experience, their brains encode information in rich, multi-sensory contexts that support later retrieval.

Studies confirm that outdoor learning provides opportunities for students to practice skills related to cognitive development, including curiosity, imagination, and creative thinking. These contexts also increase engagement and motivation for learning, with benefits continuing when students return to indoor settings.

For winter break, this means: look for activities that naturally incorporate academic skills through authentic application rather than contrived practice.

Mathematics appears everywhere in daily life. Cooking involves measurement, fractions, ratios, temperature monitoring, timing. Building anything requires spatial reasoning, estimation, problem-solving. Games involve strategy, probability, pattern recognition. Shopping requires budgeting, comparison, calculation.

Reading happens naturally when children have access to materials they actually want to read. Not assigned books with comprehension worksheets attached. But graphic novels, magazines about their interests, instructions for projects they want to complete, research for questions they’re genuinely curious about.

Scientific thinking emerges from exploring the physical world. Watching how snow melts. Observing bird behavior. Wondering how things work and investigating. Creating simple experiments. Noticing patterns in nature.

The key isn’t that these activities deliberately target specific learning standards. The key is that they keep minds active, engaged with complex thinking, applying skills in meaningful contexts.

Research on cognitive development shows that spending time in nature alone has measurable benefits for attention, memory, and learning. Studies indicate that outdoor education has the potential to improve how children retain learning and increase students’ ability to transfer learning to everyday situations, with even brief contact with nature producing positive effects on cognitive performance.

Experiential learning opportunities that don’t feel like work

The most effective strategies for maintaining academic momentum during winter break share a common characteristic: they don’t feel like academic interventions to children. They feel like interesting activities worth doing for their own sake.

This matters because intrinsic motivation drives sustained engagement. When children want to do something, they invest cognitive energy fully. When they’re forced to do something, they invest the minimum required.

So what kinds of experiences maintain cognitive engagement without feeling like assigned schoolwork?

Anything involving building or making. Construction projects. Crafts. Cooking. Art. Model building. Woodworking if available. These activities require planning, problem-solving, spatial reasoning, following sequences, adjusting when things don’t work. All of this exercises cognitive skills while producing something the child values.

We see this constantly in our programs. Students working in our Exploration Lab with 3D printers, laser cutters, and CNC routers aren’t thinking “I’m practicing math and engineering.” They’re thinking “I want to create this thing.” But the cognitive work happening is substantial and directly supports academic skills.

Physical activities, particularly outdoors. The research is clear: physical activity supports cognitive function. Movement increases blood flow to the brain, improves attention, reduces stress, and enhances learning. Outdoor activity adds additional benefits through exposure to natural environments.

Winter hiking. Skating. Skiing. Sledding. Building snow structures. These aren’t just recreation. They’re cognitive maintenance disguised as fun. Children navigate terrain, assess risk, problem-solve, collaborate, and engage in the kind of embodied learning that supports abstract thinking.

Our campus location in Metchosin provides daily opportunities for this kind of learning. Students hiking through forest trails down to Witty’s Lagoon aren’t on a break from education. They’re engaged in education through different means. Their bodies and minds remain active, curious, engaged.

Activities requiring social interaction and collaboration. Games, both board games and outdoor games. Group projects. Collaborative problem-solving. These experiences develop communication skills, strategic thinking, perspective-taking, and cooperation, all of which support academic success.

Multi-age interactions particularly support cognitive development, which is why our mixed-age classrooms create natural mentorship opportunities. Younger children observe older ones demonstrating complex thinking. Older children consolidate their understanding by explaining concepts to younger ones.

Exploration of genuine interests. Perhaps most importantly, breaks offer time for children to dive deeply into topics they care about without the constraints of formal curriculum. A child fascinated by marine life can spend hours researching, watching documentaries, drawing, reading. A child interested in coding can work through tutorials. A child curious about history can visit museums or historical sites.

These aren’t “educational activities” in the conventional sense. They’re the child following their natural curiosity. But this kind of self-directed exploration develops research skills, sustained attention, depth of knowledge, and most crucially, the understanding that learning is something you do because it’s interesting, not something imposed by others.

Research demonstrates that when outdoor activities arise from children’s own ideas and interests, they particularly support learning and development. The same principle applies more broadly: authentic engagement with topics children care about produces better cognitive outcomes than forced engagement with topics chosen by adults.

How outdoor education maintains academic momentum

There’s something specific about outdoor learning that makes it particularly effective for maintaining cognitive engagement during breaks.

It’s not just that outdoor activities keep children physically active, though that matters. It’s that outdoor environments naturally present complex, ever-changing stimuli that require sustained attention, problem-solving, and adaptive thinking.

Consider what happens cognitively when a child explores a forest. They navigate irregular terrain, requiring spatial reasoning and motor planning. They notice details, developing observational skills. They encounter problems to solve: how to cross a stream, where to climb, what’s making that sound. They engage in creative, imaginative play using natural materials. They collaborate with others if in a group.

All of this cognitive work happens without any adult needing to assign it. The environment itself provides the stimulus.

Research confirms these benefits. Studies show that outdoor learning enhances children’s cognitive, linguistic, and motor skills significantly. Outdoor environments inspire cognitive, constructive, and sociodramatic play. Time spent in nature reduces stress while improving concentration and attention, which in turn supports learning when children return to more structured academic settings.

The benefits aren’t just immediate. They transfer. Research indicates that outdoor play and outdoor lessons positively impact subsequent indoor learning, decreasing stress and increasing focus, attention, motivation, and engagement with material. In other words, time spent learning outdoors makes students better indoor learners as well.

This has profound implications for preventing winter learning loss. Rather than keeping children indoors doing worksheets to maintain academic skills, getting them outside engaged in active exploration may be more effective for cognitive maintenance.

Our school’s location makes this particularly accessible. Students spend significant time outdoors year-round, including during winter months. They’re not just out for recess. They’re learning through direct engagement with the natural environment. Studying coastal ecology by actually observing tidal patterns. Understanding weather systems by experiencing them. Learning about plant biology through hands-on interaction.

This isn’t recreation separate from education. This is education through different means. And importantly, it’s the kind of education that doesn’t stop just because formal schooling pauses for break.

Parents don’t need a 143-acre campus to provide similar experiences. Local parks. Nature reserves. Even backyard exploration. Winter walks. Watching wildlife. Building with snow. Observing ice formation. These activities cost nothing and provide rich cognitive engagement.

The research shows what we observe: children who maintain regular outdoor activity during breaks return to school with better attention, lower stress, and stronger engagement with academic material. Their brains haven’t been idle. They’ve been active in ways that support all types of learning.

Building learning habits that last beyond break

The deepest problem with the traditional approach to preventing learning loss is that it treats winter break as an exceptional period requiring special intervention. Two weeks away from school becomes a crisis requiring emergency measures.

This framing misses an opportunity.

What if breaks weren’t viewed as threats to learning but as opportunities to develop sustainable habits that support lifelong learning? What if instead of trying to replicate school at home during vacation, families used break time to establish patterns of authentic engagement with knowledge?

The research on learning and motivation suggests this would be far more valuable. Children who develop intrinsic curiosity, who experience learning as something that happens throughout life rather than only in school buildings, who build habits of exploring questions and solving real problems, these children don’t experience significant regression during breaks. Their learning doesn’t stop when formal instruction pauses because their learning isn’t dependent on formal instruction.

This is what we mean when we talk about “education for the future before us.” We’re not just teaching content. We’re developing learners. People who know how to be curious, how to investigate questions, how to learn from experience, how to think critically about problems.

Students who develop these capacities don’t need remediation after winter break. They return to school having learned continuously, just in different contexts.

Parents can support this during breaks through some simple practices. First, model curiosity yourself. Wonder aloud about things. Investigate questions that arise. Show that learning is something adults do continuously, not something that ended when you finished school.

Second, create an environment that supports exploration. Access to books, materials for creating and building, opportunities for outdoor activity. Not elaborate or expensive. Just present.

Third, allow unstructured time. Not every moment needs to be scheduled or directed. Children need space to follow their interests, to become bored and then discover what interests them, to develop their own projects.

Fourth, engage in activities together that naturally involve learning. Cook together. Explore together. Build something together. Play games together. Have conversations about things that interest your child.

None of this looks like “preventing learning loss.” None of it involves worksheets or structured academic practice. But all of it maintains cognitive engagement, develops thinking skills, and most importantly, reinforces the understanding that learning is something interesting and valuable rather than something you do only because adults require it.

Over 67 years of working with students from Early Years through High School, we’ve observed that the students who thrive long-term aren’t necessarily those who received the most intensive academic drilling. They’re the ones who developed genuine curiosity, who learned to engage deeply with questions they care about, who understand themselves as capable learners.

These habits don’t develop through forced practice during winter break. They develop through years of experiencing learning as meaningful, engaging, and connected to real life.

The balance between learning and necessary rest

All of this discussion about maintaining cognitive engagement during breaks might suggest that children shouldn’t truly rest during winter vacation. That breaks should be continuous educational programming, just delivered differently.

That’s not the point. Rest matters.

Our brains need downtime. Students need recovery from the demands of formal schooling. They need time without schedules, deadlines, assessments, external evaluation. They need space to play, to be bored, to daydream, to do nothing in particular.

This isn’t wasted time. This is essential for wellbeing and, ironically, for learning itself.

Research on cognitive function shows that our brains consolidate learning during rest periods. That diffuse-mode thinking mentioned earlier happens when we’re not actively trying to learn something. Our minds make connections, integrate information, and strengthen memories when we’re relaxed rather than intensively focused.

So the goal isn’t to replace school with an equally demanding program of educational activities during break. The goal is to maintain a baseline of cognitive engagement while allowing genuine rest.

Think of it as the difference between complete sedentary behavior and light, enjoyable physical activity. If someone spends two weeks doing absolutely nothing physical, their fitness declines. But that doesn’t mean they need intensive workout sessions every day during vacation. Light activity, enjoyable movement, things that keep the body generally active without demanding extreme exertion. That maintains baseline fitness while still providing rest.

The same principle applies to cognitive engagement. Complete mental passivity for two weeks, consuming entertainment without ever thinking deeply about anything, will result in some regression. But that doesn’t require intensive academic work every day. Light cognitive engagement, activities that naturally involve thinking without feeling like work, things that maintain baseline mental activity while still providing rest.

Our approach balances engagement with restoration. Students spend significant time outdoors, which research shows reduces stress and improves wellbeing while simultaneously supporting cognitive function. They have unstructured time. They play. They rest.

But they remain embedded in environments that naturally provoke curiosity and thinking. The forest behind our school doesn’t stop being interesting during winter. Questions still arise. Exploration still happens. Just in a more relaxed, self-directed way.

Parents can replicate this balance at home during winter break. Don’t schedule every hour. Allow genuine rest and recovery. But also ensure children have access to experiences that naturally engage their minds. The two aren’t contradictory. They’re complementary.

A day that includes sleeping late, leisurely family breakfast, time for screens, outdoor play, reading for pleasure, helping cook dinner, and playing board games provides both rest and cognitive engagement. Nothing on that list feels like academic work. But the child’s mind remains active, thinking, learning.

This balanced approach addresses the legitimate concern about learning loss without sacrificing the restoration that breaks are meant to provide. And crucially, it models something important: that intellectual engagement isn’t a burden to be endured but a natural part of a full, interesting life.

Your child just returned from winter break. Maybe they didn’t open a textbook. Maybe they spent the time playing, exploring, resting. Maybe you’re worried about how much they forgot.

Here’s a different way to think about it: if they spent break physically active, engaged with interesting projects, exploring outdoors, reading things they chose, helping with real tasks, and having time to genuinely rest, they didn’t lose ground. They stayed engaged with learning through authentic experiences that support long-term cognitive development better than worksheets ever could.

The goal isn’t to make winter break feel like school. The goal is to recognize that meaningful learning happens everywhere, all the time, when children remain curious and engaged with the world around them.

That’s not learning loss prevention. That’s education.