The idea that every child thrives in every classroom is a widely held ideal, but it’s often detached from reality. While well-intentioned, the assumption that schools can seamlessly meet the needs of all students overlooks fundamental differences in learning styles, teaching methods, and school environments.
The Mismatch Between Ideal and Reality
One teacher’s experience illustrates this point sharply. A student with ADHD flourished in a microschool that incorporated frequent movement and active lessons. Conversely, another student, craving a nurturing approach, felt unsupported by the same teacher’s structured, high-expectation style. This isn’t a failure of the educator but a recognition that fit matters. Schools historically weren’t designed to accommodate every individual need, and expecting them to do so places unrealistic burdens on teachers and students alike.
The core issue isn’t malice or inadequacy but a basic truth: belonging looks different for each child. True equity isn’t about forcing every student into the same mold but about providing opportunities for them to find environments where they genuinely thrive.
The Case for Selective Environments
When this teacher founded their own school, they initially attempted to serve all students. However, limitations quickly became apparent. The school lacked the resources for strong science instruction, and certain students with specific needs couldn’t be adequately supported without additional funding or expertise.
One student, despite possessing potential, struggled due to inconsistent attendance and a lack of parental involvement. The teacher made the difficult decision to discontinue his enrollment, not as a rejection but as a recognition that the school’s capacity was limited. This illustrates a crucial point: sometimes, the most caring choice is to acknowledge when a particular environment isn’t the right fit.
The Implications for School Choice
The idea that not every child belongs in every school challenges conventional wisdom. Rather than shaming teachers for failing to reach every student, it suggests building ecosystems where families and educators can find better matches. School choice isn’t merely about privilege; it’s about ensuring that children have access to spaces where their needs are genuinely met.
This means acknowledging that some schools excel in certain areas while falling short in others. A school built for short lessons, movement, and structure won’t suit every child—and that’s acceptable. What matters is intentionality, not universality.
Ultimately, the goal shouldn’t be to force every child into every classroom but to create systems where they can confidently say: “This place was made for me.”
The acceptance of this reality isn’t a step backward for equity; it’s a step toward honesty and effective support for all students.
