Why do we hand our children over to schools we barely know—except through advertisements? Why must the child take an entrance exam… while the school is never required to pass our questions?
When I decided to choose a school for my daughters, I wrote down every concern in my heart—every fear, every expectation—and then used AI tools to turn these thoughts into a precise, uncompromising matrix: a scale of questions crafted by intelligence… and refined by conscience.
I began with the obvious question we often ignore:
What does this school want my children to become after twelve years?
If the answer is merely “high grades,” then we have failed the very first question—because a human being cannot be reduced to a line in a report card.
I asked about the teacher before the building; for the teacher is the single most influential element in a child’s learning. Reports from the OECD (2021) show that the teacher’s impact on a student’s achievement is nearly twice that of any other school-related factor.
Then I asked about the school climate:
Does the child feel they “belong”?
A sense of school belonging is a long-term protective factor for mental health and behavior. Students who feel connected to their school are less likely to engage in risky behavior and more able to thrive—confirmed by the U.S. CDC (2023) in their national report on “School Connectedness and Adolescent Well-Being.”
This isn’t poetic idealism—it’s evidence-based truth.
Then I asked about partnership with the family: I don’t want a school that merely informs us—I want a school that includes us.
Half a century of research—including the well-known Bull review (NZCER, 2008)—summarizes one clear fact: when home and school truly collaborate, deeper and calmer learning becomes possible; the weekly meeting becomes a two-way process of shared upbringing.
I asked about a curriculum that teaches thinking, not parroting—about the language of the classroom: Is questioning allowed? Is disagreement respected? Is error treated as part of learning, not a stain to hide?
Then I asked about after-school programs. These are not luxuries.
Evidence-based programs improve self-discipline, school engagement, academic outcomes, and reduce concerning behaviors—demonstrated by the major meta-analysis of Durlak et al. (2011) in the American Journal of Community Psychology.
As for values, I asked directly:
What is your image of a “good human being”?
How is conscience shaped in these halls? How are conflicts resolved? How is cultural and religious identity respected?
A school that raises grades but not humans… graduates a polished shell and a rusting core.
The matrix was simple in form, profound in spirit. Each question demanded proof, not promises.
When they spoke about academics, I asked about its impact on the classroom.
When they showcased facilities, I asked: How do they enrich learning?
When they boasted of awards, I asked not for trophies on shelves—but for one story of a student whose life changed because someone believed in them.
In the end, I chose the school that answered calmly, not theatrically. A school whose teachers know why they teach, and whose students feel they belong, not merely attend.
This was never just about checklists—it was about the dignity of parents choosing who will carry their child’s heart every morning.
A school that teaches the human being before the curriculum…
is the only school worthy of testing a child.
As for other schools, let them decorate themselves with slogans—they have already failed the most important lesson:
the question comes before the curriculum… and the child comes before both.
