I Started a School in My House

“Don’t do it.”

I remember the spot on the sidewalk, in the cul de sac, next to the gold Toyota Avalon I bought from my grandpa. My most logical friend, Andy, with his computer science wizardry and always calm demeanor and math PhD and concise language, had noticed where my brain was heading. He surprised me by interrupting, cautioning me against pursuing the crazy idea that was just starting to take shape in my brain.

“Starting a school is crazy.”

I mean, the guy is never wrong. And even though I didn’t take the advice, the rest of the story proved him right again here. Starting a school is crazy. But in a lot of ways, it was too late.

The Code Club Experiment

Years earlier, I started a weekly afterschool program at the local public library where I introduced kids to the basics of computer programming. My oldest son was eight years old at the time, and I had always believed learning to code is an important part of a modern education. Instead of doing coding lessons at home, we decided to do them at the library and open it up to the neighborhood. With some cheesy posters, a few library PA announcements, and strong word of mouth, the Mesa Code Club quickly became a popular fixture. Andy brought his kids and signed up to help me run the program.

I saw some incredible things at Code Club.

1. Kids loved learning, especially the hard stuff. Sometimes you hear this narrative about human nature being essentially lazy and resistant to growth. What I saw in our program was a group of kids intrinsically motivated to tackle difficult concepts and persevere through the messy learning process. I wasn’t making them do it; some kids came to code club and tried out the video games made by their friends. Kids loved Code Club so much that parents were using it as leverage to get kids to do chores at home (“If you scrub the baseboards, I’ll let you have the privilege of grappling with abstract concepts and acquiring marketable skills”). The energy in the room every week was palpable, and kids came back again and again, often bringing their friends.
2. Conventional teaching methods didn’t work. I tried lectures and assignments, but quickly realized that I was killing the fun of informal learning. Instead, I wrote a challenge of the week on the whiteboard, and kids who wanted to try it were supported with appropriate online tutorials. Somehow, we stumbled into a culture that I have heard described as “learner-centric.” Everything worked because the kids made a choice to be there and to put in the effort. The contrast with traditional education methods became extra clear when I visited an elite private school, found out that half the kids wanted to pursue careers in tech, then walked into the AP Computer Science classroom and met some of the most disengaged students I have ever encountered. They claimed to like the subject matter, but the format of lectures, assignments, exams, and grades had snuffed out the fire for learning.
3. Learning is inherently social. The attendance numbers climbed higher and higher with each week of Code Club. We grew out of the computer lab in the library, so we reserved a larger room next door and ran a crowdfunding campaign to pay for chromebooks. We could tell that it was working, but I didn’t realize how important the social component was. I was perplexed that parents were driving their kids from neighboring cities, when they could access all the same learning tools for free on the internet, from the comfort of their homes. One day, a cinematographer friend came to make a short video. As he interviewed the kids about Code Club, almost every one of them mentioned being with their friends. It’s a social phenomenon!
4. It’s not about what you know. As demand for Code Clubs grew, we received many requests to expand the program to other libraries. In some cases, I was able to prevail upon software engineer friends to get them to volunteer and lead these satellite programs. Each of these code clubs struggled to take off. One library was located far from the tech hubs around town, and I couldn’t find a coding expert to run the program. I kept apologizing to the librarians until we agreed that they could try to run the program themselves as a temporary measure. Two English majors in their sixties, neither claiming to be proficient in basic technology, much less in computer science; we wondered how this experiment would go. To my surprise, these librarians ran an amazing code club! Engagement was high, kids were learning, and all of this without having an adult in the room that knew how to code. I visited this library and watched these librarians. They cared about the kids, guided them to become self-learners, and pointed them to the right resources.

I ran the Mesa Code Club from 2013 to 2018. I met once a week with anywhere between 15 and 60 kids, interacting personally with more than 2,000 individuals. By supporting other library code clubs, the project reached over 10,000 unique children.

Gradually, I came to realize that the real magic was not the subject matter—there are many books, websites, and courses to help people learn to code—but the way we structured the learning environment. I had a firsthand look. Many children who claimed to hate school and be “bad at math” walked into the library of their own volition and dove headfirst into learning. They used math and logic to solve hard problems, simply because it was fun.

Which brings us back to the sidewalk conversation, when my brain was moving closer to the pivotal question: “why can’t school be like this?”

In a way, it was already too late. I had seen too much, and my curiosity was insisting on taking the next steps, even if the most rational person in my life told me it was crazy.

Realizing I knew very little about how school actually works, I entered full-scale learning mode. I hounded my friends in education careers. I sent cold emails to leaders of innovative schools. I sat down with homeschool moms. I read everything I could find about the realities and limitations of traditional school. I pitched the microschool idea to everyone I knew.

Before long, I was sitting at my kitchen table with my son and six other kids. January 3, 2018: the launch of the first Prenda microschool.

The first Prenda microschool

Even though I had spent the last five years teaching kids to code at the library and ran a couple summer camps to pilot the learning model, I was unprepared to run school. Looking back, maybe that was better, because I’m not sure I would have done it if I had been equipped with all the information.

But I had some solid ground to stand on. With the help of mastery-based computer programs, I had seen kids set big goals and achieve them. I knew I could have each child working at their learning frontier. I had witnessed the power of engaging projects, kids opting into learning, and a supportive group dynamic.

Ready or not, the kids were showing up at my front door and it was time for school.

That first semester was filled with trial and error, succeeding and failing, and scrambling to stay organized. I won’t go into all the details, but I will share the headline result of the microschool experiment and some of the learnings.

Each of the seven students in my first microschool showed breakthrough moments of empowered learning.

Learnings from that original microschool:

• Kids will accept ownership of their education, but it must be done carefully. It was instinctively important to me that the kids in my microschool felt like they were in the driver’s seat. But when I asked them about goals and dreams at the beginning of the semester, I got some blank stares and maybe some eyerolls. It took time and persistence to convince them I was serious, that I trusted them, and that they can feel confident as owners.
• You can get a lot done in a couple hours a day. I set up each of the kids with Khan Academy accounts, and they quickly started answering math questions in their enrolled grade level. It was clear that there was a wide variance in foundational understanding, and I was impressed with the software’s ability to find the gaps. Even more impressive, we got into a groove during our daily “Conquer mode,” where each student was working on their personal goals for English and math. It was typically 90 minutes or two hours, four days a week, and yet each of these kids mastered significantly more than they would have in a traditional setting.
• It’s about humans more than anything else. I sat with each of the students enough to see their brain working. Sometimes they had the foundational knowledge or baseline skill and sometimes they did not. With effort and the right resources, they could pick up the parts they were missing. This was true for the kids that came in academically advanced and the ones with learning disabilities. Across the board, the limiting factor to learning was the human side: emotional regulation, persistence in the face of discouragement, willingness to be wrong or admit not knowing.
• My role as the adult leading a microschool is very different from a traditional teacher. To get kids into a state where they were capable of impactful learning, I had to carefully avoid being a lecturer or evaluator. Instead, I built connections as a guide—coaching, consulting, supporting, encouraging, and always respecting the agency of the young human in front of me.
• There is an intangible but noticeable quality to empowered learners. At some point during the semester, I saw a change in the eyes of each of the seven students. Instead of resistance, fear, apathy, compliance, defiance, boredom, anxiety, and all the other things that get in the way, they approached learning with energy and confidence. They made the choice to learn and they knew they were getting good at it. Observing this paradigm shift eventually led to Prenda’s two-word mission statement: empower learners.

Looking back on those days, I remember feeling busy and tired. But I also remember a deep sense of meaning, knowing that I was playing a small part in the lives of these incredible humans. As they caught the fire of empowered learning, I became obsessed with the mission. Pretty soon, I was helping other people start microschools. Word spread as parents watched their children develop a genuine love of learning. 

Today, Prenda has helped more than 1000 people start their own microschools. We have supported thousands of children in their journey to become empowered learners. We built tools and resources that make it easier than ever for caring adults to participate in the work by starting their own microschools. And each time that happens, I think back to those original seven kids. 

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To learn more about how you can become a part of the microschool movement or bring a Prenda mciroschool to your community, drop in your email and get immediate access to a free overview webinar or visit prenda.com.