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What's happening with AI in your child's school — and what you can actually do about it
Introduction:
Your child's school is making decisions about AI right now, and most parents have no idea what those decisions look like in practice. Policies vary wildly from district to district, sometimes from classroom to classroom within the same building. Detection tools that schools trust to catch cheating are far less reliable than anyone wants to admit. And students are caught in the middle, trying to follow rules that often contradict each other.
The chapter below walks you through what's actually happening in schools, why so many AI policies are falling short, and how to engage with your child's school as a partner rather than an adversary. You'll also get a breakdown of the approach behind the real letter I sent to my son's principal — and a customizable template version is available on the Resources page of this site, along with a printable ethics decision tree and other free tools for parents and teachers.
CHAPTER 8
What's Happening in Schools and What You Can Do About It
By now, you’ve had conversations with your child about AI. You’ve explored the tools yourself. You’ve started building the vocabulary and the trust that makes honest dialogue possible.
Now comes the part that makes some parents nervous. Dealing with the school.
If you’ve been following AI in the news, you may have seen stories about students accused of using it to cheat, schools scrambling to update academic policies. Perhaps your own child has mentioned something about new rules or consequences.
Let’s start with what you’re walking into, then talk about what you can do about it.
The Gap Between Policy and Preparation
In Chapter 5, we looked at my youngest child’s online school in detail. The “We have an AI problem” video, the definition of AI that described only misuse, the three-strikes policy that escalated to dismissal, and the confusing exception for one limited built-in tool. If you need a refresher, that story starts in the section called “When School Policies Create More Confusion Than Clarity.”
I bring it up again here not to pile on one school, but because the pattern it represents is so common. Across the country, schools are responding to AI the same way. Restriction first, education later (if at all). And while the specifics vary, the core approach looks remarkably similar from district to district.
The typical school response goes something like this. Administrators notice students using AI to complete assignments. Alarm spreads. A committee forms or a policy gets drafted quickly. The resulting guidelines lean heavily on what students cannot do, with vague or limited guidance on what they can. Detection tools get purchased. Consequences get posted. And the school announces, publicly or internally, that they are “taking AI seriously.”
What’s often missing from that process is any meaningful instruction on how to use AI well. The focus lands almost entirely on enforcement. Schools invest in catching misuse without much thought about teaching proper use. Imagine if a school focused primarily on catching speeding students in the parking lot and dropped the driver’s education program to hire some traffic cops.
This isn't unique to any one school or district. Researchers at the Center on Reinventing Public Education found in a 2024 report that most state-level plans for AI in education were marked by what they called 'inconsistency and fragmentation.' If the states can't agree on a coherent approach, it's no surprise that individual schools are struggling.
And here’s the part that might surprise you. Tennessee actually got ahead of the curve on this. In 2024, the Tennessee General Assembly passed legislation requiring all K-12 districts and charter schools to adopt AI policies by the 2024-2025 school year. The enacted law specifically addressed AI use “for instructional and assignment purposes.” Not prohibition. Use. In 2025, Tennessee lawmakers introduced additional legislation that would direct the Department of Education to provide guidance and fund professional development for teachers on responsible AI integration.
That language matters. The legislature didn’t tell schools to ban AI. It told them to develop thoughtful policies around how AI gets used in learning. Schools that responded with near-total prohibition may have technically complied with the letter of the law, but they arguably missed its intent. A policy that says “don’t use it, and here’s how we’ll punish you” is not a policy governing AI use for instructional purposes. It’s a policy that side-steps the question almost entirely.
I say this not to set up a legal argument, but to give you context. When you engage with your child’s school about their AI approach, you’re not asking for something radical. In Tennessee, you’re asking them to fulfill the intent of a law already on the books. In other states, you’re asking for what educational best practice increasingly demands. Either way, the ground is firmer beneath your feet than you might expect.
The Detection Myth
An important takeaway from this section is this. AI detection tools are not nearly as reliable as most schools believe they are. And the consequences of that unreliability fall directly on students.
When schools invest in AI detection software, they’re making an implicit promise to students and families. We can tell whether your work is yours. That promise sounds reassuring.
The problem is that it isn’t true. Not reliably. Not yet. Maybe not ever, at least not in the way schools need it to be.
OpenAI, the company that created ChatGPT, built its own AI detection tool. They shut it down. The reason? It correctly identified AI-written text only 26 percent of the time while falsely flagging 9 percent of human-written text as AI-generated. The company that built the most widely used AI writing tool in the world couldn’t build a reliable detector for its own product. If that doesn’t give you pause about the tools your child’s school is using, it should.
Other detection tools perform better than OpenAI’s failed attempt, but “better” is relative. Researchers have found that most detectors become far less reliable once text has been paraphrased or lightly rewritten. In some cases, accuracy drops dramatically—one study found a detector's accuracy fell from roughly 70 percent to under 5 percent after basic paraphrasing.
On the surface, that sounds like it might work in your child's favor. A student who uses AI responsibly, generating ideas but writing in their own words, is less likely to get flagged. But it cuts both ways. If they are flagged, the detection score alone can't distinguish between a student who used AI thoughtfully and one who just swapped a few synonyms to game the system. The detector doesn't measure intent. It measures patterns. And that's exactly why relying on it as evidence is so dangerous.
The student doing it right might be the one who gets flagged. Perhaps that’s why a friend of mine had a daughter’s assignment get flagged as AI written—a paper he watched her write himself. Thankfully, her teacher believed him. But you can see the distractions (to put it mildly) this can create for teachers, parents, and students alike.
It gets worse. Stanford researchers found that AI detectors misclassified writing by non-native English speakers as AI-generated at staggering rates. In their study, detectors incorrectly flagged more than 61 percent of essays written by those students. On roughly one in five of those essays, the misclassification was unanimous across all seven detectors tested. And one detector flagged 97.8 percent of the essays as AI-written. Meanwhile, essays by native English speakers were identified correctly almost every time.
Writing that uses simpler vocabulary, shorter sentences, and more common grammar scores as “more likely AI.” But that also describes how many English language learners write, how students with certain learning differences compose their work, and how a lot of tired teenagers write at 11 p.m. the night before something is due.
UCLA temporarily opted out of using Turnitin’s AI detection software, citing concerns about accuracy and false positives. Multiple University of California campuses made the same decision. In one widely reported incident, a detection tool labeled the U.S. Constitution as more than 90 percent AI-written! If the Founding Fathers can’t pass the test, maybe, just maybe, the test has a problem.
None of this means AI detection is completely useless. Some tools, particularly newer commercial products, have improved significantly. Turnitin reports that its document-level false positive rate is under 1 percent when the overall report indicates substantial AI usage. But at the sentence level, Turnitin's own reported false positive rate is around 4 percent—meaning any individual highlighted sentence could be wrong. Over a full essay, that creates a real chance of at least one misleading flag.
So, even the best detection tools come with a critical limitation that parents need to know about. A high score from a detector is simply not proof of cheating. It’s a probability estimate. Treating it as evidence can ruin a student’s academic record based on what amounts to a statistical guess.
And if your child's school has a three-strikes dismissal policy like my youngest's? Imagine it's the bottom of the ninth in the World Series. Two outs, bases loaded, full count, your team down by one. The pay-off pitch is a homerun. Game won. Celebration time. Now imagine an umpire walks over after the game and says your player used a corked bat—based on an unproven accusation. That's what a false positive from an AI detector can feel like for a student who did the work honestly.
This is where the “gut feeling” problem comes in. Some teachers, aware that detection tools aren’t perfect, supplement them with their own judgment. They notice that an essay sounds different from a student’s usual voice, or that the vocabulary seems a touch too sophisticated. Their instinct may well be correct. But instinct plus a questionable detection score does not constitute proof.
And research has shown something troubling. A 2025 review by the UK's Joint Information Systems Committee found that when teachers are trained to spot AI writing, their accuracy does improve, but so does their false-positive rate. They get better at catching AI, and they also get better at falsely accusing students who didn’t use it.
For parents, the takeaway is cut and dried. If your child is ever accused of using AI based on detection software, you need to know that the evidence is far shakier than most schools acknowledge. That doesn’t mean your child is automatically innocent, and I’m not suggesting you come out of the dugout swinging. But you should ask specific questions: What tool was used? What was the confidence score? Has the school verified its false-positive rate? Was your child given a chance to explain their process, show drafts, or demonstrate their understanding of the material?
A school that can’t answer those questions is relying too much on technology it doesn’t fully understand. And making consequential decisions involving your child. That is a conversation worth having.
Three Kids, Three Schools, One Pattern
I have three children at different stages of their education. Each one has had a different experience with AI in school. None of them has had what I would call a good one.
My youngest, the one in the online public school we discussed in Chapter 5, is operating under near-total prohibition. AI is framed as a threat. Use it, and you’re gambling with your enrollment. The fear he developed didn’t come from using AI irresponsibly. It came from a restrictive policy that made responsible use feel exactly like misconduct. Only after months of patient conversations at home did he start to see AI as something other than a trap.
My middle child had a different, but no less unhelpful, experience in high school. The prevailing message then was simply: “Don’t use it.” A few teachers reluctantly allowed limited use but rarely defined what that was. The rules were blurry and students put in a lot of effort just trying to figure out what responsible use of AI was.
Then she got to community college, and things shifted again. One professor of business actively encouraged robust AI use. He treated it as a professional tool his students would need in the workplace. Other professors believed AI was “a good resource” but warned not to use it to cheat, without specifying the rules of the game. Students had to adjust their approach class by class, based on the whims of individual professors. No ethics around AI taught. Just survival strategy.
My oldest, whose story I shared in Chapter 4, graduated with honors and a double major. During four years of college, AI was barely addressed in her coursework. She walked out the door academically excellent but professionally underprepared for a field where AI is rapidly becoming a baseline expectation. Insurance companies are already using AI to process and interpret the very data that actuaries are trained to handle, and nobody at her university thought to mention that.
Three children. Three schools. Three different approaches, ranging from prohibition to indifference. And in every case, the school fell short of actually preparing the student for a world where AI competence matters more every day.
The pattern isn’t that schools are malicious or lazy. They’re overwhelmed. They’re understaffed. Many teachers want to help students with AI but haven’t been given the training or the institutional support to do so. Remember the Special Education teacher from Chapter 4 who was “very unfamiliar” with ChatGPT, Gemini, and Copilot? She can’t guide students toward responsible use of tools she’s never used herself, and she’s far from alone.
A companion 2025 Tennessee bill proposed directing funding toward professional development. But even if it passes, funding doesn't arrive overnight, and students shouldn’t have to wait for their teachers’ training to catch up.
What my children’s experiences taught me is that waiting for schools to figure this out is a losing strategy. Not because schools won’t get there eventually, but because “eventually” doesn’t help a student facing the real world right now. This is where parents fill the gap. And the first step in filling that gap is engaging with the school directly.
How to Engage Without Starting a Fight
Let’s be honest about something. Most parents who are frustrated with their school’s AI policy don’t say anything. They complain to their spouse, vent to friends, and quietly decide to handle things at home. The ones who do speak up sometimes go in hot, treating a much-needed conversation like a confrontation.
Neither approach gets the results they really want.
The silent parents lose influence. The combative parents lose credibility. But there’s a middle path, and it works better than either extreme. Constructive advocacy that presents you as a partner, not an adversary, doesn’t require any specialized knowledge. It simply requires a little preparation and the right tone.
I know this because I walked this path myself. After spending months losing myself in learning about AI, watching my kids deal with inconsistent policies, and seeing firsthand how restriction without education wasn’t up to snuff (as Grandpa used to say), I sat down and wrote a letter to my youngest child’s school principal. I want to share it with you, not because it’s perfect, but because the approach behind it is replicable.
The full letter, along with a customizable template version with bracketed guidance, is in the appendix. Here, I want to walk you through what makes it effective.
Start with Empathy, Not Grievance
The letter opens by acknowledging the school’s challenge. This is more important than most parents realize. Many educators are defensive about AI right now because they’re getting hit from every direction. Parents who want AI banned (if you’re still in that camp, I suggest a review of Chapter 3), parents who want AI embraced, administrators worried about liability, and students who are using it regardless. Starting with empathy disarms defensiveness. Something as simple as “I appreciate that the school is grappling with how to address AI use. This is genuinely challenging territory” signals that you’re not there to attack. You’re there to help.
Be Specific, Not Emotional
Next, the letter presents specific, grounded concerns. Not “I’m upset about the AI policy,” instead “The current guidance focuses primarily on restriction without providing students clear examples of appropriate use, which leaves them uncertain about how to engage with tools they’ll encounter throughout their lives.” Notice the difference. The first invites a defensive reaction. The second gives the school something concrete to respond to.
Bring Evidence, Not Just Opinions
In my case, I referenced the experiences of all three of my children to show that this isn’t an isolated concern spanning one grade level. I mentioned the Tennessee mandate requiring schools to adopt AI policies, which established that the state itself recognized the need for thoughtful AI integration. And I pointed to specific missed opportunities, like students not learning to use AI for concept exploration, practice problem generation, or studying. Any parent can bring their own version of this. Your child’s confusion about the rules, their reluctance to use AI even for studying, the contradictory messages from different teachers. Specific observations are harder for a school to dismiss than general frustration.
Offer Alternatives, Not Just Criticism
This is the part that separates constructive advocacy from complaint. My letter didn’t just say “your policy is bad.” It asked whether the school might consider a framework that distinguishes between AI as a replacement for learning and AI as a tool for learning. It suggested providing specific examples of encouraged uses. It proposed professional development for teachers. It asked about adjusting assignments to account for AI’s existence.
Volunteer to Help
“I’d welcome the opportunity to discuss this further, whether in a parent meeting, through a task force, or however the school thinks best. I’m happy to share resources or examples of how other districts are approaching this challenge.” That last sentence is really important. You’re not just identifying a problem. You’re offering to be part of the solution. Schools remember that.
Will every school respond positively? No. Some administrators are entrenched. Some districts move slowly regardless of parent input. But many educators are actively searching for a better way and often welcome parents who show up with constructive ideas rather than demands. You’d be surprised how often a single well-crafted message from a thoughtful parent can change the course of conversation inside an institution.
When the Survey Misses the Point
I want to be clear about something before I share what happened next. We've been with this school for going on six years, and in most respects they've earned our trust and our loyalty. What I'm about to describe isn't an indictment of one school. It's an illustration of a blind spot that's common across education right now.
About two weeks after I sent that letter, the school's annual parent satisfaction survey landed in my inbox. I was curious to see how they'd approach it. Would there be questions about AI readiness? About how well the school was preparing students for a rapidly changing technological landscape?
Not a single question touched it.
The survey asked about online platform performance. IT support responsiveness. Teacher availability. Counselor access. All reasonable things to measure. But nothing addressed AI literacy, digital readiness beyond basic tech support and website user friendliness, or whether parents felt their children were being prepared for the tools reshaping our world in real time.
When questions were general, things like overall satisfaction with academic support, I marked dissatisfied or somewhat dissatisfied. Not because the teachers weren't working hard. Not because the platform was broken. Because the school was missing something fundamental, and the survey itself proved they hadn't recognized it yet.
There was a text field at the end where I could explain my ratings. I used it. I referenced my letter to the principal. I pointed out that the survey's silence on AI told me as much as any answer could have. I said what I'd been saying: my son isn't learning to use these tools in school. He's learning to fear them. And fear isn't preparation.
After the main survey, there was an optional opinion section with a handful of questions framed as choose-a-side. One presented a spectrum between something like "I want teachers to choose my child's learning materials" on one end and "I want AI involved in deciding the learning materials" on the other. As if those are the only two options. As if a parent can't want experienced teachers making curriculum decisions while also wanting a useful AI tool integrated within that curriculum. The question forced a false choice that no thoughtful parent would actually frame that way. The survey told the school what it wanted to hear, not what parents (at least not this one) actually think.
Around the same time, the school announced a new twelve-part parent workshop series. This is something the school does well. They invest real time and resources in helping parents support their kids, with live sessions and recorded versions available in their resource library. I appreciate that effort.
But when I read through the twelve session titles, only two even hinted at material that might relate to AI. One was about early career planning to "future-proof" your student. The other covered career readiness and how parents can support their student's growth. Both promising descriptions. Neither mentioned AI.
A school designs a brand-new series to help parents prepare their children for the future, and AI doesn't earn its own session. "Future-proof" is right there in the title, and the most transformative technology to hit education and the workforce in a generation isn't part of the lesson plan. Trying to future-proof students without addressing AI is like leaving water out of nutritional advice. It's not that everything else is wrong. It's that the most obvious thing is missing.
These examples illustrate something parents need to watch for. The questions an institution asks, or doesn't ask, reveal what it considers important. If your child's school sends home a satisfaction survey that covers every facet of school operation but ignores AI preparedness entirely, that's important to know. It tells you where the school's attention is focused and where the gaps are. And it gives you an opening. Use that text box. Let them know what’s missing. Be specific about why it matters for your child.
A survey is just another channel for advocacy. Treat it like one.
Questions Worth Asking
Whether you write a letter, request a meeting, or raise the topic at a parent event, here are some questions that tend to open productive conversations:
“What does the school consider appropriate AI use for learning? Can you give me a few specific examples?” This question isn’t accusatory. It asks the school to articulate its own position clearly. If they can’t, that’s worth knowing.
“My child is confused about where the line is. Can you help me understand so I can reinforce the message at home?” This positions you as a partner trying to support the school’s goals, not an adversary trying to undermine them. It also gently exposes any lack of clarity in the current guidelines.
“How are teachers being supported in teaching responsible AI use?” This shifts the conversation from student behavior to institutional responsibility. It’s a fair question, and it paves the way to discussing professional development without making anyone feel attacked.
“What happens if my child is falsely accused of using AI? What’s the process for appeal?” Every parent should know the answer to this question before it becomes relevant. Being proactive signals that you take academic integrity seriously and expect the school to have due process.
When a Letter Isn’t Enough
Sometimes a letter is the right first step. Sometimes a face-to-face meeting works better. And sometimes you need to escalate, not aggressively, but strategically.
If your initial outreach doesn’t get a response or gets a dismissive one, don’t assume silence means disagreement. Administrators are busy. Emails can get buried. Consider requesting a meeting with the principal or department head. Bring your letter as a reference document but frame the conversation around your child’s experience, not the policy in the abstract. Administrators respond better to “My child is afraid to use AI for studying because the consequences are so severe” than to “Your policy is too restrictive.” One is a child’s story. The other is a critique. Stories open doors that critiques don’t. Remember the administrator has a human connection to your child. Use that to your advantage and help them see the emotional appeal of your concerns.
If you know other parents who share your concerns, there’s strength in numbers. A group of parents requesting a forum or task force on AI policy carries more weight than a single email. Many schools have parent advisory councils or PTA structures that can offer an ideal opportunity for this conversation. Some districts have responded to parent interest by forming AI committees that include teachers, administrators, parents, and even students.
What I wouldn’t recommend is going public with criticism before giving the school a chance to respond privately. Social media complaints, angry emails to the superintendent, or heated speeches at board meetings before you’ve tried a direct conversation almost always backfire. They put the school on the defensive and turn a potential partnership into an adversarial battle. Save those approaches for situations where the school has refused to engage after good-faith efforts.
The goal is to be remembered as the parent who brought a good idea, not the one who brought a problem.
What Good Policies Actually Look Like
What should you be advocating for? What does a thoughtful school AI policy look like in practice?
It’s not as complicated as you might think. The best policies I’ve seen share a handful of characteristics, and none of them require a school to become a technology company. They just require clarity, honesty, and a willingness to treat AI as something students need to learn to use, not just something they need to be kept from.
Good policies distinguish clearly between AI that replaces learning and AI that supports it. They provide specific examples of each. “Using AI to generate an entire essay and submitting it as your own” is obviously replacement. “Using AI to quiz yourself on chapter concepts before a test” is obviously support. But the territory in between is vast, and good policies don’t pretend otherwise. They identify the gray areas and help students work through them, rather than pretending everything is either black or white.
Compare two statements a school could make. The first: “Students should not use AI to cheat. If it feels like cheating, it probably is.” The second: “AI tools may be used for brainstorming, outlining, and concept exploration. Students may ask AI to explain a concept they’re struggling with or to generate practice questions for test preparation. Final submitted work must reflect the student’s own thinking and writing. Any AI assistance should be disclosed in a brief note describing how it was used.” The first makes students guess. The second gives them a framework. One breeds anxiety. The other builds judgment.
If you want to see what this looks like in practice, Arlington Public Schools in Virginia offers a useful model. Rather than adopting a rigid board-approved policy, Arlington built what they call a “living framework”: a set of guidelines published on the district’s website that an AI steering committee reviews and updates every two weeks based on feedback from parents and staff.
The framework doesn’t try to anticipate every situation. Instead, it gives teachers a simple, flexible tool. A traffic-light system for each assignment. Green means AI use is encouraged. Yellow means check with the teacher first. Red means no AI for this one. A math teacher might go green during practice problems, red during an exit assessment, and yellow for certain homework. Students always know where they stand, and the expectations can change from one assignment to the next without anyone being confused.
Arlington also created a customizable template that teachers use to communicate their specific expectations for AI use in their classrooms. And for the 2025-2026 school year, they made AI training mandatory for all teachers, not optional. The district declared it their “Year of AI Empowered Learning,” with the explicit stance that AI should support learning, not replace it. Sound familiar? It’s the same principle we’ve been building throughout this book, and it’s working in a real school district right now.
I mention Arlington not because every school needs to copy their exact approach, but because it proves these ideas aren’t theoretical. A public school district figured out how to give teachers autonomy, give students clarity, and keep the policy flexible enough to evolve as the technology does. Your child’s school can do this too. It doesn’t require a massive budget or a team of AI experts. It requires the willingness to treat AI as something worth teaching, not just something worth policing.
Beyond clarity, good policies also give teachers latitude and training. Not every subject and assignment should have the same AI rules. A creative writing teacher who wants students to produce original prose has different concerns than a science teacher who wants students to analyze data. Blanket bans and generic policies treat very different learning objectives as if they were identical. But giving teachers leeway only works when they have been trained to make those distinctions. A policy that gives teachers elbowroom without offering professional development is just shifting the burden without providing support.
Good policies focus on process over product. Instead of asking only “Did the student use AI?” they ask “How did the student use AI, and what did they learn?” Schools that require students to document their AI use, show their process (drafts, revision history, explanations of their reasoning), and demonstrate understanding of the material they submit are far better at assessing real learning than schools that rely on detection software. This approach has another benefit, too. It teaches students the kind of transparency and documentation habits they’ll need in professional environments. The workplace won’t ask “Did you use AI?” It will ask “How did you use it, and can you stand behind the result?” This also means rethinking assignments themselves. If homework can be completed entirely by AI with very little human thought, the assignment needs redesigning—toward in-class discussion, oral explanation, drafting cycles, and personal reflection. All of these are difficult to outsource. This isn't lowering standards. It's raising them.
And good policies are clear and consistent. The guidance should be specific enough that a student can read it and know, without guessing, what’s expected. Schools that publish concrete examples of dos and don’ts give students a real framework. Vague guidelines leave students anxious or confused, because for many of them, especially the conscientious ones, everything about AI feels risky when rules are poorly defined.
If your child’s school doesn’t have a policy that hits these marks, you now have specific, constructive things to advocate for. Not vague complaints, but solid improvements that you can bring to a meeting, put in a letter, or raise at a school board session. And if you’re in a state with a similar law to Tennessee’s, you can point out that the state’s own legislative framework anticipated exactly this kind of thoughtful, use-focused approach.
You Have More Influence Than You Think
I want to close this chapter with something I wish someone had told me earlier. The school is not the final authority on how your child learns to use AI.
Schools matter enormously. They set the daily context. They control grades and consequences. They shape your child’s academic experience in ways you can’t fully replicate at home.
But they’re only one part of the picture. Your conversations at home, the framework you’ve been building through earlier chapters, the trust you’ve established with your child about process and honesty. Those don’t disappear when your child walks into a classroom with a flawed AI policy. They travel with your child into every room, every assignment, and every decision.
And your voice as a parent carries weight in the school conversation, too. Not because you’re going to single-handedly rewrite district policy, but because schools are communities. They respond to engaged, informed parents who show up with useful ideas. One thoughtful letter, one productive meeting, one well-organized parent group can shift how an entire school approaches AI.
That’s what understanding gives you. Influence. Not control. Influence. And right now, the schools need parents who are willing to use it.
But schools aren't the only ones wrestling with AI. So are you. And there's a question underneath all the policy debates and school conversations that might be the reason you picked up this book in the first place. What skills need to stay human, and how do you protect them without holding your child back?
If this chapter was useful, it's one piece of a much bigger picture.
Raising AI-Ready Kids covers what parents actually need to know about AI, from how the technology works in plain language, to what students are really doing with it, to the conversations that build trust and judgment at home. You'll find practical tools throughout, including the full letter to my son's school, a customizable template version, a family AI agreement, an ethics decision tree, age-specific activity guides, and conversation scripts for when things go sideways. You can also find these and more on the Resources page.
It's not a textbook. It's one parent's honest account of figuring this out alongside three kids at three different stages of education, and everything I learned along the way that I wish someone had told me sooner.
Want to stay in the loop? I send occasional emails with new resources, updates, and things I'm learning about AI and parenting. No spam. Join the conversation HERE.
5 Questions Every Parent Should Ask About AI at School
You don't need to be a tech expert to have a productive conversation with your child's school about AI. You just need the right questions. These five open doors with teachers, principals, and administrators — without putting anyone on the defensive.
What is the school's current AI policy, and where can I read it?
Can you share specific examples of what appropriate AI use looks like in your classroom?
How are teachers being supported in teaching responsible AI use?
What happens if my child is accused of inappropriate AI use? What's the process for appeal?
Is there a plan to update the AI policy as the technology evolves?