By Beth Ann Valavanis, Founder of Apollo Academy
We live in what many call the “best school district” in Tampa. For years, I assumed that’s where my daughter Emilia would go—our local, highly rated public elementary school, just down the street. And honestly, if I hadn’t spent the last few years diving deep into educational research and learner-driven models, she probably would have.
But everything changed when I started asking harder questions:
What kind of thinker do I want her to become? What kind of human? Will she grow up equipped to solve real-world problems—or just trained to follow directions? Is the system preparing her for the future, or for a world that no longer exists?
And perhaps the most important question of all—What’s my endgame for her childhood?
How do I want her to walk away from these foundational years—not just academically, but emotionally, socially, and spiritually?
A few mornings ago, I saw a social media post about kindergarten orientation happening at that very public school. Out of curiosity—and maybe a little hope—I decided to go.
Part of me wondered: Do I just say Apollo is different, or are there elements of what we do woven into traditional schools too—just not as radical? Could there be some overlap? Could I be surprised?
And then I walked into the cafeteria.
The first thing I saw were large signs plastered on the walls that read:
“Stay in your seat.” “Raise your hand.” “Use your inside voice.”
These weren’t gentle reminders. They were rules—bold, commanding, and oddly harsh, especially considering they were setting the tone for what’s supposed to be the most fun part of the school day: lunch.
Ironically, the rules were printed in bold type that most of the kids couldn’t even read yet, but the message was loud and clear: this is a space built for control, not joy. It felt less like a cafeteria and more like a holding cell. I hadn’t even made it past the lunchroom, and already, the tone was unmistakable.
I wanted to believe the system had evolved—but what I found instead was confirmation of everything I feared.
From the moment I stepped further into the building, the message remained the same: compliance over curiosity. Children sat quietly in a circle on assigned spots, waiting—not to make a choice, but to be chosen. They were called by name, one by one, to pick up their lunchboxes and line up in silence.
When I asked about opportunities for independence or creativity, I was told they get 20 minutes of outside recess. That’s it. That is their free time.
In one classroom, I saw something quietly unsettling: every kindergartener’s handwritten work had been overwritten in Sharpie by the teacher— I was told “so it would be more legible.” A literal erasure of the child’s voice, masked as helpful correction. Their original words still faintly visible beneath the bold lines, as if their contributions only counted once cleaned up by an adult.
Then I walked into the art room. The projects on the walls were identical—careful replicas of a teacher’s sample. It was clear the goal wasn’t creative expression, but imitation. The message? Your work should match, not express.
The entire day was tightly structured. Adults directed every moment. There was no time for self-direction, no space for meaningful collaboration, no mention of personal goals or critical thinking. There were no opportunities for children to lead or offer insight into their schedule.
And when the teachers proudly spoke about kindergarteners already doing first-grade level work, all I could think was: Why are we rushing through content instead of giving children time to master what matters?
I left that orientation certain of two things:
- This system isn’t broken—it’s working exactly as designed.
- We have to do something drastically different.
Traditional school is designed with one clear objective: coverage of academic content. Progress is measured through grades, test scores, and completed assignments—not through true understanding, growth, or real-world readiness. The curriculum drives the clock, and with so much to get through, there’s little time to stop, reflect, or go deeper. There’s certainly no time to ask: “Does this matter to the learner? Is this meaningful?” Learning becomes a race, not a journey. And when the day ends, it doesn’t actually end—homework continues the cycle at home, further reinforcing the idea that school is something done to children, not with them.
But perhaps even more troubling is what’s not being taught. Traditional school isn’t structured to foster interpersonal growth, conflict resolution, or emotional intelligence. When time is tightly controlled and success is narrowly defined, children don’t get the space to fail, reflect, or grow through challenge. They’re not invited to navigate hard conversations with peers or build the resilience that comes from working through real problems. Instead, behavior is managed by adults, decisions are made for them, and expectations are enforced through authority. There’s simply no room for ownership when compliance is the end goal.
At Apollo Academy, we don’t erase children’s voices—we amplify them. Learners set their own goals, hold themselves accountable, and collaborate with others in a studio environment that values play, purpose, and progress. They’re given freedom within clear guardrails and grow up learning how to think for themselves, solve real problems, and lead with confidence.
My daughter Emilia is growing up in that kind of school. And if she spends the next 13 years learning in an environment like Apollo—surrounded by peers who are also striving for mastery, supported by Guides who believe in her, and held by a community that values effort as much as outcome—I can only imagine the kind of young woman she’ll become.
Capable. Resilient. Self-assured.
I didn’t need that orientation to know we’re on the right path. But I’m grateful for the reminder. Because in a world that still clings tightly to outdated systems, choosing to build something different is not just bold—it’s necessary.
And we’re just getting started. 🚀
💡 Want to learn more about how Apollo Academy works? Schedule an intro call here or check out our resources here. You can also find us on Instagram @ApolloAcademyTampa.
