Early Lessons in Attention and Empathy
When I was in kindergarten, I struggled to sit still during circle time. The “criss-cross applesauce” position was uncomfortable for me, and my attention often wandered to the shadows my knees made on the carpet. Like Peter Pan searching for his shadow, I was more fascinated by what I saw than by what I was told to do.
But what I remember most wasn’t just my distraction — it was my curiosity about another student, Greg, who often wandered the room, disoriented and misunderstood. I didn’t know he had a disability. I only knew that he seemed lonely, and that adults didn’t seem to know how to help him. Looking back, I realize that what Greg needed wasn’t stricter rules — it was connection, compassion, and a voice.
A System That Separates Instead of Supports
Teachers at my school were firm about structure but reluctant to let students help one another. Kids like Greg were sent to special education or speech therapy programs that often removed them from the classroom community. Yet, even those services were hard to access because of transportation barriers and shortages of qualified therapists.
The U.S. Department of Education’s rigid distinction between special education and general education has unintentionally isolated students who might thrive with hybrid support. Something as simple as a district-funded bus driver for therapy appointments could bridge that gap — especially if local PTAs and parent groups could crowdfund extra hours or stipends for these drivers.
A Child’s Curiosity Misread as Misbehavior
My own learning challenges — likely linked to unofficial ADHD — made school a maze of questions without answers. Teachers often saw my interruptions as defiance rather than curiosity. I asked “why” too much, finished assignments too slowly, and left class feeling unheard.
The same silence followed me home, where my father, busy with work, couldn’t always answer my questions either. Over time, I began to associate every ignored question with rejection — a painful cycle for a child who only wanted to connect.
When Technology Becomes a Wall
I also grew up without the devices that connected my classmates — no smartphones, no video games, no constant group chats. My peers bonded over things I couldn’t access. It wasn’t just loneliness; it was a sense of invisibility. I had plenty of thoughts but few tools to share them.
Even now, many students still face that same isolation — not from lack of intelligence, but from lack of inclusion in how classrooms use technology.
Policy Idea: School Mode for Smart Devices
We don’t need to ban technology — we need to redefine its purpose.
I propose a “School Mode” setting for phones, tablets, and smartwatches that allows students to:
- Access approved learning apps or note-taking tools during class
- Ask an AI chatbot to rephrase or summarize instructions
- Record audio notes for later review (especially for students with IEPs or 504 plans)
- Customize Cornell Notes layouts — including a third “bailout” column to jot down side thoughts or self-reflections
This feature would transform devices from distractions into tools of focus, accessibility, and dignity.
Why We Need Smarter, Kinder Classrooms
When schools enforce “no phone” rules without alternatives, they silence the very students who need adaptive tools the most. A simple AI-assisted note feature could help students separate their own thoughts from classroom content — and keep them engaged instead of disruptive.
Teachers can also bridge this gap by:
- Teaching students to adjust audiobook speed for better comprehension
- Allowing voice recordings or Livescribe pen note review
- Making space for students to express frustration without punishment
Empowering Every Student Voice
At Brigham Young University, there’s a “Student Voice” mailbox where ideas can be submitted — but rarely acknowledged. Students deserve more than a box; they deserve a conversation.
Phones on school mode could give students the power to share their thoughts directly with peers, mentors, and administrators — building trust instead of fear.
When students can safely express themselves, they’re less likely to act out or withdraw. And that starts not with another ban, but with a brave rethinking of how we teach connection.
Paul’s Policy Takeaway
Holistic education isn’t just about curriculum — it’s about creating a culture of curiosity, compassion, and communication.
If lawmakers like Donald Trump or Kamala Harris truly want to reform education, they should start with policies that:
- Fund inclusive technology for students with learning differences
- Support local fundraising and transportation for therapy access
- Train teachers in neurodiversity awareness and AI-integrated learning
Because real inclusion begins the moment a student — any student — feels seen, heard, and understood.
Paul's Policies 
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