When tragedy struck, we suddenly needed something more: flexibility and understanding. We found that at an alternative hybrid school.

Our mother had Type 1 diabetes during our whole life, but in our junior year of high school it got worse. She needed around-the-clock help, including support from us. We tried to make it work for the first two years, but it just got to be too much. Plus our minds were in a different place. We weren鈥檛 interested in dances and socializing. We were always thinking about our mother. We were dealing with bigger problems than what to wear to school. We looked into online programs for school and picked (CCAA), a hybrid alternative school that was available through our school district.

We were able to set our own pace and had the flexibility to meet our school obligations while focusing on taking care of our mother. We were able to make our own decisions about our school/life balance. Our teachers at CCAA were understanding when we had to leave school early, and they offered the support we needed to get us through the times when our mother’s illness meant we had to put school on the back burner.

We had to be mature. We didn’t go to school to play and hang out, but to get work done. We were responsible for our own success and finally had a structure that allowed us to manage that responsibility on our own terms, along with plenty of personal support. Wendy Thompson, former district director at CCAA, checked on us every week. If there was something we couldn’t do, she would help us or find someone who could. Just her constant presence and caring about our schoolwork and our personal well-being filled a void and helped us not feel so adrift. She helped us fill out college applications and sorted out a plan for how we would start a career and get the training we needed. 

Miss Wendy also helped us pursue our college plans once we graduated. After our mom died, we were at a loss for how to move on to that next chapter; the idea of working and running a home and tackling college at the same time was just too much. Miss Wendy called us every day for a week and asked “What’s wrong? What can we do to make this easier?” She helped us realize we could still pursue our dreams in the medical field.

Today we’re both medical assistants. We went through a training program at Northwest Career College and earned medical assistant licenses and phlebotomy certifications in nine months. Now we are pursuing bachelors of science degrees in nursing through a different hybrid program at Grand Canyon University. All the prerequisite courses are offered online and then students complete their clinical work at the school’s hospital in Henderson, Nevada.

We wish more high school students knew that there are alternatives to traditional high school. A hybrid school like what we did in high school and now in college is a great option. There are some young people who need the social interaction an in-person environment offers, but there are also a lot of us who face challenges or who just want something different.

It takes a lot of strength and drive to persevere through challenges, and we were fortunate to have each other to lean on as well as lots of adults who helped us along the way. We needed each other to push us forward, and we needed supportive adults who trusted us enough to follow our own school pathway on our own terms. 

We have benefitted so much from an alternative pathway through school to a career that we’ve aspired to for years. We want to make sure other students are aware of alternatives that will allow them to focus on their families while meeting their own expectations, so they can achieve their dreams no matter what happens, too.

At Samuel Everett School of Innovation, students attend their brick-and-mortar school building one day a week and learn from home the other four days, using a combination of paper and digital materials and under the guidance of teachers. In many cases, the same teachers remain with their students for several years. What鈥檚 truly unique about the , though, is that it鈥檚 a part of the public school system.

With one in five school-age children engaged in homeschooling or in an umbrella program, Blount County Schools decided in 2018 to offer an option aimed at bridging the best of both homeschooling and public school, while offering a flexible schedule and college preparatory academics.

The district is not alone. Gwinnett County, Georgia, has experimented with hybrid learning for several years, often focusing these efforts on within much larger conventional public schools. At Collins Hill High School, for example, hybrid courses include synchronous online classes on home days with offerings, including AP classes, directed at juniors and seniors. in Texas, which serves students in grades 3 to 8, was created several years ago as a hybrid school by design 鈥� the first public hybrid school in the state.

While the hybrid schooling model is , two developments have emerged in recent years. First, interest in attending, founding, and working at these schools has increased since the Covid pandemic; and second, conventional public-school systems are starting to get into the game.

Hybrid programs can benefit teachers as well as students and families. An EdWeek survey last summer found only of teachers satisfied with their jobs. Compare that to what hybrid school teachers say about their jobs: Well over 90 percent were “somewhat” or “strongly” satisfied with being a teacher at their school, according to a by the . An even higher percentage agreed with the statement: “Most of my colleagues share my beliefs and values about what the central mission of the school should be.”

Why might this be? Perhaps because these schools tend to be small, they are more responsive to teacher and student needs. Perhaps because they are also very focused on their individual themes鈥攁s classical schools, as project-based schools, as outdoor schools, for instance鈥攖eachers are better able to find a situation that suits them.

At Samuel Everett, teachers are employed by Blount County Schools and receive the normal pay and benefits through the local school system. They all have experience in conventional public schools. Yet the transition to teaching at this hybrid school requires a mindset shift, as the way teaching and learning takes place is largely different with the school鈥檚 400-some students being in the classroom for a few hours per week rather than five full days. 

Hybrid teachers at Samuel Everett have to be more precise with how they spend their limited in-class time and prioritize the aspects of teaching and learning that matter most with their time with students. As a result, class time is very academic, with feedback from assessments directing how to best use time with students. In addition to preparing lessons and supporting families, Samuel Everett teachers are also responsible and accountable for the same standardized test results as all other public school teachers in Tennessee. 

Many of the school鈥檚 elementary students work with the same instructors for several years. The same teacher leads both first and second grade, and a duo of educators leads the third to fifth grade classes (one teaches math and science and the other focuses on English and social studies). Secondary school teachers are content specialists, in many cases teaching both middle and high school courses. Each teacher has at least one day with no classes so he or she can spend a day preparing the upcoming week鈥檚 lessons, corresponding and supporting families, and evaluating and monitoring student work. 

Parents also play a role in the education process. Teachers prepare and send home plans and materials for the at-home work that will be completed by the student and their parents during the remainder of the week. The materials, plans, and curriculum require very little lesson planning and preparation on the parents鈥� end. Teachers introduce material, and parents review, support, and supplement it at home. 

While most hybrid schools are either private institutions or charter schools, Samuel Everett and others offer proof that this unconventional public-school option can also attract students and families. With teachers burning out and parents opting out of conventional schools, more public school systems should explore the hybrid model. 

That requires districts to reconsider what a partnership with their parents and communities might look like. It requires policy makers to value offering families a school choice that provides increased flexibility. And it requires parents to become more involved in their children鈥檚 education and be willing to try out a school model that looks unconventional. Done right, the public hybrid model has the potential to regain families鈥� trust in their local public-school districts.

Mat-Su Central in Wasilla, Alaska, is hard to label. It might accurately be called a hybrid homeschool, but that newfangled term belies its much-older origins. The school’s unique history helped shape it into what could be a model for the rest of the country, and it has lessons for any state or district leader looking to deliver personalized, high-quality public education. 

Mat-Su Central is a public school with about 2,200 students in grades K-12. It takes all students, and its workers are employees of the Matanuska-Susitna Borough School District. Its district is the second-largest in the state of Alaska, serving nearly 20,000 students spread out across a geographic area roughly the size of West Virginia. 

To reach all families, especially in the harsh winter months, in 1972 the Mat-Su district opened a correspondence school, which allowed students who weren鈥檛 physically present to complete coursework in their own homes on their own time. Its licensed teachers functioned more like advisers. They worked with families to craft an educational plan, but parents had to take some responsibility for teaching and even grading their child鈥檚 work, with the school providing ultimate oversight to make sure kids remained on track. 

Over time, Mat-Su Central鈥檚 leaders noticed that too many students weren鈥檛 graduating. After engaging a core group of families, they diagnosed the problem as a lack of connection among students, teachers and peers. So, a little more than a decade ago, the school added on-site classes to shift away from pure distance learning into the hybrid model it operates today. 

Every student has an that teachers, parents and students build together. They incorporate each student鈥檚 strengths and weaknesses and take into account classes the students need in order to graduate 鈥� such as reading, math, science and history, as well as any remedial work 鈥� and subjects they want to pursue, including art, music, welding and gymnastics. 

Some families opt for fully virtual classes, akin to private homeschooling but with the guidance and oversight of Mat-Su teachers. Other students want more in-person interaction, and they can take up to two classes at their local public school, enroll in college courses, attend classes on site or participate in local community programs. This flexibility affords families choices about what classes their kids want to take and what format they want to take them in. 

Parents can talk through those choices with their advisers, and the school has an that lets users sort potential offerings by grade, subject and method (online, hands-on or paper and pencil), and how the material is graded (by school staff, by parents or through an external provider). The site features staff notes listing the advantages and disadvantages of different curricula and whether those are available to rent from the school.

Mat-Su Central doesn鈥檛 have traditional classrooms, but it has dedicated art, music and technology rooms, plus a student-run coffee shop and flexible spaces for a variety of programs. On any given day, those rooms might be used by teachers for traditional subjects like history or Spanish, but they may also be used for walk-in math labs or guitar or ukulele lessons. A series of informational “Flapjack Friday” events touch on topics such as building household budgets or traveling to Europe. 

Families have access to educational options through of $2,600 to $3,000 per student, depending on grade level. It鈥檚 not a voucher or cash payment; the school retains control of the money and is responsible for paying and vetting vendors. Each child鈥檚 learning plan outlines how the allotment will be used, including for curriculum, community programs or other educational services. Students can also put the money toward a computer and monthly internet service. 

Over time, the school has curated a list of 300 community business partners who provide instruction and learning opportunities. (Each vendor must have a business license and pass the school鈥檚 quality review, as well as background checks for anyone working with students.) My favorite: This being Alaska, students have the option to use a portion of their allotment to earn their pilot鈥檚 license, in lieu of driver ed programs at many schools.

Even with the allotments, Mat-Su Central only $7,975 per pupil, less than half of the district鈥檚 $16,545 average. One reason is that the school doesn鈥檛 deploy teachers in normal classroom roles. Instead, it has 25 advisory teachers. Each serves as the teacher of record for an average of about 100 students, and some also provide tutoring or work with children with disabilities. They help craft and monitor students’ learning plans and guide families throughout the year.

The school has full-time art and music teachers on site, a nurse and two counselors who are available for in-person or telehealth visits. Advisory teachers can also design supplemental offerings for students to choose from. 

As the school鈥檚 core mission is serving families, staff members have been known to drive to students’ homes for parent meetings, met up at a coffee shop to work on a child鈥檚 learning plan or connected at Target to drop off textbooks. 

Still, Mat-Su Central puts a lot of responsibility on parents to monitor their child鈥檚 progress and even step in as instructor or evaluator. It doesn鈥檛 serve the full-day custodial role of a traditional school or provide transportation. 

It鈥檚 also hard for outsiders to know how well students at Mat-Su Central are performing. The state has flagged the school as needing 鈥溾�� because of low achievement among English learners. Principal Stacey McIntosh attributes that to the of families who opt out of state exams. She also notes that each individualized learning plan must include a standardized test to measure student proficiency, as well as a specific plan spelling out how any child not already proficient is going to get there.

One testament in Mat-Su Central鈥檚 favor is that families continue to flock to it. Enrollment in Mat-Su Central has roughly quadrupled over the last 20 years, far outpacing student population increases in the district and the state. McIntosh attributes that demand to concerns about bullying or students experiencing anxiety at more traditional schools, and she noted that pandemic-era closures led to a particular surge in interest. Going forward, the district is about to break ground on for the school to continue expanding its on-site offerings of clubs, classes and workshops.

After seeing Mat-Su Central in person, I left believing that every state needs a hybrid homeschool like it. This could take the form of 鈥溾�� as Robin Lake and Kelly Young outlined in a recent report for the Center on Reinventing Public Education. Or, states could grant individual school districts or charter schools the authority to serve families from broad geographic areas. 

Mat-Su Central鈥檚 hybrid model may not be for everyone, but it provides an option for children who aren鈥檛 well served by traditional public school districts. The combination of flexibility and portability for families, along with built-in monitoring and support from the teacher advisers, makes it an approach for other states to consider. 

During a break after one session, I struck up a conversation with another attendee, a longtime educator with special ed expertise. She was a Black woman working in a rural public district two hours outside of Atlanta, and she told me how discouraged she felt by the way districts treat families of color with children who have special needs. She was frustrated about the constraints placed on her as a teacher 鈥� she couldn鈥檛 hug a student who was crying, for example, presumably because of rules around touch and safety.

So she is starting her own microschool. It will launch this fall. She鈥檚 working with a few families, all Black, who are eager for a different and more affirming experience for their young learners.

As I walked to my next session, I couldn鈥檛 get something out of my head: This teacher has a thousand burdens, and she isn鈥檛 responding by finding ways to work less. She鈥檚 taking on more work by starting her own school, an endeavor that one of the conference鈥檚 main-stage panelists described as 鈥渂rutal鈥� in the first year. In a sector where 鈥渙verburdened鈥� may be the most frequently used term to describe teachers, this educator and many of her peers (fellow teachers as well as parents) at the conference were not trying to step back. They were leaping forward, taking on new challenges.

I was deeply inspired by their energy. But I also walked away with a nagging sense of frustration, because the public education system is harnessing so little of that energy. Most of the entrepreneurs I met are assuming personal risk and putting incredible effort into starting microschools, hybrid homeschools and homeschooling cooperatives outside the governance and structures of public education.

I believe in public education, for all its faults. But I also think there are incredible resources in public school systems that are going to waste 鈥� including the intellectual capital of inventive educators and community members who want to pursue new ideas. Look no further than the teacher I met, feeling like the best way to serve her students was to leave 鈥� and to take some of them with her.

Public schools need to reckon with the opportunities they鈥檙e losing if there aren鈥檛 channels inside the system to encourage creativity, ingenuity and entrepreneurship from teachers, parents and even students.

There are some places where districts and charters are better channeling this energy. Consider:

The Madison, Wisconsin, school district used pandemic funding to launch 14 innovative projects dreamed up by staff or community members. One winner, the antiracist microschool ALL+IN, encourages students to learn outside the classroom and in the community, like in museums and libraries.

In North Carolina, the rural Edgecombe County district has used microschools and learning hubs for years to develop and test different school designs.

In Indiana, Innovation Network Schools support the growth of autonomous schools that operate inside Indianapolis Public Schools, but with flexibilities similar to those enjoyed by independent charters.

Across the country, teacher-powered schools are governed by teams of educators instead of a single principal.

Microschools like the Black Mothers Forum, Vita Schools of Innovation, Great Hearts Microschools, Arizona State University鈥檚 ASU Prep microschools and Gem Prep Learning Societies have launched as part of charter schools.

Nokomis Regional High School in Maine, which I profiled in a case study, has created a strong culture of teacher-led innovation with support from administrators.

To be honest, these glimmers are the outliers. In most school systems, teachers and parents are often expected to sit back and wait for instructions, not encouraged to generate and try new ideas. 鈥淐hange鈥� means nothing more than a new math curriculum. Charter school authorizers invite new ideas in theory, but then often stall their development with hundreds of pages of requirements and legalese.

I鈥檓 worried there鈥檚 a brain drain in public education that鈥檚 been accelerated by the pandemic and divisive politics. And I don鈥檛 just mean that superintendents are quitting. The parents and teachers opting out of public schools aren鈥檛 just leaving jobs vacant and reducing districts鈥� enrollment dollars. Some of them are walking away with good ideas for how schools can be more responsive to students鈥� varied needs. Some of them have especially good ideas for how to better meet the needs of underserved communities that are tired of being told to wait while someone else figures it out.

If public schools, charter authorizers and charter management organizations are willing to embrace creative solutions from teachers and the community, there are ways to do it: State and local leaders can encourage pods and microschools, partner with community organizations to create learning hubs, allow for autonomous district schools or enable parent-teacher compacts.

So, fellow believers in public education: If the cost of retaining education entrepreneurs is to give life to their ideas, what is there to lose?