As educators and parents, we want children to learn, be challenged, and develop the abilities they will need as adults. But there is a question we may not ask enough: At what point does preparing children for the future begin to interfere with their development in the present?
Much of modern education is organized around things we can measure: grades, test scores, completed assignments, advanced courses, college admissions and career readiness. These measures have value. But there is a danger when measures of educational success become the purpose of education itself.
I have posed this paradox to faculty and students in my department at UMass Amherst. We often say we are preparing students for the future. But what exactly are we preparing them for?
We do not know what the world will look like in 10, 20 or 30 years. Artificial intelligence, technological change, environmental challenges and economic uncertainty make it difficult to predict which occupations or skills will matter most.
The more uncertain the future becomes, the less precisely we can know what to prepare a child for. Therefore, the more important become the human capacities hardest to measure: curiosity, creativity, intellectual independence, discernment, adaptability, collaboration and the desire to continue learning.
This tension is particularly relevant in Massachusetts. The Department of Elementary and Secondary Education describes the goal of our K–12 system as preparing students “for success after high school.” It is worthy. But is education primarily preparation for the life that follows, or should children’s flourishing in the present be part of its purpose?
Too easily, education becomes preparation for what comes next: elementary school for middle school, middle school for high school, high school for college, and college for a career. Each additional demand can be justified as an investment in the future. But childhood cannot exist only in service of what comes next.
Massachusetts has rigorous curriculum frameworks defining what students should know at different stages. Standards and accountability can promote quality and equity. But what happens when covering an ambitious curriculum leaves less time to explore questions deeply, follow curiosity, discuss unexpected ideas or simply think? Covering more material does not necessarily mean learning more.
This raises a fundamental question: What is education ultimately for? The U.N. Convention on the Rights of the Child offers one answer. Article 29 describes education as developing a child’s personality, talents, and mental and physical abilities to their fullest potential; Article 31 recognizes children’s right to rest, leisure and play. The United States has signed, though not ratified, the Convention.
The U.N. Committee on the Rights of the Child has warned that teaching focused on the “accumulation of knowledge,” competition and “an excessive burden of work on children” may impede a child’s harmonious development. It also says school schedules, including homework, should allow sufficient time for rest and play. This does not mean homework is inherently harmful or children should be protected from academic stress. Learning difficult things requires effort and perseverance. But rigor is not the same as volume.
A 2023 systematic review of 52 studies on academic pressure and adolescent mental health found that 48 reported an association with at least one mental-health outcome. The largely observational evidence does not establish causation, but gives us reason to pay attention. UNICEF, UNESCO and the World Health Organization likewise call on schools to protect mental health and psychosocial well-being.
There is also a practical problem: no individual teacher sees the whole burden. An assignment may seem reasonable in one class, but children experience the cumulative demands of all their classes alongside family life, friendships, activities and sleep. Nor should we assume that time outside school is empty space waiting to be made productive. Rest, play, family, friendships, creativity, daydreaming and even boredom are part of childhood and human development. A child’s free time does not always need to produce a measurable outcome to have value.
Perhaps every assignment deserves a simple question: Is its educational value proportional to the amount of a young person’s life we are asking for?
Education should challenge children. But its measure cannot simply be how much work they endure, how effectively they compete for the next credential, or how successfully they progress through predetermined academic standards. If the future is uncertain, perhaps the best preparation we can offer is to cultivate young people who ask new questions, challenge assumptions, imagine alternatives, and learn what we could never anticipate they would need to know.
If we continually ask children to sacrifice the present in preparation for a better future, when exactly is that better life supposed to begin?
Martin Medina-Elizalde lives in South Deerfield.