Just like that, it’s been four months since our family moved to Austin. Niuniu’s time at the new school is about to catch up with her whole run at Lakeside in Seattle.
These two schools — one a century-old, old-guard prestige private school, the other a young, avant-garde experimental upstart — could not be more different.
The most immediate difference I’ve noticed? My kids.
Niuniu started 6th grade at Lakeside last year, and her entire state of being came down to one word: tired.
Every day at pickup I’d spot her from a distance, slumped against the school gate like a soldier limping home from battle.
Meanwhile I, freshly minted as The Mother of a Schoolmate of Bill Gates, was still basking in the glow, cheerfully grilling her for details the whole ride home.
…… A few rides like that and my enthusiasm was mostly doused.
What was she doing to get this tired? Is this just what middle school is? Was the school too intense? Was she not up to it? Not strong enough? Puberty? Was it just her, or was it everyone?
……
Either way, it hurt to watch.
And here’s the thing — if the coursework were truly crushing, you’d think I’d see her doing homework at home. Nope. But every Sunday night the household barometric pressure dropped, and Niuniu would sigh under her personal storm cloud: school again tomorrow…… ugh.
Come on! Is that the attitude of someone attending a name-brand school that costs tens of thousands a year?
When I treat my job like a death march, at least I’m getting paid for it — and every cent goes to you. And you’re still on a death march—
Since starting at Alpha, the girls’ tuition bill has only gone up. But at least I’m getting some emotional return on investment: they smile at me at pickup!
Walking in the front gate after school, I always find them deep in animated conversation with classmates or their guides. The moment they spot me, two disheveled, wild-haired children come beaming over at a trot.
The silent car rides are gone. Now it’s two sisters chattering nonstop the whole way home:
Maybe it’s the weather, but Niuniu’s face has gone from overcast to full sunshine.
As for Niumei — she never exactly hated school, but any little headache or sniffle used to be grounds for whimpering her way into a day on the couch. So imagine my shock a few weeks ago: she had foot surgery, the doctor offered a note excusing her for several days of rest, and she insisted on going to school on crutches.
Back when we toured Alpha, they told me: give these students the choice between school and vacation, and they choose school. I filed that under Marketing Says What Marketing Says. But now, watching these two sisters — well. Well, well, well.
Obligatory disclaimer: this is just one kid’s reaction, not an objective verdict on which school is better. All it says is that for a kid like her, Alpha is a happier place.
Though I do mutter to myself: happy is good, but are they maybe… too happy?
I keep circling the same question: does true “happy education” actually exist anywhere on this earth? Can kids really learn everything they need, practice everything they need, all while having a great time?
Some readers have questioned Alpha’s approach before. Honestly, I still can’t draw a conclusion.
The other big difference is their social lives.
Niuniu is an easygoing kid who has always been well liked, with plenty of friends.
When she got into Lakeside, surrounded by wunderkinds, I had high hopes she’d make some brilliant friends and absorb a little elite aura by osmosis.
Half a semester in: zero close friends.
I asked why. She said she was so busy at school she barely had time to pee, let alone hang out.
……
What is happening — a few weeks of middle school and you’ve become a nihilist?
I started to worry she’d end up a lone wolf. Social life is the single most important curriculum of adolescence, a required course — miss it and you regret it for life!
After the switch, it turned out my worrying was wasted effort.
On their very first trial day, both girls made friends. Once school officially started, the friends multiplied — every weekend someone’s asking to hang out. Which forces me, a card-carrying introvert, into months of nonstop socializing with parents, absorbing everyone’s drama and gossip and small talk.
I’d worried the school was too small to have any buzz. Turns out the ancients were right: the temple may be tiny, but the wind sure blows through it.
So what’s actually different? Niuniu summed it up with surgical precision:
It reminded me of something a new friend told me recently. Her family moved from California to Austin a few years ago, and when I asked if she liked it here, she said she loved it.
“The day we moved in, neighbors came over to say hi. The community is so friendly. People live with less pressure here, so they’re kinder overall — better headspace. In California the stress is crushing; everyone’s tense and anxious.”
Isn’t it the same for kids? At a top private school, every child knows they’re a one-in-a-hundred lottery winner. Every classmate is secretly a dragon. Teachers, parents and random passersby have expectations dialed to max: straight A’s are simply the baseline; awards and an Ivy admission are the bare minimum of not disappointing everyone.
Under that kind of pressure, who has the bandwidth to goof around telling jokes all day?
This is not to say Lakeside kids aren’t kind. Quite the opposite — when Niuniu left, her whole class made her a farewell book, and you could see how sincere and sweet many of those kids were, and how much they liked her. They just weren’t her people, that’s all.
Nor am I claiming Texas schools aren’t competitive. Friends tell me the good public schools — anywhere Chinese and Indian families cluster — grind just as hard as anywhere else.
It’s just that Alpha is genuinely different. Half an hour of academics a day, and the rest of the time spent on little projects that have nothing to do with tests, competitions or college admissions — which naturally attracts open-minded, tolerant families who don’t put coursework on a pedestal.
Even on the academic front, I’ve noticed changes.
Both sisters practice radical self-compassion when it comes to schoolwork. An 80 on a test is cause for celebration, with zero thoughts of a 90 next time. Optional homework is, by definition, homework not done; optional reading, books not read.
I’ve tried to push: “Look, Becca did the extra credit. Why won’t you?” And they say: “Becca is Becca. I am me.”
“But Becca got a 90 and you got an 80.” “Probably because I’m not that smart, and I don’t work that hard.”
“So work a little harder and get a 90 next time!” “80 is fine. What would I even do with a 90?”
……
And yet lately, Niuniu has gotten serious about school. She brings the laptop home and hunches over homework every spare minute. On weekend outings she starts agitating to go home early or she won’t finish her assignments in time.
The sun has officially risen in the west.
I investigated. Turns out the school has a rule: complete 125% of your learning targets and you get into the “Spaceship Club.” Membership has its perks — like ordering delivery for lunch once a week, anything you want, and guides occasionally treating members to boba or Starbucks.
We all know how this works: pushing your kid buys you a week; only their own motivation lasts.
At a normal school, that motivation might come from peer competition, teacher encouragement, parental adrenaline, admissions pressure, or plain old competitiveness. At Alpha, it mostly comes from concrete, visible, edible benefits.
And I have to say — for a kid as impervious as Niuniu, the second kind works scarily well.
She’s already in the Spaceship Club. Her next goal is to finish all her learning targets ahead of schedule, because then the school takes them on a three-day, two-night trip to Six Flags.
At this point I’ve mostly stopped questioning the school’s strange little schemes.
A cat that catches mice is a good cat; a school that gets Niuniu to do homework voluntarily is a good school.
What’s that? You’re asking about Niumei?
The Spaceship Club, the finish-early rewards…… none of it moves her.
Food moves her.
Her grade runs a small-business workshop, and she has finally realized her lifelong dream of selling ice cream.
After months of hustle, the books are in: total profit, 95 cents.
She’s now considering a pivot, torn between mini cakes and cookies.
……
At least she’s learning that money is hard to make. I have nothing further to add.