When my son Frankie first conceived of the idea for Kriewaldt Academy, he told me it should be free. “Why should anyone pay for school? That is what we are supposed to be doing: learning.”

His words were not a dream or a throwaway thought. They were a declaration.

Frankie is determined to make education accessible for every child, and I take that vision seriously.

That is why the recent mass layoffs at the Department of Education, 466 staff gone, including those charged with protecting disabled students under IDEA, are more than a policy shift. They are a direct attack on the futures of children like mine and millions of others.

The Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) guarantees every child the right to a free appropriate public education.

Free.

Appropriate.

Public.

Education.

Those words are non-negotiable.

They mean that disability cannot be grounds for exclusion. By gutting the Office of Special Education Programs and leaving only a handful of officials in place, this administration has made it clear that enforcement of IDEA is no longer a priority. Hundreds fewer people will now be monitoring to ensure schools follow the law.Families already fighting for their children will be left to fend for themselves.

This is not efficiency. It is abandonment.

I know what it means to fight for a future. My late father, Lt. Col. Dr. Franklin Harold Kriewaldt, left a Wisconsin dairy farm at seventeen with nothing but determination. He hitchhiked to Minneapolis, worked his way through college, became a veterinarian, and served in the U.S. Air Force space program before joining the USDA.

He built a life of service from nothing but grit and vision.

His path carved the way for his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren to live better lives. My father paved the way to the stars not just for his children and grandchildren to reach, but for every child to explore every inch of human possibility. His story is proof that access to education is not just personal. It changes the trajectory of families for generations.

When he married my mother, Carole Ann Holmes Kriewaldt, a special education teacher, he found his match in service. My mother modeled inclusion long before it was a word on a policy document. She kept the brown door of her townhome open for all. That brown door was more than an entryway; it was a welcome sign. She gave free lessons to those who could not pay, she adapted her teaching for children who needed accommodations, and she created a space where every child felt loved, accepted, and capable. Walking through that door meant stepping into a place where differences were not deficits—they were recognized, honored, and embraced.

For my mother, music was never only about skill; it was about belonging. The sounds of children learning, stumbling, laughing, and playing filled her home. She made sure that every child who came through her door had the chance to make a joyful noise. That joy, that inclusion, that insistence on creating space for every voice, is a legacy as profound as my father’s work in science and service. The brown door was her declaration: education is for everyone.

Together, my parents embodied what it means to give freely and fight for inclusion. They are buried now at Arlington National Cemetery, honored for their service, remembered for their belief that this nation could and must do better. Their daughter and their grandson carry that work forward. Frankie’s vision of a free and inclusive school is not a dream plucked from the air. It is the continuation of what my parents lived, what I was raised to believe, and what our children still deserve.

The gutting of IDEA enforcement will not erase this legacy. It will not silence families like ours.

My father helped pioneer the space program. His grandson, his namesake, is pioneering a new vision for education rooted in inclusion and science. My mother opened her brown door to everychild. Her daughter is insisting that the doors of education must remain open to all.

Gatekeeping does nothing to increase one’s power. Uplifting others and amplifying their voices is how we build true strength together. Holding anyone back only sabotages ourselves. Education itself is an epistemic game, a continual exchange of knowledge, perspective, and lived experience. None of us has all the answers, but in learning from one another, we refine our understanding of the world and expand what is possible. When education becomes a competition instead of a collaboration, we all lose. When it becomes a dialogue, we all rise.

Our nation must now become a choir of voices, not individuals competing for the high notes. Music teaches us that a single note alone may be beautiful, but it is in harmony that we experience fullness and resonance. A nation that amplifies every voice, that adapts for every need, that refuses to drown out its most vulnerable, is a nation that will endure.

When we match harmonies, we resonate with all of humanity.

Every child has a right to an education, whether born here or not, whether they require assistance or not. That right is not negotiable. If we must build an entirely new Department of Education, funded by the people, then that is what we will do.

We will resist.

We will fight.

And we will win.

The legacy continues.

We will not stand down.

Amy Kriewaldt is CEO of Kriewaldt Academy and COO of PDA USA.

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Our first podcast episode has dropped!

In it we talk about...

- how Amy and Brook got to know each other- what our plans are for families, training for professionals - scholarships for families to access PDA-specific resources - maybe RETREATS are in our future Available on most podcast platforms!

I know PDA just looks like an excuse to some people. Honestly, I probably would have thought the same thing if I hadn’t spent the last seventeen years living it every single day. For nearly all of that time, we had no explanation for the behaviors we saw. We just knew our daughter was in constant distress, and nothing helped. Every piece of advice we followed…more structure, firmer limits, fewer accommodations, even therapy…only made things worse. We were losing a battle we didn’t even know we were fighting.

We finally found PDA about six months ago, and suddenly everything made sense. Seventeen years of confusion, guilt, and heartbreak finally had a name. But by then, the damage had already been done. When PDA is misunderstood, even well-intended “interventions” feel like pressure, boundaries feel like danger, and adult responses meant to help only deepen fear and distress. Our daughter reached her breaking point and spent three months in a behavioral hospital. And even that didn’t help, because they didn’t understand her either.

At one point she was just days away from being admitted to the state mental hospital before she managed to put her “mask” back on…the same mask that had caused her to break in the first place. That mask is also the reason it took so long to get a diagnosis. No one saw what we saw. No one believed what we tried to tell them about how bad things really were at home. And that disbelief and refusal to look deeper, is what nearly destroyed her. This wasn’t a result of “bad behavior” or “permissive parenting.” It’s what happens when a child spends too long being misunderstood and learns that hiding is safer than being seen.

She didn’t start to truly recover until we understood what PDA was and changed the way we interact with her. Only then did she begin to learn that it was safe to listen to her body and to say no when something felt like too much. She didn’t even know that was an option before. Now she’s learning to set boundaries and to stay away from people who push too far or refuse to listen. That is the cost of not understanding. If you can’t meet a child where they are, you may lose the chance to be part of their world at all. That’s how high the stakes really are.

So before you judge…please stop and listen. Please try to learn. I know PDA sounds strange. I know it challenges what most people were taught about discipline and motivation. But it’s real. It’s hard. And the price of disbelief is devastating. Parents like me are already questioning ourselves every single day. We don’t need more blame. We need support. We need people willing to believe that sometimes what looks like defiance is actually fear and that compassion can be the difference between survival and collapse.

To those who do take the time to understand…thank you. Your quiet empathy matters more than you know. You are the reason families like mine can find the strength to keep going. And to those who still doubt, I’m not asking you to agree with everything. I’m asking you to care enough to learn before you judge. Please. That’s how we stop other kids from ending up where mine did.

- Submitted anonymously from our PDA USA Facebook group

I’m just now realizing that it’s worth so much to prevent meltdowns.

I’m finally feeling like I have some control of the situation and how the day goes. I had to open myself to any possibilities, that she might need me to go to the store or take her places and things like that.

I accepted that I will do my best to accommodate her with all those demands to allow her to feel safe, even if it means I will be inconvenienced, and I will have to change the way I do things and be very flexible with my other demands, such as running errands.

 I walked into her room and usually she’s on the phone with her friends and she tells me to leave or stop bothering her, but today she told them, hey you all it’s my mommy! Her favorite thing to do is lay by me on the couch and watch her favorite shows.

I think in my head, the loss of autonomy for me was so difficult that I fought with her to maintain control, it was all a power struggle. I resisted her tendencies of ‘bossing me around’ because it’s only normal to want to feel in control as an adult and as a parent.

But I realized that it makes me feel useful to help my daughter, and I’m starting to feel a bond between us.

I’m helping her.

- "C.M."

By PDA parent Rachel Duda

"Today is my son, 21st birthday! I am truly amazed at how far he has come, and it heartens me to know that the choices I made while raising him were the right ones for him. On this special day, I want to give all of you some reassurance.

"When my son was small, he, like so many of your children, was physically aggressive and out of control. I had no idea what to do because rewards and punishments had no impact on his behavior. I had to find another way.

"Low-demand parenting is a new concept…but I was using these kinds of techniques 15 years ago, without even realizing that was what I was doing.

"Many people told me I would regret my choices, and that my son would end up being a spoiled, entitled brat who would be reliant on me for the rest of his life.

"But guess what? Parenting him the way I did had just the opposite effect.

"Low-demand is not the same as permissive parenting. Low-demand parenting (in my estimation) is about giving your child the kind of support they need and setting them up for success by having only few simple rules that are clearly stated, but at the same time teaching them about the expectations of the world and helping them develop coping strategies for when they are not at home.

"To all of you who have dealt with naysayers, I'm here to say that PDA kids do have the capacity to learn healthier behaviors and responses, and the way to help them get there looks very little like traditional parenting.

"It's important to keep reminding ourselves that their drive for autonomy isn't about defiance, and they aren't misbehaving to get a rise out of us. They're trying to tell us something they don't know how to express. I'm so glad I figured that out along the way.

"Because of the way I raised [my son], he has grown up to be a kind-hearted, patient, and independent young man. He has a small group of friends and a sweet girlfriend he has been seeing for 1.5 years. He's relatively happy and well-adjusted. Even better, he has no concept of how toxic shame feels because I never shamed him for being who he is."