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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