A therapist in Thousand Oaks, California, recently told her middle schooler that he wouldn't have to use his school-issued Chromebook anymore. His face lit up. "Really?" he asked, beaming. The 11-year-old had been complaining about headaches from the screen and an AI chatbot that kept popping up, offering to do his homework for him.

Julie Frumin became one of the first parents in her district to successfully opt her children out of using laptops in school. She's not alone. Across the country, parents are organizing through email chains and group chats with hundreds of members, swapping strategies for convincing schools to let their kids learn without screens. They're part of a growing movement pushing back against the near-universal adoption of devices in American classrooms.

The Digital Takeover Nobody Questioned

Nearly nine in ten public schools now provide each middle and high school student with their own device. These "1:1 policies" exploded during COVID-19, when districts scrambled to distribute laptops for remote learning. The emergency measure became permanent. Computers are now as standard in classrooms as desks and chalkboards once were.

But unlike previous educational tools, these devices arrived with little debate about whether they actually improved learning. The assumption was simple: kids need technology skills for future jobs, so they should use technology constantly at school. Districts spent billions. Tech companies celebrated. And then some parents started noticing problems.

Breaking Through the Digital Default

Frumin's children weren't thriving with screens. Her elementary-aged daughter stumbled across inappropriate content during recess on her device. Her middle schooler complained about headaches and that intrusive AI chatbot. When Frumin asked the school if her kids could opt out, officials initially said no. California state law only allowed opting out of standardized testing and sexual health lessons, they told her.

She pushed anyway. After individual teachers agreed to accommodate her request, the school relented. Now teachers print out assignments for her children. During free time, instead of playing games on laptops, they read books. Her son is the only one in his grade without a Chromebook. "I'm not going to try to convince them," he says of his classmates, unbothered by standing out.

In interviews with a dozen parents attempting similar opt-outs, each said they were the first in their district to try. School officials often didn't know if opting out was even allowed. There were no policies, no procedures, no forms. The ubiquity of devices had created an assumption of necessity.

Emily Cherkin, a former teacher turned "Screen Time Consultant," opted her daughter out of school-issued devices in Seattle two years ago. She's since testified before Congress and created an "Unplug EdTech Toolkit" that's been downloaded over 3,000 times. "For me, opting out is not the end goal—it's the means to the end," she says. "You force a conversation. It gives permission to other parents to even just start asking questions."

What the Research Actually Shows

The questions are overdue. Research consistently shows that students who use computers at school perform worse academically than those who don't. Studies indicate that people retain information better when reading on paper rather than screens. The supposed benefits of constant device use—preparing kids for a digital future—rest on shaky ground.

Faith Boninger, a researcher at the University of Colorado Boulder's National Education Policy Center, has studied the flaws in digital platforms used by schools. Her assessment cuts through the future-readiness rhetoric: "Students don't need to be consumers of this technology in order to be able to use it in 10 or 15 years, when it's likely going to be something else entirely."

The technology kids use today won't be what they use as adults anyway. Teaching with iPads in 2026 is like teaching with floppy disks in 1995. The skills transfer, but the specific tools don't matter as much as advocates claim.

The International Retreat

Sweden offers the most dramatic example of a course correction. After embracing digital teaching, the country watched reading comprehension drop and attention spans shrink. The Swedish government reversed direction entirely, now funding physical textbooks again and encouraging teachers to return to handwritten notes and encyclopedias.

In the United States, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Alabama have reportedly seen test scores rise after reducing screen use in classrooms. The pattern suggests that the rapid digitization of education was an experiment that produced results—just not the ones anyone hoped for.

When Parents Become the Tech Critics

What's striking about this movement is its origin. These aren't Luddites or technophobes. Frumin is a licensed therapist who understands child development. Cherkin is a former teacher who worked inside the system. They're not rejecting technology entirely—they're questioning whether it belongs in every moment of every school day.

Their concerns extend beyond academics. They worry about distractions, surveillance, data collection, and the lack of transparency in educational technology platforms. They wonder why their children need to be monitored, tracked, and fed through algorithms during the hours meant for learning.

"I want them to be taught through humans," Frumin says. "I want the teachers to teach my kids—I think they know best."

That sentiment reflects a deeper shift. The anger many parents felt toward social media companies for hijacking their kids' attention is now redirecting toward schools for doing something similar. The difference is that parents can actually pressure schools in ways they can't pressure Meta or TikTok.

Schools Without Screens, Students With Books

The movement remains small—Frumin leads a local chapter of Mothers Against Media Addiction and co-leads Distraction Free Schools California, organizations that exist primarily through websites and email lists. But small movements create permission structures for larger ones.

When one parent successfully opts out, others learn it's possible. When one district creates an opt-out policy, neighboring districts face questions about why they don't have one. The spread isn't viral—it's gradual, practical, parent to parent.

Whether this becomes a genuine educational reform or remains a niche preference depends partly on whether schools can articulate why constant device use is necessary. So far, most haven't tried. The digital default was never really defended because it was never really debated. These parents are finally starting that debate, one printed worksheet at a time.