The Kern Curriculum: Raising Gifted Children (And Why You Shouldn’t)

If you’re looking for a shortcut to elite academic performance in your children, stop right there.

This post is about raising children who perform at high levels academically. But if your goal is to produce a high-performing child so you can feel successful, this isn’t for you. I’m not saying that to be rude. I’m saying it because it’s a spiritual problem, and you should treat it like one.

Go to my spirituality section and start working out first principles: the meaning of life, the ordering of a flourishing life, what love of God and neighbor actually means, and why wisdom only comes through discipline and virtuous living. Get that straight first. Then come back.

Because top academic performance can be a good thing. It often requires a love of learning, a willingness to do hard things, and a certain kind of competence that translates into other areas of life. But academic excellence is a tool and a byproduct. It’s downstream from something deeper. If you aim at “gifted” as the goal, you will poison the whole project before it starts.

What I Mean by “Gifted”

By “gifted children” I’m not talking about status games or bumper stickers or showing off at the Thanksgiving table.

I’m talking about top academic performance, the kind that requires focus, discipline, and consistency, the kind that eventually becomes a broader excellence that spills over into the rest of life. I’m talking about a child who can sit down, work through something hard, think clearly, and keep going when the material resists him.

That kind of excellence is compatible with a flourishing life. But it only stays healthy when it’s properly ordered under higher things.

Where My Boys Are

My two sons, Luke (9) and Levi (6), are doing math and reading well beyond their grade levels.

Luke is doing around 7th grade math. He is reading The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings and other advanced books. Levi is doing around 4th grade math and reading The Hobbit on his own.

I say that because people ask, and because I want to explain something simple: we didn’t do anything magical.

We started late. We didn’t rush reading. Luke didn’t start seriously learning to read until he was six, and Levi until five. We didn’t have them do schoolwork before they were at least five years old. When they were emotionally mature enough to sit down and work for an hour or two, we started building. That’s all it was.

The Three Ingredients

Here’s the whole method. It’s not complicated. It’s just not the standard American family pattern.

1) You must homeschool

I’ll say this plainly: my methodology doesn’t work without homeschooling.

I know that’s a hard statement. There are great public school teachers, and there are children who come through the system just fine. But public schooling can do real damage to a young soul at worst, and even when the damage is absent, it can still waste enormous amounts of time and habituate a child into passivity.

If you want mastery-based learning, individualized pacing, high accountability, and a coherent household culture, you need control over the environment. Homeschooling gives you that control.

I also know this isn’t equally accessible to everyone. Single-income families make real sacrifices to do it. Single parents and dual-income households may face constraints that make it nearly impossible, and I’m not pretending otherwise. But I’m describing what worked for us, and I would rather be honest about the framework than water it down to sound universally applicable. If homeschooling isn’t possible for you, the other principles here can still bear fruit in whatever educational setting you have. They will just bear it more slowly, and with less control over the soil.

People will bring up socialization. I’m not worried. Children have always been socialized by family and community. The modern school system isn’t the only way to become a normal human being.

2) You must nurture a stable home

This post isn’t about discipleship. If you want the deeper stuff – household order, fatherhood, marriage, authority, spiritual formation – go to my spirituality section.

But I will say this: education is downstream from the emotional and moral climate of the home.

If the home is chaotic, if the parents are at war, if there’s no rhythm, if the children don’t trust you, if everything is bribery and negotiation and meltdown management, your curriculum won’t matter. The stability of the home is the soil. The schooling is the plant. If the soil is poisoned, the plant won’t thrive.

This is also where screens belong in the conversation. We didn’t demonize screens, but we didn’t let them run the house either. They were guarded behind right relationship. If everything was in order — obedience, attitude, responsibilities handled — then yes, there was room for games and shows. If things were disordered, screens only made the whole household weaker. We treated entertainment the way you treat dessert. It isn’t evil. It just isn’t the center of the diet.

3) You must challenge them gently and consistently

The core is simple: daily practice, gently enforced, aimed at mastery.

Not dabbling. Not waiting to see how they feel about it on any given morning. Not a big burst for three weeks followed by two months of nothing.

We made it a rhythm. Five days a week, for at least an hour or two a day. And we don’t follow the school break system. We don’t take summer off, winter off, spring off as a rule. We have break days. We travel. We rest. But the default is that learning is normal, like brushing your teeth.

This matters because children don’t rise to your speeches. They rise to your habits.

What We Actually Did

Here’s what it looked like in practice.

We waited until they were ready. No formal schooling until at least five. No panic about early reading. We didn’t treat our toddlers like résumé projects.

Once they were emotionally grown enough to sit and focus, we started building the muscle. An hour at first, then two. Some days were smooth, some were messy. But we kept returning to the table. That’s the whole game.

Our main tool was Khan Academy for math, and we supplemented with spaced repetition using Anki on the iPad. Khan is simple: you keep going until you actually master the material. Anki is simple: you review the right things at the right time until they stick. This isn’t fancy. It’s just applying real learning principles instead of pretending that exposure equals knowledge.

We kept expectations high and pressure low. Gentle prodding is the phrase I would use. We didn’t scream. We didn’t bargain constantly. We didn’t turn school into trauma. But we also didn’t treat their preferences as law. You can be kind and still require hard things from a child. That’s a form of love.

Why This Works When So Much Else Doesn’t

I think a lot of families are running the opposite pattern without realizing it. They outsource formation. They outsource education. They let the ambient culture raise their children. The household has no rhythm. When the guilt sets in, they reach for screens to manage it, and then they wonder why their children can’t focus or endure difficulty.

And then they go looking for hacks.

There are no hacks. There’s order, discipline, love, and time.

I don’t say that to stand over anyone. I know how hard it’s. I know there are seasons where the household falls apart and you’re just surviving. But the pattern itself is worth naming clearly, because the solution isn’t a better app or a better curriculum. The solution is a well-ordered home where a parent is willing to sit down at the table and lead.

The Encouraging Part

I don’t think this requires exceptional natural giftedness. I think most children can attain high levels of performance with this approach.

Not every child will become a chess prodigy or a math Olympiad competitor. But most children can go far beyond what the modern world expects of them if you give them a stable home, daily practice, mastery-based learning, and a parent who is willing to lead.

Closing

So yes, this post is about raising gifted children.

But really it’s about something else. It’s about a well-ordered household where the pursuit of wisdom is normal, where discipline is loving, and where excellence grows naturally over time.

If you want elite academically performing kids as the goal, you’re going to hurt yourself and you’re going to hurt them.

But if you want to love God and neighbor, attain to wisdom, and raise children who can live a flourishing life, then sit down at the table five days a week. Keep it gentle. Keep it consistent. Aim for mastery. And trust that the fruit will come.

Tribute to My Father, Paul Kern (1972-2024)

Rest in peace, Paul Alan Kern (1972-2024).

There’s a lot in this story. It will be difficult to capture the whole portrait of who he was, but I will do my best:

Audacious, proud, fiercely passionate, deeply emotional, reserved but charismatic. A rebel without a cause.

He drops out of school around junior high and gets involved in the gangs of LA in the 1980’s.

He falls in love, gets married in his teens, and fathers two sons. Things do not go well. Devastated by a divorce, he retreats back to his parents’ house with his two young boys.

Life as a single dad is unconventional. He gets the crazy idea to unschool the boys—he doesn’t like the system but doesn’t have an alternative. He can’t do beyond elementary math, so he does his best to print worksheets, collect books, and share his love of reading.

While on a walk, he discovers a kendo dojo and a Japanese community in the late 90’s and signs his boys up. It becomes an incubator, deeply forming the three. He paints helicopters, works on cars, and does manual labor on the side to scrape by.

Having had a good experience in the Japanese community, he signs his sons up to a Japanese baseball team, and somehow winds up as the head coach. He leads a ragtag team named the Samurais through a few leagues and across several years and is celebrated as a beloved coach.

He decides one day the boys need to at least attend middle school. So he finds a small private Lutheran school to enroll them in despite being strapped for cash. It’s hard to keep them out of trouble, especially the oldest.

The family has all sorts of adventures together. Life is good living in LA with the grandparents and the boys tucked into one small and cozy house.

Things slow down a bit as the boys get into public high school. Their grades are terrible, and sometimes it seems they might slide into his old ways.

But he was unaware of one thing. He left an old worn Bible on the shelf of the room they shared, the one his father recommended, the one he used to try to turn his life around. He didn’t know that one of his sons was wrestling with existential questions and finding his way into it, looking for answers. This son has a life-altering spiritual experience while reading the letters of St. Paul and commits himself to Christ. The two boys, transformed significantly, set out to forge their own path.

They scrap their way into community college, then into a small Christian college further out of the city, and then into jobs. It was time for them to leave home on their own adventures away from dad, bringing the glory days with his sons to an end. What was left for him to do?

He meanders for a bit, but finally musters up the will at 50 years old to get his GED and enroll in community college courses.

He’s brilliant and loved by students and professors. He excels at his studies and gets accepted into UCLA. He attends and has the time of his life studying his favorite subject, history, in the kind of environment he always longed for. He TA’s for a tenured professor and begins envisioning plans to teach abroad.

He studies in the day and spends his afternoons helping his mother caretake for his father, who passes away at a ripe old age. He dreams of new lands, a fresh start, and another chapter.

Sadly, he will never go on to finish his degree. Suddenly and quickly, he is overtaken by heart failure. He fights and rebels even in his last moments. He breathes his last in the company of his family and friends, the blazing path of a maverick at last snuffed out.

And so ends the earthly tale of Paul Kern.

There’s no way I can get to everything: the brotherhood he found in the gangs, the days spent speeding down California highways in our 70’s pickup truck, his acting career in Hollywood, his Jiu Jitsu training with the Gracie’s, his first drafts at an adventure novel, his struggle with being something of a Jon Snow (let the reader understand).

He nursed many wounds and traumas privately by himself. Yes, he was full of flaws, but it’s easy to say that. It’s much harder to understand the whole man, what he overcame, and ultimately what he accomplished, not only by himself but through the sons he staked everything on.

His life is a lesson that it’s never too late to write the second half of your tale, that God can slowly mend the pieces that shattered in you long ago, and that the love you pour into your children and those you influence will sprout like olive shoots, leafing and branching out across the flow of time, bearing good fruit for the earth and blessing descendants for thousands of years to come.

But I’ve waxed eloquent long enough. I really have a simple message to deliver: I loved my dad, and I’m forever grateful I got to be his son.

I look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come. Amen.