Why This Louisiana Special Education Teacher Wants to Start a Micro School

Lana Shepherd remembers the moment a student in her classroom counted to 10 for the first time. It was supposed to be a simple thing, a basic skill every child picks up along the way. But for this child, it was years in the making.

“He was in fourth grade and had never been able to count to 10,” Shepherd said. “And for the longest time, he would just skip seven. I don’t know why—he just wouldn’t say it. And every day, we’d work on it. ‘You will say the number seven. I know you can do this.’”

Then one day, he did.

“It was this huge celebration in the classroom,” she said. “We made a big deal out of it because it was a big deal. Some people might think, ‘Oh, that’s nothing.’ But for him, it was everything.”

Moments like that fueled her love for teaching children with disabilities. She wasn’t just an educator—she was an advocate, a cheerleader, a problem-solver. Her students weren’t just a test score. They were people, each on their own journey, needing someone to meet them where they were.

But over time, she started to feel like the system she was working within wasn’t built for them.

“I’ve worked with children with autism, behavioral disorders, kids with the most severe and profound disabilities,” she said. “And I love it—I love celebrating things that might seem small to some teachers but are huge for these kids. But the system isn’t designed to celebrate them. It’s designed to move on.”

“I started realizing that the way we’re teaching doesn’t even work for most kids, not just the ones with disabilities,” she said. “We’re teaching to the median, but what does that even mean? The kids who need more support aren’t getting it, and the kids who are ahead aren’t being challenged,” Shepherd said.

Her frustrations simmered for years, but it wasn’t until she became a mother herself that everything shifted.

“You think about education differently when it’s your own child,” she said. “I used to look at my students as part of my job, but after I had my daughter, I started seeing them through a mother’s eyes. And suddenly, I couldn’t ignore the problems anymore.”

Shepherd’s daughter will soon be school-age, and she found herself facing a decision she never expected: Would she enroll her child in the very system she worked in?

“I had always been pro-public school,” she admitted. “I grew up in great schools in Florida and North Carolina. I loved school. And when I became a teacher, I didn’t even think about private schools or homeschooling as real options.”

But now, she’s considering something she never thought possible—starting her own school.

“I started looking into alternatives—homeschooling, private school, co-ops. And then I found MicroSchool America and thought, ‘This. This is what I’ve been looking for.’”

Shepherd connected with Dr. Traci, who was helping educators like her explore ways to start their own schools. The vision clicked immediately: a small, inclusive learning environment where kids could learn at their own pace, with individualized attention, in a way that actually made sense. But there was one major problem.

“As much as I loved the idea, I didn’t think it was possible,” she admitted. “I’m a teacher. My husband has a regular job. We have two kids, a house, responsibilities. I couldn’t just quit my job and open a school—not financially. And the families who are interested in what I’m doing? They’re like me. They’re teachers, they’re working parents. They love the idea, but they can’t afford it,” she said.

That’s when she learned about the GATOR scholarship—and realized it wasn’t just about helping families afford tuition.

“When Dr. Traci told me about GATOR, it was like everything changed,” Shepherd said. “Suddenly, this wasn’t just an idea—it was actually possible. For some families, it’s not even about wanting something better than public school,” she said. “It’s about finally having a choice.”

And for educators, it means the chance to build something new.

“I never thought I could open a school,” Shepherd said. “But GATOR means that families like mine can afford to choose something different. And that means educators like me can actually consider starting something new—something that works for the kids we know aren’t being served.”

She isn’t alone. Across Louisiana and beyond, educators, entrepreneurs, and parents are reconsidering what education could look like. The scholarship doesn’t just cover tuition—it can also be used for therapies, educational services, and other resources that families might not otherwise be able to afford.

“I’ve had parents tell me straight up, ‘Without this, we couldn’t do it. Period,’” Shepherd said.

She hopes to take the next step soon—gathering families, finding a location, and putting together a curriculum that meets the needs of students at every level.

“This isn’t just about my daughter,” she said. I want it to be fully inclusive — gifted kids, kids with learning disabilities, kids who just need something different — a school where every child gets what they need at their own pace,” she said.

“It’s about creating the kind of school I wish had existed for my students. It’s about showing families that they don’t have to settle. And it’s about proving that kids—all kids—deserve a place where they’re seen, supported, and celebrated. And now, with GATOR, we finally have a chance to make it happen.”

Because at the end of the day, education should be about more than test scores and curriculum mandates. It should be about the moment a child says the number seven for the first time.

And thanks to GATOR, more children—and more teachers—just might get that moment.

Editor’s Note: The GATOR scholarship application period ran from March 1 to April 30, 2025. The GATOR program is still awaiting key decisions related to funding and program operations for the 2025–2026 school year. Once funded, families across Louisiana can apply to access funding for educational opportunities that best fit their children’s needs. For more information, visit the Louisiana Department of Education website.