I don't know what jobs will exist when my son leaves school

My son is 12 and in Year 7. He likes maths, chemistry and computer science, and enjoys coding and building things. I’ve just bought him a BBC micro:bit, a small programmable computer he can connect to his PC and use to make things.

We have also started talking about GCSE choices, even though those decisions are still a couple of years away. Because I spend so much time working with AI, I can’t help wondering what those subjects will mean by the time he leaves education. Will writing code still be a valuable skill? What will scientific work look like when AI is built into research? Which jobs will even exist?

I don’t have convincing answers. But watching him at school has made me think I may be asking the wrong questions.

The same child, a different experience of school

My son has been educated in both Thailand and England. In Thailand, he struggled academically. I felt that the particular environment he was in was too strict and limiting for him, with less space to question things or express himself.

That’s an account of his experience, not a verdict on every Thai school. Structure and discipline have their place, and English schools have problems of their own. But I could see that the approach wasn’t bringing out the best in him.

In England, he has experienced something different. Teachers have encouraged him to be himself, speak up and explore his interests. He enjoys school, does his homework, has friends and seems happy to be there. He isn’t necessarily top of his class, and I’m not especially worried about that.

What stays with me is that he notices the difference himself. At 12, he already appreciates being in a school environment where he feels able to express himself. I don’t think that’s a small thing.

It has made me question how readily we treat academic performance as a measure of a child’s ability without examining the setting in which that performance happens. A child who doesn’t flourish in one environment may respond very differently in another. In his case, the enthusiasm for learning is what I notice most.

My own education didn’t predict my career

I didn’t do particularly well at A-levels either. I went on to study English and journalism, then built a career in writing and content. For years, I assumed a humanities education was a fairly poor foundation for a technology-driven world.

Now a substantial part of my working life involves AI: testing tools, building editorial workflows, assessing evidence and working out how knowledge can be captured and reused. The habits I developed through journalism — questioning claims, looking for gaps, communicating clearly and knowing when an answer doesn’t hold up — have become unexpectedly useful.

I couldn’t have planned for that when I was choosing subjects. That doesn’t mean qualifications don’t matter. They do, especially if my son wants to pursue chemistry, engineering or computer science. Strong maths and science results can keep those options open. But my own route makes me cautious about confusing a set of exam results with a complete prediction of someone’s future.

AI makes curiosity more important, but knowledge still matters

It’s tempting to respond to AI by steering children towards whichever technical skills look safest today. Learn Python. Study computing. Get into engineering. There is some sense in building those foundations, particularly for a child who already enjoys them.

But there’s a risk of preparing him for a version of the labour market that may have changed before he arrives. AI can already generate code, yet understanding how a program works still matters if you need to test it, fix it or decide what it should do. The same applies to scientific knowledge: a generated answer isn’t a substitute for understanding the underlying chemistry.

I don’t want to set up a false choice between knowledge and curiosity. Curiosity without foundations can go nowhere; knowledge without the confidence to experiment can remain unused. The interesting thing is what happens when a child has both.

That is why the micro:bit appeals to me. He can write something, see what happens on a real device, make mistakes and try again. Later he can use AI to ask better questions or debug a problem. But he should have the chance to understand and enjoy the building before handing the whole task to a machine.

Not every interest needs to become a career plan

I want him to work hard at school. I want him to have options when the GCSE and A-level decisions arrive. If he continues to love maths, chemistry and computing, I’ll encourage him to pursue them seriously.

What I don’t want is to turn every interest into an employability exercise. He’s 12. If he spends a few weekends making a game or an alarm with a micro:bit, that doesn’t need to become evidence of a future career in robotics. It can just be something he wanted to make.

My experience of his schooling has changed the order in which I think about all this. Before worrying about whether a child is learning the right skills for AI, perhaps we should ask whether school is helping that child want to learn at all.

I know that isn’t the whole purpose of education. There are standards to meet, difficult subjects to persevere with and qualifications that genuinely affect opportunities. Enjoyment alone won’t get him through every exam.

But I’ve seen him struggle in an environment that didn’t suit him, and I’ve seen him become enthusiastic in one where he feels more able to be himself. I don’t want to overlook that while trying to forecast his future.

So I’ve bought him a micro:bit. He can connect it to his PC, write some code, get it wrong, fix it and show me what he’s made.

Maybe he’ll still love computing in five years. Maybe he’ll find something else entirely.

For now, I’m pleased he likes learning. That feels like a good place to start.