In our household, the transition from childhood to adolescence has introduced a new set of challenges that, to my surprise, aren’t entirely about the anxieties I had expected. While I anticipated conversations about drugs, alcohol, and relationships, I didn’t foresee a central theme emerging around digital devices. Whenever our 16-year-old son bends the rules too far, my wife and I resort to taking away his phone and beloved Nintendo Switch. Perhaps you can imagine the uproar this causes.
In his ideal world, our son would spend the majority of his waking hours transfixed by that alluring glow. Denying him this wish can stretch his patience thin. Screens, it seems, hold an enchantment, one that creates friction when broken.
I often find myself reflecting: How did parents before us navigate similar struggles? Did they continually face head-butts over newfangled gadgets, or did our ancestors have it easier without such captivating distractions? These musings underscore our ever-evolving parenting landscape.
In the Beginning, We Laid Down the Law on Screen Time
In those innocent early years of grade school, rules were straightforward. Friends meant no electronics were allowed. Having alternatives like a pool, a table tennis set, and acres to roam certainly helped. We frequently gathered with family friends who shared our parenting philosophy, fostering a fondness for board games. Those were times our son relished, filled with laughter and camaraderie, creating relationships built on shared experiences beyond screens.
Television, too, was neatly slotted into the day between sports practices, homework, and dinner. It was a treat, a short 45 to 60 minutes before bed. Despite the allure of screens, he found solace in books—a love that integrated seamlessly into his daily life. Reading was not just a pastime but a part of his essence, helping him wind down the day with imagination unfurling at every turn of the page.
Amidst the click and clatter of a digital age, our resolve stayed firm. Unlike his peers, our son didn’t get a phone until Christmas in 8th grade, being second to last in his class. Now, as our daughter approaches 8th grade sans a phone, she’s the last of her classmates holding out. Echols’ adage, “Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow,'” comes to mind.
Gratefulness replaced impatience when he finally got his phone, adhering willingly to stipulations—no phone in the bedroom, plugged in at night in the kitchen, and no access until after homework.
The Changing Tides of Screen Time as He Grew
Entering the whirlwind of a college prep high school presented newfound pressures. This transition saw our son increasingly turn to screens for reprieve. While a glass of wine might be our balm after a taxing day, his solace was routed through game controllers and digital messages.
Two years into high school, balancing a hefty workload with a growing desire for screen time autonomy has been a challenge. Unfettered, he easily escapes into hours-long weekend sessions lost in virtual worlds. It’s a worry, the fear he’ll become withdrawn, tethered less to reality and more to virtual landscapes, abandoning necessary life pursuits such as finding that coveted summer job, earning a driver’s permit, or stepping up for volunteering opportunities. These stepping stones are vital, stitching a fabric of adulthood we fear could fray.
Refining our Approach to Digital Engagement
As controlling screen time became progressively challenging, we’ve adapted our methods. A reflective pause, rather than immediate confrontation, when our son’s ruffled and brooding over lost screen privileges, often bears more fruit than heated dialogue. As Joyce Meyer aptly put it, “Patience is not simply the ability to wait – it’s how we behave while we’re waiting.”
Initiated conversations on self-control emphasize that devices possess privileges, not inherent rights. It’s a hard lesson, yet vital, recognizing clearer thinking, more focused homework sessions, and completed chores as the silver linings when not ensnared by screens.
It’s with subtle shifts that we’ve redirected our son’s focus to newer pastimes he enjoys. Be it a hike through the hill trails behind our home, a prep run for cross-country, or indulging in wartime movies reminiscent of times spent with his late grandfather. These moments have turned into unexpected highlights. Lately, my wife, in particular, shares how longer hikes allow deeper, more meaningful conversations between them.
In essence, the less time my son spends in front of those little screens, the more enriched everyone’s life becomes. It’s a journey, often wrought with trial and error, yet one unequivocally worthwhile.
Edited By Ali Musa, Axadle Times International – Monitoring.
