My reader Suzanne writes:
[O]ne thing I am interested in is the nitty gritty of how you think about and how you work out the use of electronics (“screen time”) with your kids and for yourself. One of my main paradigms for how I think about interacting with technology is this article, which (roughly) is about the idea that a smart phone ought to be used for GPS, making calls, and music. My kids are 11 and 13, and neither have a phone. We have rules around how, when, and for how long they can interact with technology. Have you already written about this topic at length? As a parent and as an individual, I'm interested.
I wrote back to Suzanne, promising that I would answer her question soon. I have avoided answering it, because to some extent she is asking for parenting advice, and I am really loathe to give parenting advice, because parenting is hard, and none of us really knows anything, and there are so many days when I fall into bed wishing I had been a better parent. But promise I did, so, Suzanne, here you go.
First, a philosophical preamble (do I want the Kantian word “prolegomenon”?), then some advice humble suggestions.
Smartphones are a particularly invidious form of technology because they are a) addictive, and b) individualizing. They are more addictive than TV, radio, and other old-school techs because the people who create software have simply gotten smarter about addicting users; the science of addicting us has advanced beyond what was available to sitcom writers and morning radio jocks. Also, our phone has become our address book, our atlas, and so much more; so it really is indispensable in ways that my old color television was not. Also, they are portable; the hardware offers possibilities for addiction that the TV did not.
Anybody who says, “Oh, we worried about TV addiction, this is more of the same” is simply wrong.
Second, the smartphone is an individualizing and isolating device. You can’t have a party to look at the phone, the way you could have a “record pull” to listen to records as a group (memo to all of us: bring back the record pull), or the way you could have friends over to watch a movie on the VCR.
Anyway, if you don’t already agree with me, I am not going to persuade you. But ask a teacher what the smartphone has done to students’ attention spans—ask her what the phone has done to the classroom—and then get back to me.
But enough of that prolegomenon (I really want to make this old word happen again). On to specifics. Here are the best practices at Oppenheimer Manor. I don’t think they are perfect; I wish we did better; but here they are:
We’ve never allowed phones at the table. When we eat together (or even when we eat separately) the phone is not keeping anyone company. This is a simple rule, easy to understand. No gray areas. When we’re eating together, we talk to each other. When eating alone, you can read a book; I’ve even looked the other way when various family members (definitely never me; no, never me) have eaten in front of the TV. But eating and phones don’t mix.
We don’t sleep next to our phones.
We don’t sit around in the middle of the day on the phone. A phone, when not used for a phone call or for an immediately relevant text (say, to make plans to visit a friend), is basically a form of screen time, and screen time is for certain hours after dinner. So on a lazy Saturday afternoon at 2:15 p.m., don’t be on your phone.
When it’s not screen time, therefore, the phone should live somewhere, like at it’s plugged-in place, or by the keys in the front hall. No need to carry it around the house.
Sometimes, one leaves it at home. No need to bring the phone to the pool, or the movies, or the beach. No need to have it all the time.
Have weeks, even months, without it. My eldest daughter went to a summer camp where phones weren’t allowed (why there are summer camps where phones are allowed is one of the all-time great mysteries). So that was seven weeks last summer with no phone. This summer, three of my children are going on trips, or to camps, where phones are allowed; I wish the organizers had the wisdom to tell the children to leave their phones at home.
Talk about your misgivings about technology (or your enthusiasms for it). Give children a consciousness—and remind yourself—that there are other ways to live, and until recently nobody lived this way. We all need a recurrent sense of the possible.
So there you have my assorted thoughts. Are they coherent? I fear not. Am I consistent with them? No. But there they are.
Want me to sum them up in one sentence? I’ll try: Phones are devices for traveling outside the home.When at home, children should not be on their phones unless making a phone call, making plans, or having allotted screen time.
Final thought on the subject of children and tech. You can’t expect children to go analog if you have stopped buying analog stuff for your home. If you don’t have a Scrabble board, then the only Scrabble-like experience will be digital; if you don’t have books in the house, everyone is on their phone, lying that they’re using the Kindle app; if you don’t have any stationery, nobody can write a thank-you note (and thank-you emails and texts aren’t as good; they’re just not; a real thank-you note, or a real condolence card, in the mail, just means more).
If you don’t have a Scrabble board, then the only Scrabble-like experience will be digital.
We are all responsible for how our purchasing choices affect our lives in myriad ways. (This reminds me to get around to writing my planned post about why I am not in the Costco cult.)
Of course, it goes without saying that what goes for children should go for adults. In my next column, which will be subscriber-only, I will talk about how I handle tech for myself.
How fearsome is ChatGPT?
When I ask ChatGPT about myself, ChatGPT thinks I was born four years before I was actually born, and it gets the day and month wrong. I am not afraid of ChatGPT, at least not yet.
The haredim and tech
I was reading Jewish Insider, and it linked to this article, which tells us that “[m]ore than 25,000 Lomdei and Tomchei Torah streamed to the Wells Fargo Center in Philadelphia on Sunday to participate in a historic Maamad Hatorah and Kiddush Shem Shamayim.” Let me translate: there was a big event in Philly to celebrate Jewish scripture; apparently, it was in honor of the students of Beth Medrash Govoha, the large yeshiva in Lakewood, N.J. But here’s the interesting thing: “At the request of the Lakewood Roshei Yeshiva, a live stream was not provided.” So dig it: to ensure that people showed up, they didn’t Zoom or live-stream the event. Food for thought.
They did post videos afterward, though. Check it out.