A quiet crisis we don't talk about enough
At a recent school meeting, a therapist asked a group of parents to name a few apps their children use. Then a few games. Then some popular YouTubers. The room fell silent.
One parent could name them all. The rest? Not a single hand. Some laughed nervously. Others looked down. It wasn't ignorance. It was distance.
That moment stayed with me.
Not because of the silence, but because of what it reveals.
We've handed our children a digital world we barely understand. A world that shapes how they think, who they admire, what they believe is "normal". A world where they're growing up, often without us.
Jakub's post, which sparked this reflection, was both honest and gentle. He didn't mock anyone. He simply described what he saw. And the comments that followed were full of the same quiet concern: parents who feel lost, or late, or unsure how to begin.
Some admitted they only knew Facebook. Not a single game. Not a single YouTuber. Others said they're trying, watching together, asking questions, using filters, setting limits. A few talked about playing games they don't particularly enjoy, just to share space with their children.
What stood out most wasn't the tech. It was the tenderness.
"I know I missed things with my older child. I don't want to miss them again."
"I don't want to be the parent who says "go play" just to buy silence."
"I want to understand what my child finds funny or exciting, even if I don't get it."
It made me think about my own habits. I've caught myself saying, "please go play something", when maybe what I should've said was, "show me what you're watching". Because for many kids, YouTube is play. That's their world. And brushing it off often means brushing them off.
So what would kids say, if we asked?
Probably something simple.
"You don't have to love what I watch. I just want you to ask."
"I want to show you my game, even if you're bad at it."
"I don't want to be alone online, even if I don't say it."
We treat digital parenting like a checklist: limit screen time, block dangerous sites, filter the content. But kids don't just need protection. They need presence. Attention. Conversation.
Some parents shared beautiful ideas, printing Minecraft builds on a 3D printer, building virtual castles together, learning to talk in their child's online language. Not because they wanted to become experts. But because it builds trust.
It doesn't need to be perfect. We'll fail at this. Often. But ignoring it isn't an option anymore.
If we wait until something goes wrong to get involved, we'e already missed the moment to build connection. If we dismiss what our kids care about, they'll stop sharing it with us. And if we keep saying we "don't have time", algorithms, influencers, and strangers will happily step in to fill that role.
I saw one comment that said: "Kids want the time, not the dime". That one stuck.
Being a digitally aware parent isn't about knowing every app or game. It's about showing up. Being curious. Staying open. And recognising that stepping into your child's world, online or offline, is an act of love.
The silence in that school hall wasn't just awkward. It was a warning. But it was also a place to start.
Let's not wait until it's too late to say, "I didn't know".
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