The biggest mistake I ever made was buying my daughter a mobile phone. She was 11 and on her way to starting senior school. I gave myself a pat on the back for being a responsible parent and waiting as long as I did. I was certain that she would be safe from the dangers that lurked there. Confident that I could control how she used it.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
When she was small, 11 seemed so grown up. And such a long way off. Like most kids, she had an iPad, but the most she did with it was play games, or watch movies on long journeys. Unlike a lot of other kids, her head was always stuck in a book. And when she wasn’t reading, she was creating. Drawing, moulding, making. Every surface in our house crowded with the latest profession of love to the parents who didn’t yet perpetually annoy or embarrass her.
I was proud of how she chose to spend her time. Smug even. And I naively thought that little would change when, on her 11th birthday, she received the much anticipated smart phone. After all, it wasn’t like she badgered me for mine, and, I reasoned, it wasn’t much different to an iPad.
Immediate change
The change was immediate. Without exaggeration, and within no time at all, that little rectangular device commanded every second of her attention. Which meant that it also commanded all of mine. First came the gentle coercion, “Why don’t you read your book for a bit”. Then the tough love, “That’s it, you’ve lost it for a week.” I tried bargaining, “If you do all your homework.” And begging, “Please can you just take a break.” When nothing else worked, I invariably lost my shit, “You are literally rotting your brain.”
I dread to think how much time I spent, trying to entice her off a device that is literally designed to keep her there. How much worry and fear I have experienced because I have no idea what she has experienced. Limiting her screen time and implementing rules has had little effect. I have nagged her to the point of exhaustion, leaving me sick of the sound of my own voice, and driving her to resentment. Often, I wonder what our relationship might look like, how changed she would be, had I made a different decision four years ago. It makes me sad that I can’t remember the last time she read a book.
Obsessed
Because of the situation I find myself in, I have become mobile phone obsessed. I can’t help but notice other peoples over usage and reliance. Their inability to put down the phone during a meal, their companion effectively ignored (or equally absorbed in their own screen). The persistent checking of messages mid-chat. The child sat watching their parent swipe, swipe, swipe. The toddler distracted by the flickering of colourful cartoons.
I, of course, am not exempt from this curse. My own smart phone has stolen too many hours to tally. Has impacted my creativity in ways that I’ll probably never fully appreciate. And I too am guilty of becoming distracted mid-conversation, pulled away by that attention grabbing ping.
In the past, I did not set a good example; but I am trying to now. By deactivating all social media and avoiding the news in all of its forms. I’ve disabled all notifications too. It’s difficult to while away hours on an application free device. But there are still times when I’ll just look something up, only to emerge bleary eyed from a worm hole two-hours later.
Our kids don’t stand a chance.
Surrender control
My daughter is almost at an age where she will be outside of my influence. And I am at the stage where I am losing the will to fight it any longer. It feels like the mobile phone has won. As it was designed to.
I long for the days when all I had to worry about was her watching too much TV, or making us late for school because she was engrossed in a book. But while I might wish that I made a different decision, I know that I am not that parent. A hang-up from my own childhood leaves me fixated on giving her everything that I did not have. Of wanting her to fit in, where I didn’t. It’s difficult then, and a further waste of my time, to have regrets.
I’m sure there’s a lesson for me here. Who am I kidding? Of course there is. I’m controlling. I’d try to control the pull of the moon if I thought I could get away with it.
As a parent, it was so much easier when I could control every facet of my daughter’s life. When every decision was mine to make. Then all of her food was homemade and she wore the clothes that I picked out. Her free time was filled with music and books and outdoor play.
But then she came out of school carrying her first packet of sweets. Discovered McDonalds at a friend’s birthday party. Developed an opinion about what she would and would not wear. And we’ve been locked in constant battle ever since.
Letting go
In my experience, the amount of influence I try to exert over my daughter, directly correlates to the strength of her rebellion. Once I stopped trying to force feed her broccoli, her palate went from only beige to extremely diverse. The less attention I gave to her fashion choices, the less she felt the need to provoke.
Look, she’s a teenager. It’s her job to test the boundaries. It’s how she’ll figure out who she is and what she believes in. And in a few years, she’ll be making all of her own decisions. I need to, as my friend Margaret always says, get myself out of the way.
My daughter is a clever kid. She’s funny, and kind, and works hard in school. She has ambition and wants to travel. She has friends and loves her nan. I worry about her, because that’s my job. But in order for her to grow, to learn, to become an individual in the world, I have to do the scary, hard thing. I have to let her go.
