First, let me just say, four summers ago sucked. After a blow-out fight with my then ten-year-old son, I was crying on the bathroom floor, whispering to my husband on the phone, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this…” During the fight, my son nearly knocked me out with his iPad because he hurled it across the room at me. It was summer vacation and we were staying internationally with family, like we do nearly every summer. It was usually a relaxing time of beach, sun, and no set schedules.
But that summer, it was different. At the center of each one of my interactions with my yearning-to-hatch-free-from-kid-dom son, stood the innocent, but mischievous, iPad. At the beginning of the summer, I told all of the kids we would adhere to our strict rules of 20 minutes of screen time a day, just like we did during the school year. I thought with camps, cousins, and cookouts, the iPad would be tucked away charging nicely… snoozing.
Incorrect. Upon waking, my son’s iPad made its presence known like a slow-lighting firecracker—crackling, sparking, and twirling for attention.
It would first start with a quick Pixel Gun session that would run from breakfast to lunch. When the pool opened for a swim, I couldn’t hold his young sisters back from a splash, but my son was under the covers dodging cube cars in Crossy Road. Daylight would turn night, and I would think about the lungfuls of fresh air and beams of warm sun wasted.
The allotted 20-minutes with the iPad would pass more quickly for my son than a flick at the home button. He would then begin a series of high stakes negotiations bartering for tomorrow’s session, which escalated from “so-and-so is playing now,” to “I don’t feel well,” to “just LEAVE ME ALONE!” I was broken down to the bone. My husband, who planned to meet us during the second half of our vacation, commiserated with me on the phone and offered to speak to our son. “Dad, Mom’s rules are not fair,” I heard him say. “I don’t want to go to Alaska. I want to stay here.”
Part 2 of our summer vacation involved a trip we had looked forward to all year long. We were going on a cruise to Alaska to see icebergs and polar bears. We’d be unplugged in the wild. And my son wanted to stay and play on his iPad! I nearly lost it.
Cue: iPad thrown by son at mom.
The next summer I tried something different. We traveled internationally again, enjoying a long stint of vacation filled with once again, camp, cousins, and cookouts. But rather than lay down the law about the iPad and my son’s new iPhone, I told him and his sisters they were allowed unlimited screentime, as long as they adhered to our schedules and commitments, and their summer reading homework. I told them, “If you want to play with your iPad first thing in the morning, GO FOR IT! If you want to play games right until bedtime, THAT’S COOL! If you would rather play games than go to the beach, THAT’S YOUR CALL! We shall call this ‘the summer of Fortnite!’” The kids responded, “HOORAY! Mom, you are the best!” Hugs! Kisses! Trust Fall!
What happened next was bizarre. My son didn’t turn on the iPad most of the first week. He had camp, but it was done by noon every day. He spent most of the day reading, drawing comics, and splashing in the ocean and pool. The first Wednesday was the only exception. A friend of my son’s visited to help him polish his Fortnite skills. They played with a glint in their eyes like they were forging the most important skills of a lifetime. They sat side by side, giggling, like toddlers. When the weekend arrived, my son connected two old friends now living in Australia and California to virtually meet and attempt to survive playing Fortnite together. My son was the link for the three of them across the planet, and I could see he felt proud. My son was getting better at Fortnite, for sure, but he was also in command of his social structure. When it was time for dinner, there was no negotiating. Instead, when I told him it was time to wrap it up, he gave a rather simple ominous response, “OK, five more minutes. I’ll go kill myself right now.” (Hmmm, we will work on that language.)
During the second week of our vacation, my son participated in Roblox Camp. He not only wants to play games, but he also wants to make them. The iPad went with him everywhere that week, but only to help him test, debug, and design a multi-player fighting game. But he and I did not fight ABOUT the iPad IRL!
The third week involved cousin time. The moment my son and his cousin, who is 6 months apart in age, locked familiar eyes, it was back to the classic Minecraft. On the first day they played for nearly four hours straight. I was nervous. I’m conscious about my parenting choices affecting others, and I didn’t want to push it if unlimited screentime was uncomfortable for my brother’s family. But everyone was on board, so play they did. After working on their Minecraft world for the first evening my son wanted to show me what he’d built.
Honestly, I was dumbfounded. He showed me a world he’d built over the past six years with each of his best friends from three different schools, three cousins, and his little sister. In this virtual world, my son ran a micro-economy in which he rented out rooms in a hotel and ran a marketplace. He had a tribunal courtroom, police force, and real credits to buy resources and items. He wrote a ten-page book about the rules he’d created for his imaginary, virtual world, including how to be a good citizen in this world. It was beautiful, engaging, and totally cool.
The rest of the summer followed suit. Not once did he go for the iPad first thing in the morning, even though he was allowed to. Not once did the iPad put him to sleep, even though I was OK with that. He stayed indoors twice while the rest of the family played outside at the pool. But when I texted him to come down to eat dinner poolside he did so within ten minutes.
This summer, I removed power from the screen by giving my son control of his free time. He didn’t need to use it for comfort. Plus, the fact that he wasn’t always fighting for his right to use the screen meant it didn’t have as much value to him.
Of course, we all went to Alaska. While we’re looking at the icebergs in a moment of reconciliation I asked, “You really like your iPad, huh?”
He replied, “Playing helps me forget my worries.”
“What worries?”
“Mom, I’m starting a new school in the fall.” Oh CRAP. That’s right… I suddenly realized, his wanting more control wasn’t really only about screentime.
