Planning for a Good Transition
This is the part that most articles and advice about parenting and technology completely forget to consider. This is where the child voluntarily gives up the device with a big grin and gets excited about what is next.
We can provide far more stimulation and joy for our children than any video game ever could. Scroll to the bottom for the questions that prompted this article.
Skipping ahead, here is how this is done:
- Plan for one more.
- Beware passive media.
- Choose your battles.
- Know what is next.
- Get physical.
Here is an example that embodies all of this. I call it “Real life Minecraft Adventure.” This is modeled after a great app called “Minecraft Story Mode,” a bit of my own imagination, and a game my father used to play with us as kids.
My boys love Minecraft. For a while, I avoided it, but now I see the attraction. Minecraft is like Legos, plus art, plus multiplayer gaming. Check it out: there is even an Education Edition coming this Fall.
Knowing how engrossed they can become, I always give them achievement-based limits, backed by time boundaries, and a giant incentive at the end: physical play that will wear them out.
While they play Minecraft, I listen and watch, taking a few mental notes about the goals, terminology, and special abilities of their characters. When it is near time to end, I start getting more involved, helping them set “end goals” such as the completion of a structure or achievement of a skill. Because let’s face it, they are never going to stop on their own.
When it is time to let go, I have them save and quit, and hand over the device or shut down the computer. Immediately, we are in the pantry packing snack food and getting into the story we had just left off.
Real Life Minecraft Adventure is this:
- Start from scratch, with no tools or powers.
- Find and scavenge “weapons” like sticks that resemble tools from the game.
- Discover “marks” and “clues” along the path towards a goal point on our hike.
- Explore the nearby forest while I narrate in Story Mode.
- All participants must use their character names, like cos-play.
- One participant is the map-holder, one is the leader, and all characters must non-violently “confront” anyone we come across.
- Upon reaching the goal point, we stop and meditate like Jedi warriors, or “sleep” as characters do in Survival mode.
- After a rest, we turn back towards the “castle” via a different path, and “level up” while putting our “weapons” to the test.
- Approaching the “castle,” we enter “sneaky mode” which gets the fellas into a less dynamic phase of action.
- Reaching the home “castle,” we “heal up” and snack, and congratulate each other on our achievements.
This game-based transition is my most popular one, because it is a continuation of the game, but also because this is really something to anticipate, once gameplay ends. This is the most important lesson I have learned during my study on the topic of children and devices: plan for a fun transition.
Always One More Thing
A friend of mine, a fellow dad from school, once described the idea of transitioning away from digital pursuits in two words: activity methadone. In this metaphor, the device is heroin and moving around and shaking up the brain is nature’s way of weaning a person off of it.
Naturally, a person always wants “one more.” But isn’t it the last run down the slope at the end of the day when I usually biff? Isn’t it that last jump on the bed when the kid falls? Is it not that one more bite of sushi that makes me too full? It is the same with technology. When the instinct to watch one more or play one more kicks in, I have got to fight it, and leave something for later.
Beware Passive Media
Devices and strong, passive media have fantastic power to hold our attention, sometimes for extended periods. This feeling of “being held” is not merely metaphorical. I have noticed that it can feel as if I am actually engulfed or even somehow “supported” by a mere 4.7-inch diagonal.
By “strong media” I mean things like movies, or games, or anything that makes it difficult to hold a train of thought during the experience (unlike music in the background, which can lead to work focus). These activities create a feeling of immersion that can result in a feeling of loss or of “being lost” afterwards. The metaphor could be compared to “falling.”
Children can feel this to an even greater degree, with even less understanding as to why, or how to replace this feeling when it is gone. I need to meet the transition from strong media into “real life” with strong attention, and an effort to match an equal and opposite psychological force: a feeling of “being held.” I hold their attention, guard their feelings, and help them feel supported and understood.
Not all of these suggestions worked at first. Some of them backfired until I adjusted for the sensibilities of each of the boys. I did not give up — I alternated strategies of verbal contract, strict or lose structure, more or less participation, and types of transition. I had to find a way to do this which matches my own relationships with my children, and my own style of highly engaged play with them.
There is one caveat I will offer. For some children with special needs, transition may take the form of even more immersion. In some cases, the device may be the best choice for their introduction to science and math. I have learned to recognize each child’s reaction to the machine, and leave space for their own journey forward.
My friend who is also a stay-at-home dad has an 8-month-old son who does not see the iPhone unless he is connecting with his mom while she is at work. My friend has made the conscious decision to avoid access to the device for any other purpose.
The other day, my friend’s father came to visit. While watching his grandson, he innocently checked his phone, and saw his grandson’s interest in it. Little guy probably thought it was time to talk with Mom. Grandpa proceeded to show him some videos.
When my friend came back, his dad exclaimed,
“Look at this! He’s mesmerized!”
Haha, of course he is mesmerized, because he does not ever get to do this. Grandpa did no know that, he just thought it was cute. Yeah, it was cute, dangerously cute. I will not bother describing the scene when this activity ended, but just imagine you are 8 months old and you do not have words to express your disappointment.
My friend tells me this happens with anyone who gets extended time with his son. No one even thinks about this any more: how much screen time should a toddler get? How young is too young?
Overstimulation can happen at any age—another friend hosted a playdate with an elementary school student who had never watched a movie before. Needless to say, even watching Pixar’s “Up” at a friend’s house can be a shock to a person who’s never sat in a theatre. Oops!
The same thing happens when my children catch a glimpse of commercials on television when we are at a restaurant or someone else’s house. They never get exposed to it, so they are completely vulnerable to infection. I am aware of this, and so when I see them looking enraptured, I pay close attention and try to disrupt the spell.
Transition can take many forms: food, motion, imaginative play, friendship time, the list goes on. Chief amongst these, I have found, is food.
The other day, I had the opportunity to babysit my 2-year-old niece. I know from my brother that she does not get access to video usually. I just could not help taking photos and videos of her, though, which led to her wanting to see them.
So we watched some of the videos we took. She played peek-a-boo with the front-facing camera. Then she even triggered the recording with delight. Pretty soon, I am thinking to myself, “Uh oh, what have I started?”
She and I have never done the “last one” thing. But I decided to just try it. We were watching a video of her cousins, my sons, and I just whispered, “Last one. After this, we will go get a snack, right?” Yes, she whispered back.
And it worked. She was entranced by the video, but the thought of food broke the spell, with no prior conditioning. I think we are onto something. I do not believe we actually made it to eat food, once we got into the kitchen she got distracted once again. Misdirection is a wonderful gift.
In Favor of Immersion
Sometimes transition can take the form of even more device time. If I find that the boys are learning something, or getting excited about words or math as a result of a game or app, I will double down. I have also met children who have trouble with traditional learning methods like lecture or peer-oriented approaches. I have noticed that sometimes for these young people, learning at their own pace in privacy or isolation can be more effective.
The immersion scenario is for children who are easily distracted by social cues, or by noises and commotion in a classroom setting. I am not saying that children do not need to learn to deal with these situations, but sometimes all it takes is some personal success to build confidence and focus. Especially for people with learning challenges, immersion is a key.
Sometimes, immersion is a kind of sneak attack. One of my favorite, and most diverting, games lately is Hearthstone. It is simple to play, but involves a bit of reading and simple arithmetic. The boys like the sound effects and the pace of play. So, I discovered a method to exploit this: I do not make a move unless the older son reads the words and my younger son reads the numbers.
Along the way, they learn some gaming strategy, and we build a few fun inside jokes about the characters in the game. My characters in the game are not strong, so I often lose. The lesson here for all of us is: how to let go of “needing to win” to have a good time. Immersion should not take the form of obsession, just digging deeper into the experience to get more out of it.
Immersion can take the form of deconstruction: learning how and why things work the way they do. In this way, transition from the device involve code or design or the pieces that make up apps and programming.
Immersion can take the form of learning by watching someone else do it. For all my gaming obsession needs, I turn to Twitch. Want to see what a game looks like before you get into it? There is a channel for everything good and popular. Want to watch someone play at a high level, to inspire you or learn a few tricks? Tune in for a few minutes, or let it play in the background.
Want to just “watch some battles?” Twitch is perfect for a bit of “weak video” that is live, and gives you the sense of competition, but does not involve completion of a programming segment or plot line. For me and the boys, immersion is about looking at something from all angles, and diving in where it is not too shallow.
Choose Your Battles
To be a child is to feel a lack of power. They are told what to do, when to do it, and we insist on showing them how. Sometimes, a kid just wants to be a kid. Sometimes, a kid just wants to win.
For my boys, this means beating their dad in a game. It means taking me down on the mat. It means defeating me in battle. My job sometimes feels like being a gracious loser.
Think about it for a second: children are weaker than us, they are smaller, they are slower and they are not as smart. If you had these qualities, wouldn’t you yell and scream and fight the power, and do anything to get your way? What would you not do, if you were always at the disadvantage?
I give my boys a lot of credit. Most of the time, they do not fight me on things. But when they do, I am generally forgiving. A little conflict is normal, but I have got to choose my battles.
Allowing Good Conflict
My grandfather, rest his soul, was a gruff man. He showed us love by doing things with us, making things, and showing us how to fix things. He was a man of action, a Marine Sargeant. When my brother and I would get in each other’s face, he would say,
“Fight nice.”
I love that term. To this day, I enjoy a good argument. It is like fighting nice. I do not like to raise my voice, and sometimes I will even warn the boys that I am tempted to raise my voice. This is like a warning before I even start to lose my temper.
There is such a thing as good conflict. Children need to learn how to work things out on their own. My job is sometimes to ask, “Did you try to work it out?” I ask. “Did you use your words?” For a five-year-old, using words before actions is important.
Siblings are going to annoy each other. Sometimes it seems to me like a brother is someone who gets you into — and out of — trouble. Good conflict is trouble that you can escape. Good conflict is harmless in the long term. It is the process of overcoming differences of opinion. It is practice for the real world.
You know the real world? That place where no one really cares what kind of father you are, they just want to get paid? Well I care. In my world, the kind of parent you are impacts the kind of co-worker you are, and the kind of person you become.
Somewhere along the path to civilization, protecting the innocence of childhood has become more important than preparing young people for that real world. I understand that youthful bliss is contagious, and I too crave the sweet perspective that comes from life under four feet tall. Kids grow up so fast, why rush it, right?
Everything is rush, rush, rush in the real world. Everyone has got somewhere to be, someone else to please, and it is all about money. I think it is possible to prepare children for this reality without turning them into money-grubbing speed demons.
The real world, I have come to understand, is a tiny mote within a vast collection of stars and systems, spread out amongst an incalculably large space. We are a pale blue dot, even at the most magnified galactic perspective. Our moments on Earth are barely measurable against the crushing force of Time. What we do, the money we make, the legacy we leave, it hardly matters in the end.
It matters to our children, right now, what we tell them, who we are to them, and how we act. It matters especially during the first five years of their lives, as they double and triple in size, produce the most brain cells, and learn what it means to be human. To them, gravity is a measurable force that results in a hug.
How we behave teaches them how to behave. They learn about the real world from us. If they hear us say that work is a chore, they will grow up to believe that work is to be avoided. I do what I love, I love what I do, and the boys see that.
The real world is what we make it. The real world is an adventure, a journey where the destination is perpetually out of reach. I teach my boys to enjoy the travel, the way, the process of building or the methods of discovery.
If I can find a new use for a cardboard box, or pretend that the challenges of life are as simple as good versus evil for one more moment — isn’t that a gift? Transitions from the fast-paced digital world to the slow, steady, simple real world should be gradual and full of imagination.
The real world for most people on Earth is a harsh place. You, the reader, blessed with the gifts of literacy and funding to consume products and educate yourself here, you are special. Remember that most humans do not have what you have.
Most humans in the real world, “out there,” struggle to feed and clothe themselves. Whenever I have to make an unexpected transition away from iPad or TV or some flashing screen, I try to remember how lucky we are to even have the choice.
I want my boys to remember their responsibility to the rest of the world. This is indeed wild territory that we explore:
- How do we navigate a future of increasing complexity and interconnectedness?
- What rules can we follow to keep us from getting obsessed with having more, and consuming more?
- What principles of a digital life help us find compassion for others?
To start, I do not shelter my children from the real world. We listen to the news together. We talk about what is going on abroad, I try to relate it to their lives. If someone is struggling in a war-torn nation, we try to imagine what it would be like for us to survive.
The real world does not care about high scores on a video game. The real world wants to know what you have done for the real world lately. I teach them to tell powerful stories, and to find the patterns in games and apps and software. I arm them with imagination, I armor them with love. Life is one unanticipated transition after another.
Know What Is Next
It is now my responsibility to help them overcome that post-media letdown feeling, and provide a kind of “attention momentum.” You know it well. Once the TV turns off, or the credits scroll, or the phone call ends, the mind seeks a similar level of stimulation.
Naturally, there is an app for that, called Daily Vroom. This helps by turning everyday, real world activities with children into achievements that build confidence and resilience.
In general, I gear myself for some physical activity after device time. Reading and drawing are good alternatives but it is difficult to approach the kind of stimulation children get from a bright touchscreen or controller with just pencil and paper. Often I hand my son a musical instrument, like a guitar in an open tuning.
If I can, I get busy cooking together with the boys. Maybe we throw the ball around instead. Often we make pretend, create a battle scene, or make a fort.
Here is a game my mom taught me when I was four. My friends and I can play this anywhere: it is called “Make Something Out Of It.” One person draws a squiggle, and then hands off the paper and pencil to the next person. The goal is to challenge each other, and create the unexpected from scratch. The fun part comes from encouraging each other to stretch the imagination, or draw quickly, or make something that inspires more drawing.
The only rule is that there are no rules.
Getting Physical
Most times in my house, transition away from digital pursuits takes the form of physical touch. I hug, move, squeeze, brush, or feed my boys. Food helps tremendously, I have snacks within snacks.
I am aiming to match the level of brain chemicals (serotonin, dopamine) that get triggered during the intense pleasure of video games or the stimulation of strong media. Some of them get released during achievement, some of them get released during connection with others online, and a combination gets released when information is taken up into the brain.
Hugging for up to 20 seconds releases oxytocin, one of the most powerful neurotransmitters in our brain.
So, I have got to give them a sense of achievement and recognition. I tell them they are cool, I show them that I appreciate their cooperation lovingly by touching them. I celebrate their achievement in the game with a high five, or tickle them as we talk about what they learned while watching video.
I have got to give them a real life connection with me. I like to whisper. I get close to my children, and bring my tone of voice way down. Sometimes I will even touch his forehead to mine, and look deep into his eye. I am always amazed at how well this works, and the feeling is incredible.
I have also got to give them information, and make sure they hear me, and internalize it. They have just been inundated with loads of information. My words have to stand out, so I make them simple and clear. I talk about the plan for what is next. I give them something to look forward to.
Lots of times, they have to use the bathroom after a stretch. There is nothing quite as physical as that!
The principle at work here is the same one I use to try and remember a dream. The best way to remember a dream is to stay in the same position as when you awake. Stay still, close your eyes and allow your body to remember.
In order to transition properly away from the “dream state” of interactive digital devices is to do the opposite: move around, look around, and let the body forget. Children are natural diverters; they will find something new to latch onto. I find I just have to push through the inertia and encourage this a little.
I hear the complaints, I anticipate them, and I stay firm in my decision to end the activity. I never let myself be swayed by begging or conniving. Truth is, I know exactly how they feel. I hate having someone tell me it is time to stop having fun!
I take a lesson from the entertainment industry: always leave them wanting more. In the case of games and personal entertainment, this is an easy and practical mantra.
This is the same principle that drives my creative work, and something I learned from studying literature:
“I learned to never empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it.” -Ernest Hemingway
Leave off somewhere that you can pick back up immediately. The same goes double for children; if they are excited to continue, bottle that. Bookmark it. I tell my boys it will always be there for them. That is a comfort.
When There Is No Transition
There is inevitably a time when I have to put the breaks on a digital experience ahead of schedule. Sometimes, I exit the situation without a clear expectation of what is next. I am totally to blame for their reaction, which is uniformly negative. Usually the boys beg for one more, or sulk, or try to change the deal.
Who can blame them? I despise having my show cut short, or my Internet go out, or have my phone run out of power or something. I will blame anyone but myself at that moment. It is times like these when my creativity is truly put to the test.
When there is no transition, that is when the really painful lessons are learned. I have felt like I am getting a crash course in Advanced Negotiation Tactics, or Field Trauma Triage, or Battle Language. Single parenting is an exercise in taking the blame, and redirecting negative energy.
So, we improvise. I have an ongoing story that I have been making up for months now. Whenever there is an unexpected transition, or I need to keep the peace, I whip out another chapter of this story from my rusty brain. “The last time we heard from our heroes,” I begin. They are immediately rapt. Usually, their expectation is that the experience of their lives will be woven into the story.
If I am forced to stagger away from the strong media of iOS, my best defense is stumbling into story land.
The Many Uses of a Cardboard Box
In the search for The Best, I often overlook the Most Cost-Effective. The other day, I took my youngest on an errand to ship a package. His eyes widened when he saw the giant cardboard boxes near the checkout line, so I dropped eight bucks on the largest one they had.
That box, and a foot of packing tape, provided hours of enjoyment.
It managed to survive almost a month at my house, in many incarnations:
- A hiding place
- A submarine
- A TIE fighter
- A crate for pretend doggies
- A dragon eggshell
- Cut two eye holes and a folding mouth hole, turn it upside down, and it was a robot
- A soccer goal
- A reading cubby
- A fort of its own
As it broke down, became deformed, and degenerated, it became:
- Part of a larger fort
- A barrier against nerf darts
- An art surface
- “Weaponized cardboard”
Finally, it became kindling. That box was like The Giving Tree, Part II: The Givening. It was a zombie box that fed brains instead of eating them. It was a great box. I will never underestimate the value of a large cardboard box again.
I just try to do stuff we have never done, that usually works.
REVIEW
Ask yourself these questions to think through the process of transition:
- Why do children always ask for one more?
- What effect is strong media having on me and my family?
- What battles am I willing to fight every day, and which ones just are not worth it?
- What is a good “go-to” activity after each digital session?
- How can I help “jog” my child’s brain out of a digital funk each time?
Next Reading
Back to the Beginning
[Update: Read a translation of this article in Estonian.]
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