My youngest child is just four years old, and he seems to have developed an overwhelming fascination with screens. His particular obsession lies with interactive displays: whether it’s playing Angry Birds on the Roku, engaging with dinosaur games on the television, or even experimenting with Snapchat. His babysitter introduced him to it, thinking it would be a fun way for him to take silly pictures with entertaining overlays. Now, he’s always attempting to get his hands on my Snapchat to create these over-the-top images filled with emojis, sloths, and sparkly text. I admit, I indulge him a bit, sharing the adorable results with friends, captioned “Jake’s snap.”
I often ask him, “Do you want to send this to Miss Lisa?” (his babysitter) or someone else. But he has no friends, no personal account, and no understanding of how to send a snap. My eight-year-old, however, would know exactly what to do. At this age, he and his friends are starting to explore social media. Platforms like Musical.ly, which allows kids to create lip-sync videos, are becoming increasingly popular among his peers. It’s a world I’m afraid to let him enter.
What if I were to give my eight-year-old a smartphone? I read about a child in a CNN article who moved to California and found herself the only kid in her fourth-grade class without one. A Nielsen report from last February revealed that 45% of children aged 10 to 12 own mobile phones, with 16% getting theirs by age eight. Eight. My son is only eight, and we’re still working on mastering shoelaces.
Most parents claim they get phones for their kids to maintain easy communication, track their locations, or simply because the kids have been persistently asking for one. My eight-year-old is already making the same requests, and I am completely overwhelmed.
I don’t worry too much about platforms like Facebook or Instagram—he probably wouldn’t find many friends there, and the text-heavy interface of Facebook wouldn’t capture his interest due to his struggles with writing. But Snapchat? That’s another story. It wouldn’t take much for one comment from a peer about his snaps to send him spiraling into self-doubt. Jake is impressionable and has a family history of anxiety and depression, which makes me deeply concerned. If any child needs extra protection, it’s him.
Then there’s Musical.ly, a platform that seems innocent enough with its lip-syncing videos. One mother described it perfectly: “Imagine you could make your child invisible. You drop your invisible kid off at a warehouse in downtown LA. You have no idea who else is inside—let’s hope it’s filled with Nobel laureates and pediatricians, not the worst parts of humanity. Your child can’t be seen, but they can see and hear everything.”
And what they encounter can be disturbing. Some videos feature very young girls lip-syncing—where are their parents? Others promote harmful behaviors such as pro-anorexia content, with titles like “Thinspirations.” One video even poses the question, “How many calories have you consumed today? I’ve had 300.” This is not the kind of influence I want for my child.
Even more alarming are the videos glorifying self-harm. One shows a young girl alternating between sad images of herself and train tracks, captioned “Goodbye” and tagged with #broken #hate. A search for “suicidal” yields countless videos where teens express their desire to end their lives. Allowing my son access to this kind of content, especially considering his susceptibility to depression, seems reckless.
As a parent, navigating this social media landscape is daunting. I haven’t even touched on the dangers of online predators, inappropriate content, and cyberbullying. The thought of my child feeling inadequate if a post doesn’t garner enough likes is disheartening. It all feels overwhelming.
My children will receive smartphones when they demonstrate the maturity to handle them—likely not until they are sixteen. Until then, they can use basic cameras or flip phones. The digital world is simply too chaotic for me. I want to keep my little ones safe for as long as possible, which means shielding them from smartphones, social media, and the lurking dangers that come with them. If that isn’t our responsibility as parents, then what is?
Summary
The author expresses deep concerns about the impact of the Internet and social media on her children, particularly her young son, who is already showing signs of screen addiction. She reflects on the dangers of platforms like Snapchat and Musical.ly, noting the potential for exposure to harmful content and bullying. The piece emphasizes a commitment to protecting her children from the digital chaos until they are mature enough to handle it.
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