My fierce Penguin,
If someone had told me that the tiniest rectangle in our home would cause the biggest ripples in our peaceful life, I’d have probably laughed. And yet, here we are. Yes, that little smart phone.
You were almost entirely screen-free till you turned four.
Remember those days? Books, blocks, bugs, and that red scooter. Then school began. And then… the pandemic.
Suddenly, screens weren’t distractions anymore. They became classrooms, playgrounds, and social spaces. At first, you handled it with surprising maturity. Phones were for calling grandmas, schoolwork, and the occasional “Hi” to cousins.
But one day, someone handed you a mobile game. That was it. Suddenly, a new digital world cracked open.
It started small. Five minutes. “Maa, just five more?” You became a master negotiator and I, a very, very tired referee. There were times I gave in, especially on work-heavy days when I was buried in deadlines, and your doting grandparents were busy showering you with snacks and affection.
Screen time rules were written, broken, rewritten, and sometimes abandoned in sheer frustration.
Then came the bigger challenges: Roblox, Minecraft, YouTube algorithms, and your growing curiosity about the things your friends were doing online.
I tried to keep up. Hard. Sometimes by removing the temptation altogether (remember when the TV “accidentally” broke and I just let it stay that way?).
Honestly, I learned my lesson and prefer TV to mobile games. At least there’s a history log I can keep an eye on.
But my no-phone, no-games bubble started leaking the moment your curriculum asked you to identify animated characters I didn’t even recognize. He-Man looked like he’d joined a gym and got a glow-up.
And there you were, straddling two worlds, mine, where phones were for talking and reading news, and yours, where a device can be a game room, a stage, and a school.
Did you feel left out when I said no to the phone or apps?
I think you did. And I felt guilty about it too.
But I still wanted to protect you a little longer. Until you were ready to tell right from wrong, or even better, from now.
That’s when our talks started shifting from the what to the why.
Why I worried about what you watched, who you chatted with, and what games you played.
Why even taking a screenshot of someone without asking could be unfair. Teaching you about digital consent was far more complicated than teaching you to say “no” when someone squeezed your cheeks (and oh, how you hated that!).
You once asked me, “Maa, you never took my permission before uploading my baby photos online, right?” And that question stayed with me. It made me pause and archive whatever I could, because you were right. I had shared without asking. Not out of malice, but because I thought it was okay.
Cute faces + proud mom = Insta-worthy, right?
But consent matters—offline and online.
And it’s not just about privacy. It’s about safety, respect, emotional preparedness. Sharing a photo, a post, a message—it all counts. There are people out there who misuse images, twist conversations, and ignore boundaries.
So yes, I nag, question, and worry.
But only because I want you to step into this digital world with awareness, confidence, and kindness.
We’re both figuring this out. I as a digital-age parent, and you as a curious, compassionate kid growing up in it.
I still want you to watch dinosaurs stomp across the screen a hundred times over, playing that Roblox thing. But more than that, I want you to understand, tech is a tool, not a trap. And boundaries aren’t to limit you, but to help you choose better.
Always by your side (even if I check your search history sometimes),
Love,
Maa
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