I recently read an article exploring the word cringe, which is one of those words my kids probably understand more naturally than I do. The article described a generation that has grown up under constant observation, with cameras, social media, screenshots, comments, and the possibility that an awkward moment might travel far beyond the room where it happened. Teenagers talked about hesitating to try things or express themselves because they feared being labeled cringe, while others argued that embracing embarrassment was part of being human. That caught my attention because childhood and adolescence have always required experimentation, but it feels different when an audience is waiting to judge the attempt. Trying something new once meant you might embarrass yourself in front of a few people who would eventually forget. Today, though, a kid can feel as though one awkward moment might become part of an online identity they did not choose.

I recently read reporting on how much time boys and young men spend gaming, including data suggesting that average gaming time among males ages 15 to 24 has more than doubled over roughly the last decade and a half. The teenagers interviewed didn't describe gaming only in negative terms; many said it helped them connect with friends and escape some of the stress they were carrying. Others acknowledged that gaming had become addictive and displaced activities they knew were valuable. That complexity matters because parents can make mistakes if they assume the game itself explains everything. Gaming may be where a child experiences real competence, where problems make sense, where effort gets rewarded, and where progress is clearly visible. If the rest of life feels confusing or discouraging, the game can feel unusually safe. Before we ask how quickly to remove it, we should probably ask what the child is getting there that feels harder to find elsewhere.

I recently read an article arguing that children's ability to focus is under something close to a full frontal assault, and the language did not feel especially dramatic once I started thinking about the environment our kids inhabit. They move between notifications, streaming services, games, short videos, endless scrolling, music, messages, and devices designed to keep something else available. The concern is bigger than whether a kid can sit still for math class because sustained focus is required for almost anything of lasting value. Reading a difficult book requires it, learning an instrument requires it, building something requires it, developing a friendship requires it, and understanding complex ideas requires staying with them after the novelty wears off. The academic consequences matter, but falling test scores may be one symptom of a larger formation problem rather than the entire problem itself. If children are continually trained to move toward whatever is newer, easier, louder, or more entertaining, then school is eventually competing with an entire attention economy. Parents therefore need to think about focus not merely as a classroom skill but as one of the capacities through which a child learns to live faithfully.