When confronted with her daughter’s smartphone request, Kat Covell devised a surprising analog solution to meet her needs.
My daughter was 7 when she asked for an iPhone. “Or an Apple Watch. Or an iPad!” she added helpfully. I’m not sure what I said, but I know my response was uncharitable. Certainly, it was laced with frustration at the grip Smartphones hold over our adult lives and guilt around her current screen-time intake. Whatever my initial response, two things were true: she wasn’t getting an iPhone, and she wasn’t happy about it.
But once I overcame my reactivity, I considered her request further. Was it rooted in an earnest desire for autonomy and competence? As it was, if she wanted to chat with a friend or scheme with Grandma, she needed me – and my smartphone. My smartphone was a bottleneck that also prevented her from building the skills to initiate and sustain her own conversations. More broadly, she couldn’t see to her own needs.
So I moved our cordless landline phone into her room. We gave the number to friends and family and made a handwritten list of numbers she could call, just like the one I grew up with.
It’s been a huge win. Her grandparents love to call and chat, and it’s wonderful to hear little bits of loud, enthusiastic conversation with friends while she crafting. She has set up her own playdates and solicited donations for a school fundraiser while home sick. She thrills anytime it rings. Even better, a landline doesn’t require her to be “camera-ready” in a tidy “Zoom Room,” nor does it offer 20 other distractions during the call. It’s just a tool for conversation.