How to lead your kids in a world designed to hijack their attention
You used to just compete with cartoons. Now you’re up against billion-dollar tech engineered to know your kid better than you do. And not just know them, but outpace, outlearn, and out-influence you in real time.
Here’s a scene that plays out in my house regularly: Saturday morning, kids watching TV, completely absorbed. I need them for something—doesn’t matter what. “Hey guys, can you come help me?” Nothing. “Kids!” Still nothing. They’re not ignoring me; they’re in what I call the trance state. But then I’ll say, “Who wants a piece of cake?” and suddenly all four of them snap to attention: “I do! I do!”
That’s when I know they can hear me. They were always listening. Their brains were just hijacked by something more compelling than dad’s voice.
You’re not being ignored. You’re being out-coded.
The Stakes: Why This Isn’t Just About Screen Time
We’re living in the attention economy, and our kids are the product. Every device, app, and platform is built with one goal: steal time, focus, and emotional connection. Teams of neuroscientists and behavioral psychologists work around the clock to make these experiences as irresistible as possible.
But this isn’t only about screen time. It’s about presence, values, and leadership. It’s about authority in your child’s life when every input is competing for it. When my 13-year-old discovered she could access YouTube through our Peloton bike (yes, really), I realized we’re not just managing devices. We’re up against an ecosystem designed to bypass parental influence entirely.
The danger isn’t just too much tech. It’s letting someone else shape your child’s worldview when that someone doesn’t love them.
Why Rules Alone Won’t Save You
I’ll be honest: we’re pretty strict about screen time in our house. Our kids get screens for homework, Saturday and Sunday morning TV, and iPads on long trips. That’s it. Some people think we’re too restrictive. Others think we’re too lenient. I genuinely don’t know if we’re doing it right.
But here’s what I’ve learned: screen time limits without screen time replacements is like banning junk food without stocking the fridge. Enforcement without leadership. Kids don’t need more restrictions. They need alternatives, modeling, and guidance.
Case in point: my oldest daughter started school and didn’t really understand how to use a computer mouse. While other parents might have panicked, I just thought, “Well, at least I know she hasn’t been secretly gaming.” But it also made me realize that our approach, while protecting her from some things, might be leaving gaps in others.
The point isn’t perfect rules. It’s thoughtful engagement.
From Enforcer to Guide: Reframing Our Role
I used to bring my phone with me when putting the kids to bed. You know the drill: lying there waiting for them to fall asleep, mindlessly scrolling social media. But I noticed that when they’d start asking me questions (which is often when the best conversations happen), I was distracted, half-listening, still thinking about whatever I’d just seen on my screen.
So I stopped bringing the phone. Now I bring a book. And here’s the surprising part: when they start talking, it’s easier to put the book down and engage. Reading doesn’t hijack my attention the way my phone did.
If I’m scrolling while telling them to stop scrolling, I’ve already lost.
The goal isn’t to win the tech war. It’s to build trust, curiosity, and presence. Stop trying to be the digital sheriff. Start asking yourself: Am I offering something more compelling than the algorithm?
Three Ways to Reclaim the Narrative
1. Replace, Don’t Just Restrict
Create environments and experiences that compete with digital dopamine. This is harder than it sounds because algorithms are designed to feel better than real life, at least at first.
When we turn off the TV on Saturday mornings, there’s always resistance. My kids struggle to transition, especially my 13-year-old, if we don’t have something specific planned. But within ten minutes, they’re playing, creating, and engaging with each other in ways that never happen when screens are available.
Swimming pools compete with screens. Trampoline parks compete with screens. Backyard catch competes with screens. The key is doing this consistently, not just when guilt kicks in.
Try this: Institute a weekly Analog Adventure Hour. No tech. No plans. Just presence. See what emerges.
2. Narrate the Why
Let them in on what’s happening. We’ve talked with our kids about how screens can be addictive, but I realize I should be more specific about why. These apps are engineered to override natural attention limits, the same way junk food is engineered to override fullness.
“These apps are designed to keep you hooked. I want you to be in control, not them.”
When my daughter figured out how to use my old disconnected phone to watch YouTube, or when she discovered the Peloton loophole, part of me was actually impressed by her resourcefulness. But it also opened up a conversation: What are you looking for that you’re not getting elsewhere?
Model digital literacy, not just digital limits. Show them how you make tech decisions. Why you put your phone in another room. How you decide what’s worth your attention.
3. Invite, Don’t Force
“Put your phone down” is enforcement. “Want to help me build something weird?” is invitation.
Bring them into rituals: cooking, projects, reading, stargazing. The goal isn’t to eliminate all digital engagement. It’s to make sure it’s not the only thing lighting up their brain.
Sometimes I worry our strict approach might backfire. I remember friends in high school whose parents were so restrictive that they went wild in college once the rules disappeared. But my hope is that by limiting screens now, they’re learning how to self-entertain, how to find fulfillment in relationships and real-world experiences, how to be present with their own thoughts.
I don’t know if our strategy is perfect. But it’s intentional. And that counts for something.
You Can’t Out-Code the Algorithm—But You Can Out-Human It
Here’s what algorithms can’t replicate: they’re optimized for engagement, not connection. They can capture attention, but they can’t offer safety, identity, or purpose. They can make your kid laugh, but they can’t make your kid feel known.
You get to offer something deeper. When your child is struggling with a friend, the algorithm distracts them with funny videos. You help them process hurt, learn empathy, develop resilience. When they’re curious, the algorithm gives them bite-sized answers. You teach them how to think through big questions, how to explore ideas, how to stay curious without getting lost.
The goal isn’t to out-tech the tech. It’s to offer something the algorithm never can: real, rooted, relational love.
What I want my kids to know: life is wonderful. But if you’re not careful, it scrolls by. The most important things in life are the people in it. And it’s way too easy to miss them.
The algorithm doesn’t care if your kids miss the slow satisfaction of learning something difficult. Or the irreplaceable experience of being fully present with someone who loves them. But you do. That’s your edge.
The Bottom Line
You won’t out-dad the algorithm with rules alone. But you can lead with presence, curiosity, and connection. The algorithm is optimized for their attention. You’re here for their soul.
This doesn’t mean being perfect. It means being intentional. It means admitting when you don’t know if you’re doing it right, but doing it thoughtfully anyway. It means recognizing that your kids are growing up in a world you didn’t grow up in, and that requires new kinds of wisdom.
I still question our approach. Are we overthinking it? Worrying too much about things that might not matter? But then I see my kids inventing games, telling stories, and being fully present with each other in ways that feel increasingly rare.
And I think: maybe we’re onto something.
Try this: Give yourself and your kids one 15-minute block today with no tech. Just connection. No agenda. No scrolling. Just see what happens.
The algorithm will wait.
Your kids won’t be kids forever.
The Focused Fool Newsletter – Growing As Men. Leading As Fathers.
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