Safety Is Bad for Our Health

REFLECTING ON THE ANXIOUS GENERATION

Our 18-month-old son is throwing a plastic ball over the second-floor banister to my wife below, who throws it back up. Graham goes to fetch it, panting like a pug, shrieking with laughter. He loves this game, so we play it often. 

I am not enjoying myself. 

Instead, I’m thinking about whether he might make a break for it and toss himself down the stairs. I’m thinking about the potential for splinters from the banister. I’m thinking about the pitcher nearby that he might pull down on his head. I often feel like Double-Take LeBron around Graham—half of my brain (or more) is constantly running the odds on how he might hurt himself, or break something, or both.  

What I’m saying is I’m basically LeBron.

THE KIDS ARE ALL HAIDT

By now you’ve probably heard of The Anxious Generation by Jonathan Haidt, a stunning takedown of what “phone-based childhood” is doing to us. It’s threatening to be the most influential book of the next few decades. Even if you’ve never heard of it, it’s going to reshape the world around you: social media policy, schools, playgrounds. TAG was required reading for all faculty at the school where my wife teaches. Virtually all schools (and a fleet of startups) are trying to figure out how to ban smartphone use without cutting off parental access in case of an emergency. 

I didn’t think I was the target audience or research subject for The Anxious Generation. As parents, we’re years away from Graham having a phone. As a human, my brain was (debatably) fully cooked by the advent of the like button. Turns out I was wrong, and I’m maybe already screwing up Graham with my overconcern for his safety, phone or no phone. But The Anxious Generation didn’t bum me out. Instead, it was like a diagnosis and treatment plan for my anxious parental brain, immediately improving how I relate to Graham, if only in my head. 

The book’s basic premise is this: Kids need risky play to develop – the kind of play where there’s uncertainty, challenge, and the possibility of getting hurt. But we’re not offering kids enough risky play IRL; and they’re taking on too much risk online.

The boy in the bubble.

SMOTHER MAY I?

Haidt’s claim is that “safetyism” – a belief system that puts children’s safety way before their development or autonomy –  has run roughshod over culture for the past 30+ years. One example that hit home for me is that modern playgrounds have been engineered to minimize litigation, injury, and fun. 

Personally, I can go all ‘old man yells at cloud’ when I think about the number of new playgrounds that have gotten rid of swings altogether. By not trusting kids enough to use an effing swing set, we’re raising kids who don’t trust themselves. Haidt goes further to say that risky play isn’t just fun for kids, it’s vital – like food, water, shelter or love. 

It’s so tempting to specially engineer my son’s life so that he can’t hurt himself (or smash our lamps). I didn’t want Graham to run down our sloping driveway, wipe out, scrape his knees … and hands … and face … and bawl his eyes out. (I swear!)  But that bit of risky play was probably needed for him to grow. Because if I tried to prevent him from wiping out, he would overestimate his abilities (you don’t have to check your speed if someone always catches you) or I would start to underestimate him (he can’t handle a fall, he needs me). 

I dare you to tell this face you’re coming for his swing sets.

TAKING A LEAP

Now when he’s doing something where my gut reaction is to swoop in, I’ll ask “Is this risky play?” And if he’s not about to throw himself off a cliff or drink poison, I say, “Carry on, you beautiful little hurricane,” lowering my anxiety in the process.  

But it’s not just that I’m stopping myself from intervening too early. I’m more likely to notice the good, the method to his madness. He’s not just pulling heavy books off a shelf, he’s mimicking us, stopping to open each book, pretending to read like a big boy.

Here’s what I’d like Haidt to go deeper on: How does safetyism mess up the parents? Because I’m sure living every moment like I’m trying to stop Graham from falling down a storm drain will make me a member of the anxious generation, too. But we can both opt out, if I give Graham the chance. 

Back up on our balcony, Graham did bolt right for the stairs, still shrieking with laughter. I sprinted after him, arriving just as he stopped at the top of the steps, sat, and started climbing down all by himself for the first time. 

Thankfully, I wasn't there to catch him. 

TBH he’s really good at falling.

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Post-Script: You maybe noticed that I didn’t resolve the issue about Graham breaking things. Because I can’t. He’s a toddler and it’s fine and it drives me crazy and maybe one day he’ll stop and and would someone like to buy us a new lamp?