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Hello Reader! One of my favorite parts of recording Infinite Halls is discovering that the conversation I thought I was having isn't actually the conversation at all. This week, I sit down with my dear friend Candace. Going in, I thought we'd spend our time talking about reading versus screens. Physical books versus Kindles. Audiobooks versus paperbacks. Maybe even whether screens are replacing reading altogether. Instead, we spent an hour talking about values. Candace grew up in Trinidad and Tobago in a family with six children. Both of her parents were educators. Television wasn't banned, but it certainly wasn't the center of family life. Reading was. At one point she said something so simple that I almost missed it. Reading wasn't something they were forced to do. It was just... what their family did. As parents, we spend so much energy thinking about what to limit. How much screen time? How much YouTube? How much gaming? How much social media? Those are important questions. But Candace quietly reminded me of another one. What are we naturally drawing our children toward? Not because we tell them to. Because they see us living it. I started thinking about my own family. What would my kids say is simply "what our family does?" Would they say we value curiosity? Conversation? Adventure? Faith? Books? Or would they mostly remember the rules? One of the things I love about Candace is that she isn't nostalgic for some imagined perfect childhood. She embraces technology. Her daughters both have Kindles. One listens to audiobooks while doing other things. Another still insists on packing physical books everywhere she goes. They even have the occasional family standoff over sneaking a Kindle into bed after lights out. (As a parent, I had to laugh when Candace told me her daughter handed over the Kindle cover at bedtime while secretly keeping the Kindle itself under her pillow. That's some impressive problem-solving.) But what struck me wasn't the technology. It was how little the technology had changed the family's identity. They're still readers. They're still curious. They're still talking about ideas together. The format changed. The value didn't. I think that's an important distinction. Sometimes our conversations about technology become so focused on the tool that we forget to ask what the tool is serving. A Kindle is a screen. So is an iPad. So is the phone I'm writing this newsletter on. Yet we instinctively know they aren't all being used in the same way. The more I work in this space, the less interested I become in labeling technologies as "good" or "bad." I'm becoming much more interested in the culture that surrounds them. What values are already present in the family? What habits are children absorbing without anyone explicitly teaching them? Because whether we're talking about books, AI, social media, or whatever comes next, I suspect those deeper values will matter far more than the platform itself. That feels especially relevant right now. Our children are growing up in a world where information has never been more accessible. AI can summarize books, answer homework questions, and generate essays in seconds. But curiosity can't be automated. Neither can a love of learning. Those are cultivated over years, often quietly, through the ordinary rhythms of family life. Maybe that's why this conversation felt so hopeful to me. It wasn't about resisting change. Candace's family has embraced Kindles, audiobooks, and podcasts. It was about realizing that new technologies don't have to erase old values. Sometimes they simply give those values a new way to flourish. If you'd like to listen to my conversation with Candace, you can find Raised on Books, Reframed by Screens here:
If you know a school leader or educator wrestling with these questions, I'd especially love for you to pass this along. Peace, Love, and Hairgrease, Arcadia |
Helping families create healthier relationship with technology through research, storytelling, and practical strategies for parenting in the digital age.
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