The Chubby iPad Kids at Disney World

"What kind of world are we living in when you take your kid to Disney World—and he’d rather stare at a screen?”

Last week I had the joy of experiencing Disney World with a crew of some of my favorite people (photo below). The day was everything the commercials promise: laughter, nostalgia, and the kind of childlike wonder that makes even a logically minded adult like me tear up during the fireworks.

What the ads do not show, however, are the toddlers and kids who weren’t overjoyed to meet Elsa or high-five Goofy—but sat slumped in their strollers, faces lit not by magic, but by iPads.

In one moment, I spotted a chubby four-year-old in his stroller, face three inches from a twelve-inch screen, while his dad ordered him an ice cream.

My friend, who has a young daughter, saw it too. He turned to me with wide, almost sad eyes and said, “What kind of world are we living in when you take your kid to Disney World—and he’d rather stare at a screen?”

I could write a book on the expansive damaging effects screens have on children (many already have—like Dr. Nicholas Kardaras’ Glow Kids). But the point of my heart right now isn’t to cite research papers; it’s to say, as plainly as possible, to parents: get a grip.

I urge you to listen to your common sense when you watch your kid stare at a screen with empty eyes—wondering if she’s okay, or telling yourself this is normal because other families do it.

I urge you to notice your child’s behavior after an hour of Paw Patrol. Is he eager to play catch or obedient to help mom set the dinner table—or is he a whiny brat?

I urge you to stop pretending that screens are simply a pacifier for your kids when, in reality, they’re a pacifier for you—numbing the call to be an intentional parent.

Putting Sadie in front of Super Kitties while you make dinner is convenient. Letting Calvin watch kids’ YouTube on a road trip keeps him quiet.

But removing your pre-kindergarten children from reality and dropping them into a sensory-overloaded universe is tying an albatross around their development, language acquisition, creativity, obedience, and joy—for the world they actually live in, and, as it turns out, even for what used to be the magical Disney World.

I urge you to remember your own childhood.

I urge you to consider human history.

I dare you to get upset at me for indicting your parenting. I look forward to your defense of screen time.