Why Kids Shouldn't Have Free Access to Drug-Laced Candy
We have a bigger problem than social media bans
Let me set a scene for you.
It’s Davey’s ninth birthday party. Things are going well so far. Davey loved his parent’s unconventional takes on classic party games, including “Bobbing for Bell Peppers,” “Pin the Eyes on the Bush Baby” and, of course, “Musical Exercise Balls.” He wasn’t even that upset when his friend James had to be rushed to the hospital after a hasty bounce sent him careening into the corner of a bar stool.
Just as Davey opens his last present, he hears the sound of a truck backing up.
“Look out the window, son!” Dad says.
When he does, Davey sees a semi-truck unloading a massive rectangular metal container that takes up most of their front yard, including the spot where his 18-speed once existed in three dimensions. The words “Mediterranean Shipping Company” appear in block letters on one side.
“Whoa!” Davey says, shuddering with either terror or excitement. “Wh-what is it?”
Davey’s parents take their son out to the container, where Dad produces a skeleton key from his back pocket and inserts it into a medieval-looking padlock. As it clicks, the massive door swings open with a substratal groan. As Davey’s eyes adjust to the darkness of the crate, his eyes balloon to the size of European cantaloupes.
Gummy Bears. Hundreds of bears. Thousands of bears. Millions and millions and millions of bears!
“Wow! Thanks so much Mom and Dad!” Davey says. “How many can I have? And why does it smell like nail polish in here?”
“As many as you like, dear,” Mom says. “And what you’re smelling is the best part: every gummy bear has been glazed with food grade PCP! Which means the more you eat, the more you’ll want to eat! And the more big and strong you’ll grow.”
Davey didn’t know what PCP was. All he knew was that after the first handful of gummy bears, his parent’s arms had disappeared into their torsos and what looked like a trail of light was leading out of the shipping container towards a supersized, rainbow-colored bush baby brandishing a giant pink toothbrush.
Happy Birthday Davey!
“We are failing our children. Enough is enough. Our parents cannot face these challenges alone and the safety of children cannot be an afterthought.”
- Marc Miller
It’s hard to know how we managed before the days of Canadian Identity and Culture Ministers. Dark indeed were the days when children had to navigate the road towards adulthood without the heavily-moisturized wizard hands of Marc Miller and his ilk, guiding them on the narrow path between supervillain and hermetic poetry consultant. Not to worry though, Marc is here now. Here to remind us that we’re failing our children.
The thing is — and I can’t believe I’m saying this — he’s not wrong.
Why there’s no such thing as “safe” internet
I get it.
It’s hard to keep a straight face when a guy like Marc Miller — chief architect of such multifaceted disasters as the International Student Program — starts prying into other people’s failures. Looking around at what Canada has become, it’s also clear that the last vestiges of identity and culture he’s supposed to be preserving are actively being herded towards a cliff edge. Not to mention that any government figure who starts finding whimsical connections between plural possessive pronouns and other people’s children should get a free ankle monitor and a “Mark and Avoid” t-shirt.
None of this rescues us from the main problem, however, which is the fact that we’re even having this conversation in the first place. Recall, if you will, what we’re trying to do: “make it safer” for kids to just — wander the corridors of the internet. Feel free to read that again. This is like trying to make it safer for kids to wander through an anti-tank minefield. It’s the wrong conversation. The conversation we should be having is, “Why are kids being allowed to wander through minefields at all?”
The problem is bigger than social media. It’s bigger than traffickers or lewd content. The problem is that a disturbing number of kids now carry the means to instantly gratify every passing impulse … in their pockets. It’s like giving them a shipping container full of drug-laced candy and telling them to “stay safe and have fun.”
The fundamental question isn’t what social media companies ought to be doing to keep kids safe. That’s like asking what drug lords ought to be doing to keep their clients safe. We’re not dealing with moral entities here. They don’t work within “oughts.” Their goal is business and, frankly, keeping kids safe just isn’t good for that.
The “oughts,” then, roll down. Down, down, down, to where nobody wants them to stop: parents. If the police find a six-year old roaming around outside Shady Shankman’s Pleasure Palace at two in the morning, guess whose door they’re going to be knocking on? Not the mayor’s; not the neighbor’s; not even Shady Shankman’s. And parents really need to stop fooling themselves here. Even among the vast quantities available, there aren’t enough rules, legislation, or firewalls in the world that could make smartphones “safe” for kids — again, because their greatest danger is existential, not material.
Thus, and much to everyone’s surprise, the entire prospect of a “Digital Safety Commission” proves to be yet one more government boondoggle.
A clear and present responsibility
There’s an epidemic of confusion among parents as to the nature and extent of their responsibilities. Thankfully, the Scriptures chart a clear path out of the weeds, “Direct your children onto the right path, and when they are older, they will not leave it, Prov. 22:6.” Here it is. A parent’s responsibility is to set their children on the right path, training them towards wisdom and away from folly.
And in case the right path wasn’t clear, it’s the one without the rabid wolves and poisonous gases seeping out of the ground. It’s the one that leads away from depression, the withering of attention spans, the dislocation and isolation from community, the demented delight in brainrot, the exposure to innumerable sexual perversions, the marxist and neo-nazi propaganda, and a hundred other soul-destroying things.
The sad fact is that for many parents of my generation, spending several hours a day checking, scrolling, watching, or messaging has become normalized. It has become expected. It has become part of modern life.
But that “the way things are” weighs more heavily than “the way things ought to be” is an indictment on us. At the end of the day, our children are not actually our own; they are God’s. And not only will every person someday “receive what is due for what he has done,” but also for what he has done with the responsibilities he was given. Denying them may make us feel better, but it doesn’t absolve us.
And really, what more could we want for our kids than to breathe the free air? To help them lay aside every weight so they can give themselves to the race yet before them? As parents we all stumble in many ways.
May drowning our kids in poison candy not be one of them.