It was the start of the sunny summer holidays, and I was excited to take my seven-year-old son, Felix, to a free activity day at a football club .
The association had kindly treated local children to a day of fitness classes, lunch and a tour of the stadium. ‘What’s not to love?’, I thought to myself as we walked in.
Felix had woken up that morning ecstatic, and when walking in, he immediately began excitedly chattering to children close by. It was contagious; walking through the stadium I was impressed, myself.
But what I saw next floored me.
Though many of the children were elated to be running around, whooping and screaming, a few seemed to be simply going through the motions.
Then, several hours later, a group of parents and children traipsed in mid-class, incredibly late. Without saying a word, they slumped in chairs looking stony-faced.
There was no ‘hello’ or ‘sorry’; not even any explanations for their tardiness.
I was puzzled – why didn’t anyone seem to appreciate what a nice opportunity this was?
Some of these kids seemed like they didn’t know the basics when staff were talking to them, no smile, nod or even a yes or no.
It looked rude, as though they couldn’t be bothered to engage, even with all the flurry of fun going on; and the blank stares on the children’s faces were unnerving.
In the past couple of weeks, the Gen Z stare has gone viral. The basis is that Gen Z’ers give vacant looks to peers and older people, particularly in social settings.
This dissociation could occur in class, at work, eating out and even around other family members. Gen Z’ers put it down to screens, the pandemic and that they feel they don’t owe anybody a conversation, particularly if they say something they disagree with.
I think the Gen Z stare is sad, but I’m more worried about the ‘Gen Alpha stare’ (the generation immediately after Gen Z) – which is often coupled with rudeness, like not saying ‘thank you’ or ‘sorry’ when needed – and what it’s doing to our communication with, and between, our kids.
At a recent event at a museum, Felix, tried to converse with a boy of similar age who was sitting beside him. They had to draw pictures of their favourite patterns that they had seen around the museum, but anything my son said to his young neighbour was met by the dreaded blank stare.
At the beach this summer, one of the most exhilarating places for a child, I noticed a couple of kids hunched over their parents’ iPhones, preferring the online world to the beauty of the seaside around them.
At the football club event, I hoped the children were perhaps shy – but on the lunch break, I held the door open for a parent and a seven-year-old, and I was shocked when they didn’t even look up or say thank you. Instead, they shuffled through without a second glance, not even speaking to each other.
Of course, many little ones were isolated during the pandemic. One survey found that 47% of parents said their child’s social and emotional skills became worse during the first year of Covid.
But can it all be blamed on the pandemic?
As many as 76% of five to seven-year-olds now use a tablet, while 20% of three to four-year-olds own a smartphone. This, surely, must be impacting their communication skills.
But it’s not just the children themselves. The average adult spends three hours and 21 minutes a day on their smartphone, and Princess Kate backed a study encouraging parents to interact with their children more than their screens.
The very fact that this study was necessary speaks for itself.
The study says that children seeing their parents buried in a phone can harm their communication skills.
They recommend fully engaged eye-to-eye contact, which they cite as helping children to focus their thoughts and nurture future relationships.
Safe to say, adults have their part to play – which is why I always make sure I do not scroll continuously in front of my son.
I always make an effort to chat with locals and neighbours when I’m out with Felix, even if it’s sometimes met with suspicion and aloofness.
I also don’t allow unfettered screentime for my son, and let him watch safe TV programmes and documentaries, instead of the mindless gunk on YouTube.
But it’s not just about phones. I grew up in the countryside where everyone chatted with their neighbours, helped each other out and loved a good old chinwag by the garden fence.
And, although I live in central London now, I try to adopt the same process.
I always make an effort to chat with locals and neighbours when I’m out with Felix, even if it’s sometimes met with suspicion and aloofness.
But we have also made some wonderful friends this way. I think building relationships over a long period also hones trust, making him feel secure and positive within his community.
I’ll also ask Felix to request things from the waiter if we’re out. I want to teach him not to be scared of others or to ask questions. It’s good for children to know they can be outspoken and ask others what they need.
I fear that without these basic human interactions, our children will become a world of lonely grown-ups.
We’ve all got our part to play if we want to prevent this depressing future for our young people.
While the pandemic and iPads have played a significant role, we now need to look to each other to help children communicate confidently and effectively.
It’s time for parents to tackle senseless, stony-faced staring, engaging their little ones as much as possible with free play and creativity.
I also think there’s nothing wrong with calling them out when they disengage – or we risk raising a generation of socially and emotionally lost ones.
After all, it costs nothing to be polite!
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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