From Bikes to Screens: What They’re Growing Up With

I think it was Sam Bidleman, my 8th-grade Computer Science teacher (and one of the most impactful educators I’ve ever known), who first introduced me to Moore’s Law: the idea that the number of transistors on a microchip doubles roughly every two years, effectively doubling computing power.

Recently, I came across an Axios article quoting Dario Amodei, CEO of Anthropic, who warns that AI could eliminate up to 50% of entry-level white-collar jobs within the next 1 to 5 years. That statistic stopped me in my tracks. It felt like an acceleration even Gordon Moore might not have imagined.

And it left me wondering: What does that mean for my sons, one of whom, hopefully, will head off to college in just over a year? But rather than spiraling into worry about the future of work, my thoughts took a different turn.

Before phones, before pressure, just Rocco on his bike, discovering what he could do.

That article, combined with Jonathan Haidt’s The Anxious Generation, helped me put words to what I’ve long felt about how my boys’ childhoods have unfolded.

Haidt argues that over the past few decades, we’ve traded a play-based, exploratory childhood for a screen-based, adult-monitored one, and that shift has come at a real cost.

For my generation, childhood meant roaming the neighborhood on bikes, showing up at the park for pickup games (often switching between soccer, football, and street hockey all in the same day), resolving our own conflicts, and building independence through hands-on experiences.

My boys are very active. They spend time at the gym, at the soccer fields, on the ski slope, and the golf course. They work hard, pursue goals, and show up with determination and grit. However, like most of their generation, much of their social life still unfolds on screens, in group chats, on highlight reels, and through an endless number of notifications dinging on their phones.

In its simplest form, it's still a connection, but it’s also a performance — a constant stream of comparison, where every moment can be shared, judged, and measured. And the research is hard to ignore: this always-on digital environment is creating record levels of anxiety, depression, and loneliness.

Before the likes and the streaks, just brothers, safe, close, and fast asleep. A quiet connection, the kind that doesn’t need to be shared to be real.

Sarah and I are doing our best to help them stay grounded. We strive to create a space for genuine connection while respecting the digital spaces where many of their friendships live.

Still, I often catch myself wondering about the deeper impact of it all. Not just where they’ll land in life, but how grounded they’ll feel when they get there; If they’ll know they’re enough without the Snap streaks, Instagram likes, or the perfectly filtered highlight reels.

And as I reflect on my own boys, I can’t help but think of the countless families I’ve met through my years of coaching. 

There’s a growing fear of letting our kids struggle. Far too often, I’ve seen parents rush in to solve every problem, manage every moment, and shield their kids from even the most minor disappointments.

The irony is, in trying to protect them, we risk depriving them of the very experiences that build resilience.

Let’s be clear, the pressures kids face today are different than what I remember growing up (even with a father I could never seem to please).

Our kids are growing up in a world where every stumble, every awkward phase, every

No screens. No soundtrack. Just two brothers walking toward the water. A gentle reminder that, even in a digital world, it's the real moments that matter most.

imperfect moment has the potential to be shared and judged by friends, peers, and even strangers online.

Like most parents, Sarah and I’ve faced plenty of crossroads, moments where we’ve had to decide: do we step in, or do we let them navigate it on their own? And not surprisingly, we haven’t always gotten it right.

But if there’s one thing we keep coming back to, it’s this: accountability matters. And the truth is, it’s hard to own your mistakes, especially when it feels as though the world is watching.

The fact is, life isn’t perfect. It’s not supposed to be.

If I want my boys to know anything, it’s that real growth comes from embracing failure, not avoiding it. It’s not the mistakes that define you; it’s how you show up after, how you own it, how you keep going.

And I hope that’s the lesson they hold onto, not that they have to get it right every time, but that they’ll have the courage to keep going no matter who’s watching.

No filters, no feeds, just us, the snow, and a shared love for adventure.

The world is changing faster than any of us can fully grasp. Screens shape more of their lives than I’d like; their future opportunities are uncertain. And the pressure to perform on the field, in the classroom, or life in general, feels relentless.

But what matters most hasn’t changed.

It’s not about perfect choices or flawless behavior. It’s about how they respond when things go sideways, how they take accountability, bounce back, and stay grounded in who they are.

From bikes to screens, so much of the world has shifted. As much as I wish I could slow it down, I know I can’t. In the face of that change, all I can do is hope my boys carry a kind of courage, not defined by filtered moments, but by real ones, built through resilience, accountability, and the strength to grow from their mistakes.