Grandparents aren’t baffled by technology because they’re out of touch. They’re baffled because the rules of teenage life moved online, fast, and no one handed them the map. The result: two people who love each other, scrolling past the chance to connect.
He sits cross‑legged on the floor, hoodie up, phone face‑down unless it buzzes. I’m on the sofa with a cup of tea that’s gone cold twice. He shows me a clip that flies by in nine seconds and laughs without looking up. I ask about school; he shrugs and checks a group chat named with a joke I don’t get.
On the TV, a pause screen waits for us both. He clicks his tongue, then lifts the controller toward me. “Want a go?” he asks, like it’s obvious. I take it and press the wrong button. He rolls his eyes, then scoots closer, patient for once. The room changes. Something is opening.
Then he does something unexpected.
Why it feels like a chasm (when it’s mostly a gap)
Teenagers aren’t living in a different reality. They’re just moving at a different speed. To them, the phone isn’t a gadget; it’s the hallway where friends meet, joke, fall out, patch up. What looks like distance from your end often feels like protection from theirs. Privacy matters when you’re figuring yourself out, and phones make it easy to hide in plain sight.
In one family in Manchester, Nana June started watching “shorts” with her grandson after Sunday lunch. The first week, it was a jumble of football tricks and cooking hacks. By week three, she knew the names behind the nicknames, which friend posted what, and why a meme about a cat with sunglasses made him gasp. According to Ofcom’s latest snapshot, almost all UK teens use messaging apps daily. Family chat often sits beside their tightest group threads. The overlap is there, if you stand in it.
The logic is simple: teens use digital spaces to test voice and belonging. Algorithms feed them quick hits of identity. TV schedules used to do that for us; now the feed does—on demand, round the clock. When grandparents approach this world like a language, not a threat, the conversation changes. Your role shifts from watcher to witness. Curiosity beats competence, every time.
Practical bridges you can build this week
Start with a small ritual. Pick one block of ten minutes after school or on a weekend and ask, “Show me three things you liked today.” Don’t touch the phone; lean in. Ask what they enjoy about each clip or game, not what you think about it. Then suggest a swap: you show them one thing you loved at their age. Keep it light. **Small screens, big rituals.** That’s the bridge.
Common traps? Turning a chat into a lecture. Demanding full access in exchange for time. Narrating their habits like a court transcript. We’ve all had that moment when we think we’re guiding and realise we’re scolding. Try open prompts: “What makes this creator good?” or “What’s annoying about this game?” And ask for their help. “Can you help me tidy my photos?” is an easy on‑ramp to conversations about privacy and backups. Let’s be honest: nobody does that every day.
Make one shared project. Digitise a shoebox of photos together using a scanning app, then create a private album for the family. You handle the stories and names; they handle the tags and titles. **Ask to be shown, not told.** That phrase matters. It signals respect, which teens can smell a mile off.
“When my gran stopped asking why I’m on my phone and started asking what I’m looking for, I stopped hiding it,” a 15‑year‑old in Leeds told me. “It’s less weird now.”
- Try a “two‑question rule”: What do you like about it? What would you change?
- Make a joint playlist for walks or drives—one pick each, no vetoes.
- Set screen‑free micro‑moments: first five minutes of a visit, last five before bed.
- Swap skills: you teach them a life trick; they teach you an app trick.
- Keep safety chats short and regular, not a single Big Talk.
Keep the door open, not the pressure on
Connection grows when it’s an exchange, not an inspection. Invite them to be the expert. Ask them how to spot a “dupe” account, how to change privacy settings, which creators make them feel good—and which don’t. Share one time tech helped you feel close to someone, or one time it made you feel left out. **Progress over perfection.** *Teach me like I’m new to this,* you might say, and mean it. The thread you’re stitching isn’t digital. It’s trust.
| Key points | Details | Interest for reader |
|---|---|---|
| Ritual over rules | Ten‑minute daily or weekly “show and swap” | Easy habit that builds closeness without lectures |
| Make a shared project | Digitise photos, build a private album, co‑tag | Turns tech into family memory work |
| Ask smarter questions | “What do you like?” “What would you change?” | Unlocks stories instead of shutting doors |
FAQ :
- How do I start a conversation about their online world without prying?Begin with curiosity, not critique. “Show me three things you liked today” is low pressure and specific.
- What if I don’t understand the apps they use?Let them be the tutor. Ask them to walk you through one feature and what it’s for, then thank them like a teacher.
- Is it okay to set boundaries around phones at family time?Yes—set small, consistent moments, like the first five minutes phone‑free, and apply the same rule to yourself.
- How can I talk about online safety without scaring them off?Keep it short and regular. Ask what they already do to stay safe, then add one tip and move on.
- What if my grandchild just isn’t interested?Switch the venue. Walk, bake, or game side‑by‑side and try again. Sometimes the device isn’t the doorway—the moment is.
Loved the “show and swap” ritual—simple and human. I tried a 10‑minute scroll‑along with my 14‑year‑old and he actually opened up about a creator he admires. “Progress over perfection” is going to be a favourite mantra here.
Isn’t this just normalising more screentime? Where do you draw the line between curiosity and enabling? I’d like clearer guidance on boundries for both sides, not just “micro‑moments”. What’s the red line when jokes or DMs get iffy?