The Superpower of Paying Attention: A Note to Parents with Their Heads Down

There’s a superpower most parents don’t realize they’re giving up.

It’s not money, or energy, or sleep (though yes, we give up those too). It’s presence. And more often than not, it’s sacrificed at the altar of a glowing screen.

This past Thursday, I sat at my daughter’s gymnastics class and took a mental note: 28 parents in the room, including myself. Only five of us weren’t holding a phone. That’s 23 out of 28—heads down, eyes glazed, thumbs scrolling, attention elsewhere.

I get it. Life is demanding. At 7 p.m. on a weeknight, maybe a work emergency pops up. Maybe you have to take a call or fire off a text. But every time? For an entire 60 minutes? If you bring your child to practice twice a week for 10 years and you’re on your phone the entire time, you’ve essentially never watched them practice. You were physically there but mentally nowhere. And before you know it, that stage of their life is gone. Over. Just like that.

And that’s not parenting. That’s just proximity.

This isn’t about being perfect. Lord knows none of us are. We all stumble, we all fall short. But the baseline expectation shouldn’t be distraction. The norm shouldn’t be detachment. We’ve gotten so used to tuning out that we’ve forgotten how unnatural—and frankly, unacceptable—that behavior should feel when your kid is right there in front of you. It’s become so normalized that you almost feel like the weirdo when you’re actually paying attention.

And if you’ve ever looked up from your phone and noticed your child looking back, wondering if you’re even watching, you know exactly the moment I’m talking about. That tiny spark of hope in their eyes, just to be seen. That’s the moment you either earn their trust or erode it.

And it’s not just at gymnastics. Go to the zoo. You’ll see toddlers on leashes while mom or dad stares into the algorithm. Go to a park. The swings are full of kids flying toward the sky, and the benches are full of parents who never look up. Go to a restaurant. Entire tables of families eating in silence, each person in their own digital universe.

Let me be blunt: just because someone has kids doesn’t mean they know what they’re doing.

We’re all figuring it out. But some of us are trying a hell of a lot harder than others.

So here’s a challenge, or maybe just a simple test: next time you’re with your child—at a practice, a recital, the grocery store, wherever—leave your phone in your pocket. Better yet, leave it in the car (unless you drive a Tesla, in which case it’s your key, so don’t do that! A diaper bag works, too!) Now, just watch. Observe. Be there.

You’ll feel uncomfortable at first. You’ll want the dopamine hit of the scroll. But then something strange will happen. You’ll start to see your child. Their quirks. Their effort. Their joy. Their progress. All the little things you never noticed when you were swiping through news, sports, or some stranger’s highlights.

And you’ll realize something else: the ability to pay attention in a world addicted to distraction? That’s not just rare. That’s a superpower.

You don’t need to lecture others. You don’t need to guilt anyone. Just lead by example. That’s what dads are supposed to do.