Raising kids in the digital age (or any age, really)

My big kid is six. Only six.

And yet here I am, having conversations about brain rot, sex, pornography, and maybe the more subtle one, demons.

I can’t believe I even have to explain why it’s not okay to be singing along to Soda Pop.

These are heavy things for such a little heart. But the truth is, the world doesn’t wait for them to be ready. It barges in, loud and confident, through songs, YouTube shorts, and classroom chatter.

And in the middle of it all, he’s trying to find where he fits.
He’s the only kid in his class who isn’t going to SJKC. Seven out of ten of his classmates will be heading to the same school down the road next year.
He’s the only one who isn’t 100% Chinese.

He feels it, even if he can’t articulate it. That quiet awareness of being different.

And so I ask myself, how do I help him navigate this?

Because it’s not just about what he listens to or sings along with. It’s about belonging, identity, conviction, and the courage to stand firm when you’re the odd one out.

To guide him through that, I’ve had to dig into some memories I thought were long buried — the embarrassment, the rejection, the pain of feeling left out. The times I rebelled. The fear that he might one day repeat my mistakes.
Is it karma? Maybe. Or maybe it’s mercy, giving me the chance to guide him where I once stumbled.

When I think back to my own childhood, I realise I struggled with the same things.
Fitting in. Wanting people to like me. Trying to belong.

The only difference was that my parents were shamelessly protective.
They would meet my schoolmates and tell them off if they thought they were a bad influence.

You can imagine how mortifying to hear...
“You can’t do this, your parents will scold us.”
“You’re a pastor’s kid eh!”

At 13, it was humiliating. I felt left out. Judged. Different. And not in the good way.

But now I see what they were doing. They were guarding my heart until I could learn to guard it myself.
They were teaching me conviction before I even knew the word for it. Until I could learn why those values mattered.

These days, I’m learning that deep, meaningful conversations don’t happen in the middle of a lecture on the way to school.
They happen in the stillness, when I’m tucking him into bed or gently drying his hair after a shower.
Those quiet, unguarded moments in between this and that.

I’m learning to make space for those conversations.
Not by interrogating him about whether he’s participating in "demon worship", but by creating a safe space for open dialogue about pop culture, songs, games, and the things his friends are into.

When he brings up something new, I try to look at it with him.
We’ll read the lyrics, talk about what they mean, and decide together whether it’s something beneficial or not.

I tell him:

“At the end of the day, we want authority. We want our prayers for no bad dreams, no sickness, no fear to carry power. God’s promises are real. But when we open doors to things that compromise that authority, they start to lose their strength.”

Sometimes it’s too much for a six-year-old to grasp fully, but I know the seeds are being planted.

Because whether you’re raising kids in 2025 or 1996, the principles haven’t changed.
It’s still about learning to stand firm in what’s right.
About kindness without compromise.
About belonging without losing yourself.

The world changes. The trends, the screens, the temptations. They just wear different outfits.
But the heart of parenting, and the heart of faith, stays the same.