Just a few days ago, as the lazy Los Angeles afternoon melted into evening, I caught a news segment that stopped me in my tracks. It was about how students are falling (even more) behind and the pandemic didn't help and yadda-yadda-yadda. It showed a bunch of B-roll of sad kids for added emphasis.
Cut to being outside and walking through our West Hollywood neighborhood today. Maybe the kid sadness wasn't B-roll after all.
It was the end of the school day. The sidewalks around the school filled with youngsters headed home. The kids, the very picture of childhood, looked utterly deflated. Slumped shoulders, eyes cast downward, not a single leap of excited energy among them. It was a stark contrast to my own memories and it immediately begged the question: where did the spark go?
I remember the first day of elementary school with immense fondness. For me, it wasn't a dreadful start but an exhilarating one. The weeks leading up to it were filled with anticipation. My mom and I would embark on the cherished ritual of supply shopping – the crisp smell of new notebooks, the brightly colored pens, the thrill of picking out a brand-new backpack. Then came the fresh clothes, laid out the night before, ready for the big reveal. (At one point, I would even dress for the next day the night before and sleep in my clothes. Really. I looked forward to the next day of school THAT much.)
On the morning of, we’d stand proudly in front of the house, beaming for the obligatory "first day of school" pictures. There was a genuine buzz, a sense of new beginnings, of seeing friends again, of diving into the unknown with a mix of nerves and pure excitement. What I saw on the news, however, was a generation seemingly devoid of that very joy.
My observations, unfortunately, didn't end there.
I flashed back to the first day of school this year for students. I was taking the boss's dogs for a walk (remember, we live in Buff Loft and the bosses live across the building -- which is a large West-Hollywood-mansion-turned-business-center), we passed a local high school just as classes were letting out. The scene was even more perplexing.
Instead of a vibrant eruption of teenagers spilling out, laughing and chatting, there was a slow, almost melancholic trickle. Kids dragged their feet, their eyes often glued to phone screens, their bodies not hurrying away from the building but rather moving as if through thick mud. It wasn't the usual "school's out!" sprint I remembered from my own youth, that desperate scramble to get home and escape the confines of the classroom.
These kids looked like lost zombies, aimlessly drifting down the sidewalks, exhibiting an almost eerie lack of energy or direction -- literally, as some didn't even look like they knew where they were going as they stared at the ground and slowly lumbered. If you didn't want to be in school, wouldn't you be bolting home? But they weren't bolting home. They weren't bolting anywhere.
It was truly weird to see. Where do these kids even want to be? Not in school, clearly, but seemingly not in a hurry to get home either. Is their preferred "place" simply anywhere they can be with their phone, fully immersed in the digital ether?
The joy, the youthful exuberance, the simple desire to be somewhere else – it all seemed to be missing. My own younger years, while not without their challenges, were vibrant and energetic. I don’t recall being so humdrum, so utterly energy-less, so disconnected from the physical world around me. And this isn't just a nostalgic lament; it feels like a genuine concern for the well-being of an entire generation -- that'll soon be running society when my generation gets too old.
So, what has happened? Why this pervasive sense of apathy, this quiet sorrow that seems to cling to today's children as they embark on what should be a new adventure?
I believe society has inadvertently created an environment that suffocates the very spark we cherish in youth. The constant connectivity of smart devices, while offering a portal to infinite information, also brings an unprecedented level of pressure. Social media comparison, cyberbullying, the relentless noise of the digital world – it can be an exhausting mental burden that drains energy and fosters anxiety.
Summers, once a time for unstructured play, spontaneous adventures, and pure, unadulterated freedom, are now often filled with structured camps, academic enrichment or the quiet isolation of screens.
Furthermore, the pressure on today's students is immense. The stakes for academic achievement feel higher than ever, with a relentless focus on grades, college admissions and career paths starting at an alarmingly young age. Learning for the sheer joy of discovery seems to have been replaced by a grim determination to succeed, driven by fear of inadequacy.
When every subject, every test, every extracurricular activity feels like a rung on an endless ladder, where is the space for simple, unburdened curiosity or lighthearted fun? This relentless pressure, combined with less time for genuine connection and free play, is surely contributing to the pervasive mental health challenges we see among young people today. The sadness I observed isn't just about disliking school; it feels like a symptom of a deeper malaise.
Society owes it to children, and to the future, to address this. It’s time for some serious introspection from parents, educators and community leaders alike. They must actively encourage unplugged time, fostering real-world interactions and the kind of creative, unstructured play that builds resilience and sparks joy.
I remember building with Lego well into my teen years, creating concert stages and building tour trucks and packing up the stage for the little Lego band and driving to the next Lego concert hall... across the coffee table in our house.
I remember making paper bus stop signs and posting them around the house and crafting a little bus-type creation out of a cardboard box that I hitched over my shoulders with suspenders. I "drove" a cardboard "bus" around the house for hours some nights. There were pretend passengers and I even created schedules for when I should be at the next "stop." (I was obsessed with buses back then.)
I remember going to the movie theatre and getting the free magazine about upcoming films and entertainment news. The movie posters were full-page ads. I'd rip them out and pretend they were VHS covers for a movie-rental store I created in my room. I taped all of them to the wall and would make microwave popcorn (remember the smell of fresh popcorn when you went to rent movies?) and stand at the "counter" (my dresser moved into the middle of the room) and talk to pretend customers. I had a little cash register and made my own little movie store.
As I typed those last three paragraphs I was struck by a few things. 1- no technology was involved. No screens, no addictive piece of electronics. 2- I didn't seek acceptance or validation when creating my imaginary worlds. ("Hey, Mom, look what I just made." No. I just did it and enjoyed myself.) 3- I didn't let outside people influence the fun I was having. Did my older brothers make fun of me? Constantly. Did it bother me? Nope. Did I cry victim each time? Never. I did my own thing and didn't give a shit. Was I a happy kid? Totally. I had fun just making my own things and being in my imaginary world. It wasn't an escape from anything, it was a never-ending love of creating.
Those adults I mentioned earlier need to prioritize mental well-being over solely academic achievements, ensuring that educational systems nurture curious, well-rounded individuals, not just high test scores. Re-evaluate the demands placed on children and teens, ensuring they have ample opportunities for rest, genuine connection and the simple, everyday joys that should define childhood and adolescence.
My fond memories of back-to-school are not just rose-tinted nostalgia; they represent a fundamental difference in the emotional landscape of growing up.
Did society, in an effort to prepare them for an increasingly complex world, inadvertently strip away the magic, the wonder and the sheer, unadulterated energy that should define their formative years? I believe it did. It’s time to help them rediscover that lost spark, to help them reclaim the joy and vibrancy that rightfully belongs to their youth.