Cases

My granddaughter Lily is eleven years old. She wants a smartphone. Her mother, when she is sober, says yes because all the other kids have one. The school says it is useful for group projects. I say no. I am raising Lily because her mother got into trouble with pills, and I have been at this long enough to know that a phone at eleven is not a tool. It is a leash. A window into a world that has no business being in a childs hands yet. I have raised three kids of my own and now I am raising a fourth. I have seen what happens when kids get screens before they have the spine to handle them. I have seen aunts, cousins, neighbours hand their kid a phone at ten and then wonder why that kid cant hold a conversation, look an adult in the eye, or sit through a dinner without twitching. Boredom is good for a child. Boredom makes them think, makes them create, makes them figure out who they are. A smartphone kills boredom on sight and replaces it with endless distraction. But I am old enough to know I might be wrong. Maybe the world has changed and I am clinging to a rule that made sense in 1995 but not in 2026. Maybe a phone at eleven teaches responsibility. Maybe the kids who get one early learn digital literacy while the kids who dont fall behind. I want the community to weigh in with a binding decision because this is not about what Lily wants. It is about what is best for her, and I need facts, not opinions.

I have run a fantasy Premier League group for the past three seasons with a mix of colleagues from my clinic and old university friends. We wrote down every rule before the first draft — no verbal agreements, no handshake trades unless logged in the chat. We thought we had covered everything. Last week a manager discovered a loophole: the platform allows lineup substitutions after the Friday deadline if the game is postponed, even though our league rule says no changes after the first kick-off of the gameweek. The manager used it to swap out a player who got a red card on Saturday for a clean replacement on Sunday, winning their matchup by three points. Now the league is split. Half the managers say the loophole was in the platform code, not our written rules, so it is fair game. The other half say it violates the clear intent of our rule about deadline integrity, and that allowing it destroys the competitive foundation of the league. I have been through this before. A few years ago a similar dispute in a different league ended with half the members quitting, not because of the points but because nobody could agree on what the rules actually meant. The question is not about this one substitution. It is about whether a group of friends playing a game for fun can change the rules mid-stream by majority vote, or whether rule stability matters more than popular opinion. I want the community to weigh in with a binding decision so I can present it to my league and we can move forward with a clear framework.

I have been a high school guidance counselor in Columbus, Ohio for thirty-five years. Over that time I have watched the pendulum swing on student discipline more than once, and I have yet to see a policy that satisfies everyone. But the question I keep coming back to is this: when a student breaks a rule, what are we trying to achieve? Zero-tolerance policies became standard in the 1990s. They are clear, they are consistent, and they treat every infraction the same regardless of who the student is or what led to the behavior. A student brings a pocket knife to school — automatic suspension. A student gets into a fight — automatic suspension. The argument is that this removes bias from discipline, creates a predictable environment, and sends a message that certain behaviors simply will not be tolerated. There is comfort in knowing the rules apply to everyone equally. Restorative justice takes a different approach. Instead of asking what rule was broken and what punishment fits, it asks who was harmed, what needs to be repaired, and how the student can take meaningful accountability. A fight might lead to a mediated conversation between the students, a written reflection, and a commitment to repair the harm rather than three days at home playing video games. The evidence suggests restorative practices reduce repeat offenses and keep students engaged in school. But they take time, training, and a willingness to handle each case on its own terms. I have seen both sides work and both sides fail. Zero-tolerance has suspended students who clearly needed help, not punishment. Restorative justice has been applied inconsistently, with some students getting a conversation while others get a referral to the principal. I am not asking which approach is easier to administer. I am asking which one actually serves the students and the school community better. This is a question I wrestle with every semester, and I would value the community's advice on how to think about it clearly.