Gen Alpha Doesn't Hate Reading. We Stopped Teaching Them to Love It.

There was a time when telling a child to go read a book wasn't considered punishment.

It wasn't unusual for a kid to have a favorite book. Maybe a favorite author. Even a library card. 

You could give a child a book and expect them to disappear into it for an afternoon. 

Now?

Give some kids a book and you might as well hand them a rotary phone.

We love to blame Gen Alpha for having short attention spans, being glued to screens, lacking curiosity, or struggling to concentrate.

But here's the uncomfortable part:

Children didn't create the environment they're growing up in. Adults did.

Gen Alpha is being raised in a world where reading has gradually been pushed out of the home, replaced by phones, tablets, YouTube, video games, streaming services and an endless supply of content designed to require as little patience as possible.

Then we send those same children to school and wonder why they don't enjoy reading.

Seriously?

What did we think was going to happen?

Reading Starts at Home

Schools can teach children how to read. But schools can't be expected to single-handedly teach children to love reading. That starts at home. Children learn what matters by watching what the adults around them value.

If Mom and Dad spend their evenings scrolling through Facebook, TikTok and Instagram, while the television runs in the background, what exactly is the child supposed to conclude about books?

If nobody in the house reads, why would a child assume reading is important?

We tell children, "You need to read more."

But children are watching us. And children are excellent at noticing hypocrisy.

A parent who tells a child to put down the phone while spending four hours on their own phone is not teaching discipline. They're teaching that discipline is something adults demand from children but don't necessarily practice themselves.

We Used to Make Reading a Thing

Reading used to be built into childhood.

You went to the library.

You had book reports.

Books were birthday/Christmas presents.

And somewhere along the way, we confused reading proficiency with reading enjoyment.

A child can know how to pronounce every word on a page and still have absolutely no relationship with books. That's a problem. Because reading isn't just about vocabulary. Reading teaches you how to think. 

A Child Who Doesn't Read Has Fewer Places to Go

Books force children to do something modern technology rarely asks them to do. A book doesn't constantly interrupt itself. There isn't another book waiting every 30 seconds like a TikTok video. There isn't an algorithm screaming, "Here's something else!"

A book makes you stay in one spot to imagine, visualize, question, connect one idea to another, and sometimes, it makes you uncomfortable.

That's part of the point.

When children read stories, they encounter people who don't look like them, think like them, live like them or believe what they believe.

They learn empathy without somebody standing in front of them giving a lecture on empathy.

They learn cause and effect, consequences, that people can be complicated, that there can be more than one perspective (super-important).

And eventually, they begin developing something incredibly important: their own thoughts.

That's the Part We Should Be Worried About

A child who doesn't learn how to think independently becomes dependent on everyone else to tell them what to think. And we're already living in a world where that's becoming increasingly dangerous.

Algorithms decide what people see.

Social media decides what's popular.

Influencers decide what's fashionable.

Comment sections decide who's right.

Political parties decide who's angry.

And artificial intelligence can now produce an answer before a person has even finished forming the question.

Convenience is wonderful but convenience can also make people intellectually lazy.

If a child never develops the habit comparing sources or how to sit quietly with a complicated idea, how are they supposed to navigate adulthood?

"But My Child Doesn't Like Reading."

Maybe they don't. But that doesn't mean they can't. Children don't automatically hate reading.

Sometimes they hate reading what the parent or teacher wants them to read. There's a difference.

Find the right genre and stop worrying so much about whether they're reading the "right" book and start worrying about whether they're reading anything at all.

Parents Have to Stop Outsourcing Everything to Schools

This is where adults need to take some responsibility (translation: I'm about to step on some toes).

Teachers matter. But parents matter too.

We can't hand a child an iPad at age three, give them unlimited access to YouTube at five, let algorithms raise their interests at eight, and then blame the school at twelve because they don't want to read a novel.

That's not how this works.

Education doesn't begin when the school bell rings. Education begins at home.

And No, This Isn't an Attack on Technology

Technology isn't the enemy. A child can love video games and love books. I'm an example of that myself. A child can watch YouTube and read. A child can use AI and still learn how to think.

The problem is balance.

Technology gives children an unprecedented amount of information. Reading teaches them what to do with information.

Those aren't the same thing.

A child can consume 500 pieces of content in a day and still not understand a single complicated idea or tell you what half of it even was. More information doesn't automatically create more intelligence. Sometimes it just creates more noise.

We Need to Bring Back the Boredom

Here's another uncomfortable truth: Children need time when nothing is happening.

No phone. No television. No video game. Nothing.

Because boredom gives the brain somewhere to go. That's when imagination shows up. That's when curiosity shows up. That's when a child might pick up a book because there's nothing else competing for their attention.

We have become so terrified of our children being bored that we've eliminated one of the conditions that helps children become curious. Every quiet moment gets filled.

And then we wonder why they can't concentrate.

Reading Is Bigger Than Reading

Let me wrap this up because I'm beating a dead horse. And a bunch of you probably stopped reading 30 seconds ago because this post is longer than a TikTok video. 

This isn't really about books. It's about raising people who can think. People who can sit with an idea without immediately needing somebody else to validate it. People who can understand another person's perspective. People who can change their minds when presented with better information.

That's what reading can help develop.

And those skills aren't optional anymore. They're survival skills.

Because Gen Alpha is growing up in an information environment unlike anything previous generations experienced.

They will have access to more information than any generation in history.

Eventually, childhood ends. Parents can't follow their children everywhere. Teachers can't follow them into adulthood. And nobody can protect them from every bad idea they're going to encounter.

Eventually, they're going to have to make decisions for themselves.

And when that day comes, we better hope we raised children who know how to think.

Not just children who know how to scroll.

Because the world doesn't need another generation that can consume information at lightning speed.

It needs a generation capable of stopping long enough to ask whether the information they're consuming is actually true.

That starts with curiosity. It grows through reading. And it becomes wisdom when a child learns to think for themselves.

So maybe the question isn't: "Why don't kids read anymore?"

Maybe the question is: "What have we done to make reading less important to them?"

Is Originality Dead, or Did the Algorithm Just Make Us All the Same?

There was a time when you could tell where somebody was from just by listening to them talk.

Not because they announced their hometown. You could hear it.

People from different regions had different accents, different slang, different expressions, and different ways of saying the same thing. Somebody from New York didn't necessarily sound like somebody from Memphis. Somebody from Chicago didn't necessarily sound like somebody from Atlanta. The way people spoke was shaped by where they lived, who raised them, who they grew up around, and the culture that surrounded them.

Then came social media.

And apparently, the entire country decided we needed to sound like the same 14 people on TikTok.

Now somebody can live in Mississippi, spend six hours scrolling through Instagram, and wake up the next morning talking like an influencer from Los Angeles.

"Girl, I literally cannot."

You could literally. You just did.

And it's not just the way we talk.

• It's the way we dress.
• The way we pose.
• The way we decorate our houses.
• The restaurants we photograph.
• The vacations we take.
• The phrases we use.
• The coffee orders.

Even the way we announce that we're having a good time has become strangely standardized.

Social media has created something we've never really had before: billions of people being exposed to the exact same cultural references at almost exactly the same time.

And we're surprised that we're starting to look alike.

Think about the vacation pictures.

How many times have you seen the same photo of a woman reclined on a transparent surfboard in crystal-clear waters as a drone captures the photo from above?

She's usually wearing the same general type of swimsuit, striking the same general pose, in the same general kind of tropical location.

And somewhere in the caption is something about "living my best life."

I'm not saying she shouldn't do it.

If chilling on a clear surfboard in the middle of the ocean makes you happy, please relax on that thing until the battery in the drone dies.

The question isn't whether people should enjoy popular things.

The question is: How many identical pictures do we need before we start asking ourselves whether we're actually creating memories or simply reproducing someone else's?

Because there's a difference between inspiration and imitation. We see something we like, so we try it.

That's normal.

Society have always borrowed from one another. Fashion, music, language, art, food, hairstyles and traditions have always traveled from one community to another.

But social media has industrialized imitation. The algorithm doesn't necessarily reward originality. It rewards familiarity.

If a particular video works, people make another version. If that version works, thousands make their version.

Then everybody is doing the same dance, using the same sound, making the same facial expression and pointing at the same words appearing on the screen.

Eventually, something that was once creative becomes a template. And the template becomes a trend. And the trend becomes something everybody does. Then we move on to the next thing.

We're living in an era where people have more opportunities to express themselves than any generation in history, yet somehow we're increasingly expressing ourselves in remarkably similar ways.

That's the irony.

We have more individuality available to us while simultaneously becoming more culturally synchronized.

And maybe that's because we're no longer just consuming culture. We're constantly being shown what we're supposed to consume.

Before social media, you might have known what was popular among the people around you. Now you can see what's popular among millions of strangers before you've even brushed your teeth.

And when you see something enough times, it starts feeling normal.

Then desirable.

Then necessary.

That's how influence works.

You don't necessarily have to be told what to think. Sometimes you just have to be given the same thing repeatedly until you stop questioning why you want it. Why do you think some songs become "hits" although most people you know can't stand it? 

This doesn't mean originality is dead. I don't think it is. But I do think originality has gotten harder.

Not because people have become less creative, but because we're surrounded by so much other people's creativity that it's difficult to hear our own ideas.

Before social media, you had to come up with something on your own. Now you can simply open your phone and find 10,000 people who already came up with something. And there's nothing wrong with borrowing an idea. The problem starts when you stop asking yourself whether you actually like the idea.

Are you wearing that because you like it? Or because everybody you follow is wearing it?

Are you taking that vacation picture because it's beautiful? Or because you've seen it 47 times and decided that's what a vacation is supposed to look like?

Are you doing something because you want to? Or because you've been trained by an algorithm to want it?

That's the part worth thinking about.

Because maybe the real threat isn't that social media is making everybody the same. Maybe it's that we're becoming so accustomed to being influenced that we've forgotten how to make decisions without influence.

There used to be a lot more room for people to simply be themselves. Somebody could be strange without immediately discovering that 2.7 million other people were also being strange in exactly the same way.

And maybe that's what we're missing. Individuality.

The freedom to do something because you like it. To wear something nobody on your timeline is wearing. To take a vacation picture that doesn't look like everybody else's vacation picture. To say something in your own voice. To have an opinion that didn't arrive prepackaged by a podcast, influencer, celebrity or algorithm.

Because being yourself has never required being completely different from everybody else.

It simply requires knowing the difference between "I like this" and "I'm supposed to like this."

That's a pretty important distinction.

Especially when everybody has the same phone in their hand telling them what to like next.

Maybe originality isn't dead.

Maybe it's just buried underneath everybody else's influence.

And perhaps the most original thing you can do these days...

is stop scrolling long enough to figure out what you actually think.

Connected to Everyone, Known by No One

We built a world where you can order groceries, earn a paycheck, and talk to a squad of gamers in three time zones without ever looking another human in the eye. We called it progress. So why does everyone feel so isolated?

We are plugged into every person on the planet, yet sitting in a room by ourselves, staring at a screen, wondering why we feel so disconnected. Let’s be honest—we didn't land here by accident. Society didn't just drift into loneliness; we optimized our way into it. We traded the inconvenience of real human interaction for the seamless comfort of living behind a glass box.

The Machine

Every major shift in how we work, play, and communicate over the last decade has been designed to eliminate the need to interact with an actual physical human being:

• Remote Work: We traded the morning commute and office chatter for Zoom calls and Slack pings. On paper, it’s a win—no small talk by the coffee pot. In practice, we eliminated the accidental social touchpoints that keep us grounded.

• Digital Recreation: Multiplayer video games replaced local sports leagues and community clubs. You can spend five hours talking through a headset to a squad across the globe, yet finish the night without having made eye contact with a single person.

• Social Media Messaging: DMs, comments, and texting replaced real-time conversation. We get to edit, pause, and control our communication, but we lose the messy, spontaneous chemistry of live human connection.

We called it convenience. What we actually built was a structural encouragement to stay completely alone.

Present, But Not Accountable

Even when we do leave our homes, are we actually there?

Walk into any coffee shop, ride any train, or sit in any park. People are sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, completely wrapped in their own digital bubbles. Noise-canceling headphones are clamped on tight. Eyes are locked onto cell phones. We occupy the same physical coordinates, but we inhabit completely different virtual universes.

Being in public used to require a baseline of presence—a nod to a neighbor, a brief exchange with a barista, or simply observing the world around us. Today, physical space is just the background environment where we wait until we can check our notifications again.

Starving for Presence

Social media promised us connection, but what it gave us was audience-building. Having 500 people view your story isn't the same as having one person ask how your day went over a cup of coffee. We are starving for real presence while being gorged on digital updates.

The common-sense truth is simple: people are not built to be remote observers of life. Real connection requires friction. It requires showing up, listening without a screen in front of your face, and tolerating the awkwardness of being truly present in a room.

Some of the best memories I have as an adult is working the night shift with a coworker of mine. The conversations we had were priceless and entertaining. A lot of them have led to some of the posts that you've read here over the years. 

But what if were glued to smart phones/internet back then? Would we have even had 1/3 of the conversations that we did?

How to Reclaim Real Connection

If we want to stop feeling isolated, we have to intentionally reintroduce being present into our lives:

1. Leave the headphones off in public: The next time you're getting coffee or riding transit, stay open to the room around you. (side note: in today's volatile climate it could save your life!)

2. Trade two DMs for one phone or in-person call: Stop sending paragraph-long text chains to friends you haven't seen in months. Pick up the phone or pick a spot to meet.

3. Practice unstructured presence: Spend at least 30 minutes a day completely screen-free—no background podcast, no passive scrolling, just being where your feet are.

Until we start treating real-world presence as a necessity rather than an inconvenience, we will keep swiping, liking, and typing our way into feeling completely alone.