This morning I received an email from my daughter’s school saying:

“Dear Parents and Carers,

Happy New Year!

Please ensure all student mobile phones have parental controls installed and active. There is no point having safeguarding filters on our school network and you having filters on your home internet if children can access extremely harmful content through their phone data.

There are instructions on how to install parental controls in the weekly bulletins.

Thank you for keeping your child safe.”

Why did a fairly sensible reminder seem mildly irksome when I opened it? What might that teach those trying to warn others of risks, ethical pitfalls, and compliance conundrums?

Context matters

Aly is very happy at this school. By all accounts, they’re doing a great job. She’s joined just about every club and sports team there is. That’s largely amazing. But it also means the 12-20 page meandering – “written by committee” – weekly PDF update (on top of myriad alerts on an app designed by cryptologists) becomes a tricky read. There is no navegable format. I can use CTRL+F “7” or “seven” for her year, but that’s missed clubs/teams that are year agnostic. When am we/I picking her up on what days? What kit, clothing, and food does she need? etc.

It’s a first-world problem for sure. I also lose sympathy quite quickly when parents moan about how hard it is to be something that is a) (usually) chosen, b) a privilege, and c) never advertised as a cakewalk. BUT, pebble-dashing inboxes with multiple parental PDFs from two schools on differing apps, all with no cogent structure or narrative, won’t always lead to optimal outcomes.

Risk lesson: Make communications easily navigable. Have logic and structure. ONLY say what is necessary.

Adult voice

Years ago I was on one of those excruciating “management skills” training days, run by sociopaths, malcontents, and incompetents (HR and leadership). As I prayed for a natural disaster, one thing stuck. How we can take on the role of parent, child, or adult.

As a parent, I frequently find myself listening to the words coming out of my mouth and thinking, “You sound like a proper prat”. That’s usually a cue to pause and recognise I’m speaking to a human, a small human, but a human. Not a creature that needs a special voice – coochy-coo or patriarchal; equally bad.

I sympathise with teachers, a lot. I’d rather go bare-knuckle boxing than take toddlers on a field trip to London or discuss sex-ed with pre-teens. I imagine the “parent voice” seems necessary when dealing with a gaggle of hormonal halfwits who think they know everything. BUT does it help in most situations?

Risk lesson: Set the right tone in communications – adult voice.

P.S. If you’re going to take the parent voice, don’t mispell instructions or close saying “Thank you for keeping your child safe.” Some respond to being spoken to in parent voice by playing up, like kids. One of the more potent ways to do that is through mockery.

Details matter

Google, which controls this school’s cyber infrastructure (Google Classroom, tablets, gmail, etc.) de-restrict a bunch of parental controls when the kid turns 13 (see here), as Aly will this year. Once that happens “harmful content” is much more readily accessible. Yes, I can still set some restrictions on her phone, but it’s worked better as a dialogue. When I gave her the phone last year, I explained to her why restrictions are needed. We also discussed the merits of tracking tools – which she consented to, as she wants me (for now) to know where she is, just in case…

Risk lesson: Don’t tell people they should be doing things that are (somewhat or totally) beyond their control. Be practical – focus on what can be done, how.

Tone from the top

The “Happy New Year” segue into “do better” doesn’t work. I wrote about this in the book. One of the things I most admire is the ability of some people to deliver messages succinctly, with humanity and sincerity but not verbosity. Maybe it should be a NY resolution, as I still suffer from crippling Britishness when couching instructions, requests, or bad news in a suffocating suit of waffle.

Risk lesson: Give it to us straight. “Some kids have been accessing harmful content on their phones. Here’s a link (iOS, Android) walking you through the parental controls we’d recommend.”

CTA

What’s the call to action? Look back through weekly PDFs to find the parental controls bit? Which PDF, where in the document?

Risk lesson: If you make me look through emails – especially if you’re punishing your workforce by using Outlook – to find what we need to do, we already hate you. Make the desired action easy and accessible.

Do get emotional

I am aware that this email barely merited a newsletter. I also want to reiterate that I think the school (and most teachers) do exceptional work.

I usually write about things that prompt emotional reactions – even and especially mild reactions. Why? It’s the minor frictions and contempt that often damage relationships. Think of a job you left that you really didn’t like. Was there a catastrophic fallout? A shouting match? Probably not. Death by a thousand pointless (and often passive-aggressive) missives, messages, and managers. Mild annoyance, in time, leads to malaise and mistrust.

I also like writing about mild emotional reactions because they stick. If I ask you to tell me what you wore four weeks ago on Tuesday, you might struggle. If I asked you to remember the last time someone complemented you on your outfit, you would remember the ensemble. Emotions stick, and details disappear.

Risk lesson: Think about how your message might land, emotionally. Harness that. Tap into emotions if you want to make something memorable.