How a Text Chain Letter Made Me Realize My Kid Is Still a Kid

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For my daughter’s 10th birthday, we decided to get her an iPhone. Up until that point, she hadn’t experienced any major privileges, like staying up late or having a bigger allowance that set her apart as the oldest. We thought giving her a phone would be a great step towards independence and responsibility. She could make playlists and play Minecraft, plus it meant she could walk home and meet her younger siblings off the school bus.

I did my homework on online safety and privacy. I said no to social media like Instagram and Facebook but allowed her to have some photo editing apps. The main rules were: no app purchases without a chat first and her dad and I would have access to her texts.

Surprisingly, the phone didn’t turn her into a moody tween. Instead, she amused me with her enthusiasm for the Tips feature. “Did you know you can swipe to take a picture without unlocking your phone? Or swipe to answer texts?” Her earnestness and excitement made me so proud.

One Saturday, we hit a little snag with in-app purchases—specifically, a $247 snag. I had heard horror stories of kids racking up huge iTunes bills, but I thought an in-app purchase in a kids’ game would be a simple 99 cents. Nope, it was $49 in one click. Thankfully, Apple was gracious enough to help us out. I chalked the slip-up up to a learning moment.

As she sat there with headphones on, singing along to Taylor Swift’s increasingly grown-up lyrics, I watched her transition into a near sixth-grader. Part of me missed the days of her in pigtails saying, “Me do it.” But I knew this was part of growing up, and I wanted to celebrate the young woman she was becoming.

One day at work, my phone buzzed with her name flashing on the screen. I picked it up and barely got a hello out before she interrupted me in a breathless, panicked voice. “Mom, I’m OK, well, I’m not really OK, but I think I am.”

“Take it easy, what’s going on?” I asked.

She rambled, “I have to tell you something, but please don’t think my friend is bad or mean.”

“Alright, just breathe. What’s happening?” I gestured as if I could somehow calm her anxiety from afar.

“It’s a text, Mom.”

I sighed, thinking it was probably just some mean girl drama.

“It says if I don’t do what it says, the bloody boy will come to my house at midnight and hide under my bed. Then he’ll kill me.”

It took a moment for me to process that she was reading me a chain letter.

“Sweetheart, that’s not true. It’s just a chain letter.”

“What’s that? How do you know? Everyone at school is talking about the bloody boy in the mirror and I…”

“Briar, it’s just a trick. Take a deep breath. This is nonsense, alright?” I promised I’d be home soon, my mind racing about how texting creates such an immediate and personal connection that letters and phone calls never could.

When I got home, I checked her phone and saw your average chain letter. The only difference was that they had evolved from “you’ll have a lifetime of sadness” to “I’ll wait under your bed and kill you.”

“Listen, this is just a trick to scare you, just like the kids being mean at school. They’re looking for a reaction.” I searched her face for understanding, but all I saw was wide-eyed fear. As I reassured her, I found myself calming down too.

Technology may have advanced, clothing has gotten racier, and music lyrics have become more explicit, but the truth is, kids are still kids. They get scared, they’re gullible, and they often overestimate their maturity.

“Briar, do you want to talk about this?” She had buried herself in a book. She looked up at me with those same blue eyes that had listened to me talk about growing up and all that comes with it.

“It’s okay to be scared,” I told her. We let that sit for a moment. “This is why your dad and I want to read your texts. We should delete this now.” She let out a sharp breath of relief.

“No one will be under your bed, none of your friends will get hurt. I should’ve thought this through. I didn’t consider strangers adding you to group texts. I’m really glad you reached out to me.” Her shoulders relaxed as our eyes met.

“You did the right thing,” I reassured her.

“I’m sorry I was scared,” she replied.

“It’s perfectly fine. I know I wasn’t there when you got the text, but I’m here now and we can always talk about things, okay?”

She gasped and threw herself into my arms. I kept my own gasp to myself. I hadn’t meant to rush her into growing up, but I had assumed she could easily tell the difference between a trick and reality.

We didn’t respond to that chain letter, but we did agree that I’d stick close by for a little while longer—just to slay any monsters lurking under her bed.

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In summary, my daughter’s experience with a chain letter reminded me that despite the advancements in technology and the complexities of growing up, kids are still kids at heart. They have fears, they make mistakes, and they need guidance. As parents, it’s our job to help them navigate these moments.