You know that moment, right? When their little faces tilt toward the tablet, mesmerized by some AI-generated dragon soaring across a pixel-perfect sky. I remember watching our kid’s eyes widen with fascination—and later, pausing at how silent it got after bedtime, the blue light of our own phones the only glow left on their nightstand. That’s what got me thinking: How do we hold onto the messy, real magic when AI offers something so polished?
A Little Too Perfect to Trust
Remember last weekend, when he showed us that animated space adventure? The one where his digital twin climbed neon mountains while synth-music swelled like a movie trailer? The animation was dazzling—smooth, colorful, flawless. But something about it felt… hollow.
Like comparing a hand-painted mug to factory-made porcelain. Turns out researchers call this the “uncanny valley of creativity”—when things look too perfect to feel real. Makes you wonder: Does constant exposure to AI’s perfectly polished content make our kids impatient with the crooked clay giraffe they sculpted in real life?
But here’s where she taught me something. Instead of shutting it down, she leaned closer: “What if we built that rocket from the video? Yours, not the computer’s.” Two hours later, we had a lopsided spaceship made from Amazon boxes and pipe cleaners—and the kid’s grin was ten times brighter than any screen could muster. That’s her quiet genius: turning AI’s shiny distractions into launchpads for our own messy magic.
When the Chatbot Answers Back
There’s this tension every parent feels. That tiny jolt when our kid asks Alexa for help instead of us. ‘How do birds fly?’ And it’s a robotic monologue about aerodynamics, not our clumsy, loving attempt with paper airplanes in the kitchen. It’s easy to feel sidelined.
Then there was last Tuesday—our screen-free night—when our oldest kept swiping at a blank tablet out of habit. The silence hung heavy… until she slid out a board game. “The robots don’t have this one,” she said, shuffling cards with a sly smile. Within minutes, we were elbow-deep in chocolate-smeared Uno chaos.
The safety talks matter—we tell them why they shouldn’t share their birthday with a chatbot or believe every AI-generated fact. But her real lesson? Leaning into the gaps technology can’t fill. Like how she’ll pause Siri midsentence: “Wait—what do YOU think happened next?” handing the story back to their imaginations.
Gardens, Not Just Algorithms
We tried one of those AI plant identifiers last week. Held up a leaf, snapped a photo—and presto, it named the tree and rattled off facts about its origin. Useful? Sure. But then she picked up the same leaf, tracing its veins like a map. “This edge looks torn—think a bird fought a squirrel over it?” Suddenly, we were weaving a woodland soap opera starring sparrows and acorn thieves. The AI handed us a label, but she saw the story.
It’s like what we’ve both seen, you know, and it hits home. If we let the AI give them all the answers, it’s easy to forget the crazy, fantastic, totally *our* stories. Her trick? Sheltering their curiosity like a seedling. When the tablet suggests a “perfect” drawing tutorial, she’ll toss out a wild alternative: “Should we paint with mud today? Bet robots haven’t tried that!”
The Glitch in the System (And Why It’s Beautiful)
AI’s greatest weakness might be its lack of glitches—no smudged fingerprints on its answers, no sleep-deprived typos.
But think about pancakes. Remember when she tried that AI recipe generator? It demanded “exactly 187 grams of flour” for “optimal fluffiness.” She laughed, grabbed a coffee mug to scoop it freehand, then let our kid pour in chocolate chips “for science.” The result? Lopsided, slightly burnt—and devoured with more joy than any five-star brunch.
What stays with them—the smooth AI story that nailed every plot point, or her fumbling retelling where the dragon sneezed confetti instead of fire? It’s the imperfections that linger. Because here’s what tech can’t replicate: the warmth of her hand resting on theirs as she confused the dragon’s name halfway through.
The sound of her snort-laugh when the prince tripped. The way she pauses, mid-sentence, at their little ‘Again?’—even though we’ve got dishes in the sink, and the day’s been long. The joy, not just in the story, but in the sharing, the warm, human mess. THAT’S where our balance is, don’t you think?
Source: OpenAI releases social app for sharing AI videos from Sora, Financial Post, 2025/09/30