I remember clearly the day that my 16-year-old son confessed he was on Tinder.
It was a champagne Sydney day, bright blue sky and sun belting down on the sand at our local beach. I’d managed to extricate him from the comfort of the lounge, out the front door, into the sunlight, all the while not looking away from his iPhone.
This is hardly breaking news to any parent of a teenager. Or any parent of a tweenie. Or any parent, such is our growing psychological dependence on these devices.
For all the hormones surging through his lean lanky body he’s a pretty congenial, easy-going and compliant teenager. I, on the other hand, am none of those things. So when I bark orders to step away from the phone he generally does.