Mum, Dad… Help Me

A Wake-Up Call From Behind the Screen

I want to tell you a story — not about technology, but about a little boy.
His name is Elliot.
He’s seven years old.

Elliot isn’t loud. He doesn’t break things. He doesn’t yell for attention.
He’s the kind of child every parent hopes for: quiet, independent, easy.

Each day, Elliot wakes up to the soft blue glow of a screen. His parents, both loving and tired, hand him a tablet so they can get through the morning. He scrolls, taps, swipes. Breakfast becomes silent. His eyes never leave the glass.

At school, Elliot draws pictures of phones instead of dragons. He mimics YouTubers instead of reading stories. He stops asking “why?”
He starts asking “Can I have more screen time?”

At night, he climbs into bed, the tablet still warm from hours of use. He’s tucked in — not with a bedtime story, but with the soft hum of autoplay.

His parents see him as calm. But what they don’t see is how the silence is slowly becoming a prison.
He’s not okay.

One Day, Something Changed.

Elliot’s teacher noticed he hadn’t spoken all week. She called his name — and he didn’t respond.
She kneeled beside him and asked gently,
“Are you sad, Elliot?”

He looked up, eyes big and empty.
“I don’t know.”
He didn’t have the words.

At home that night, something shifted.
Instead of opening his usual game, Elliot opened a drawing app.
With trembling fingers, he drew something simple:

A little boy behind bars.
The bars were shaped like a phone.

Underneath, in messy, crooked letters, he wrote:
“Mum, Dad… help me.”

That Was the Moment His Parents Woke Up

Not because someone told them to. Not because they read it in a parenting book.
But because their son — the boy they thought was fine — had finally broken through the silence.

They wept. They held him. And for the first time in months, they put the devices away.

• They started eating dinner at the table again.
• They went outside and got muddy together.
• They made up stories. They made eye contact.

And slowly… the light came back into Elliot’s eyes.
He started laughing again. Asking questions again.
He started being a little boy again.

This Isn’t a Story About Banning Screens

It’s a story about being present.

Screens are part of our world now — there’s no going back.
But childhood? That doesn’t wait.

Your child isn’t asking for a better app.
They’re asking for you.
Your voice.
Your gaze.
Your presence.

If Elliot’s story feels familiar, don’t feel guilt.
Feel grace.
Feel hope.

Because the greatest thing about children is — they don’t need perfect.
They just need you.

Mum, Dad… can you hear me now?
I’m still here.

— Tom Sell