Bringing common sense with a grain of salt back to parenting!
What starts as one proud snapshot of the school play often escalates into a full-blown documentary series with multiple camera angles, whispered stage directions, and a soundtrack of parents hissing “Shhh, I’m filming!” louder than the actual performance.
Mistake: Filming every recital, play, or spelling bee as if it’s Sundance Film Festival.
Consequence: By the end of elementary school, you have 437 hours of shaky footage no one will ever watch.
Reality Check: Kids need us present in the moment, not just behind the lens.
Parents with phones at school events are the modern paparazzi — desperate for the perfect shot of their child’s five-second line in the holiday play. But in trying to capture the memory, we sometimes forget to live it. Let's explore why we become the Parent Paparazzi, how it backfires, and how to step out from behind the lens without losing the memories.
THE ISSUE
It’s Friday evening. You’re wedged into a crowded elementary school auditorium, knees pressed against the chair in front of you, surrounded by parents wielding iPhones like press photographers at a celebrity wedding.
The lights dim. The curtains open. A hush falls over the crowd… until half the audience raises their phones in unison, bathing the stage in the eerie glow of recording mode.
Your child steps forward, ready to deliver their carefully rehearsed line — “And then the pilgrims had a feast!” — but all they can see is a sea of glowing screens. You, meanwhile, are holding your phone above your head at an awkward angle, whispering, “Shhh! I’m filming!” while missing the actual moment you wanted to preserve.
Welcome to The Parent Paparazzi: a modern parenting phenomenon where no school event is complete without a wall of iPads blocking the view, ten parents crouched in the aisles for better angles, and someone whisper-screaming at a grandmother for standing in the shot.
WHY PARENTS DO THIS
Parents turn into paparazzi for various reasons:
Because Childhood Feels Fleeting. We know these years go fast, so we grab our phones like life rafts, desperate to freeze time. If we don’t capture every second, did it even happen?
Because Technology Makes It Easy. Back then, Dad had one camcorder the size of a loaf of bread, and he used it twice a year. Now, every pocket holds a 4K camera capable of slow motion and live streaming to distant relatives. If we can film, we feel we must.
Because Social Media Raises the Stakes. What’s the point of the spring concert if Aunt Linda in Phoenix can’t watch it on Facebook Live? And let’s be honest — posting the video isn’t just about relatives. It’s about proving we showed up, proving our kid showed up, and (sometimes) proving our kid nailed their part.
Because Everyone Else Is Doing It. When the entire audience holds up their phones, you feel like the negligent parent if you don’t. Herd mentality: if you’re not filming, are you even parenting?
Because Memory Feels Fragile. We’re told “don’t blink, you’ll miss it.” So we try to not blink at all, capturing everything just in case. It’s insurance against forgetfulness.
THEN VS. NOW
Then (1980s/90s):
Recording = Dad with camcorder, VHS tape, shaky footage that required rewinding.
Distribution = Maybe you watched it once as a family, then the tape got taped over with “Cheers” reruns.
Participation = Parents clapped. Children saw faces, not phones.
Storage = A dusty stack of unlabeled VHS cassettes in the basement.
Now (2020s):
Recording = 50 phones in HD, one drone hovering illegally outside the gymnasium.
Distribution = Instant upload to YouTube, Instagram reels, TikTok highlights. Bonus: AI-generated captions.
Participation = Parents behind glowing rectangles. Children see screens where smiles should be.
Storage = Thousands of gigabytes in the cloud, never re-watched, but costing $2.99/month in extra iCloud fees.
It looks less lika a progress and more like missing the best and most precious moments in higher-resolution.
HOW THIS HARMS CHILDREN (AND US)
Paparazzi parenting might lead to:
Divided Attention. Kids don’t just want us to record them — they want us to see them. When our eyes are on the screen, not the stage, they notice.
Performance Pressure. Knowing the video will be posted online makes kids hyper-aware. One stumble becomes immortalized. Instead of enjoying the moment, they perform for an invisible audience.
Loss of Connection. Eye contact, smiles, and claps from the audience fuel kids’ confidence. A sea of screens? Not so much.
Perfectionism. When every mistake is captured, kids may learn that performance is about being flawless. Childhood is supposed to be messy.
Memory Distortion. Ironically, filming often weakens our memory. Studies show we recall less when we outsource memory to our devices. The moment becomes “the video” rather than the experience.
Reduced Joy. School plays become media events, not family moments. Instead of celebrating together afterward, we review the footage, critique lighting, and argue about who blocked the shot.
WHY IT’S TEMPTING TO KEEP DOING IT
Because recording works — sort of. You do get the video. You can share it with Grandma. You do feel like you preserved something. But the cost is missing the very moment you wanted to preserve.
AVOIDING THE TRAP
The good news is we can break free of Parent Paparazzi syndrome without giving up the memories. It’s not about ditching cameras altogether — it’s about reclaiming balance:
Choose One Moment to Record, Then Put the Phone Away. Film the solo, the big line, the diploma walk. Then lower your phone, and actually watch. It helps you (and your kid) sharing a priceless memory.
Delegate Filming (Hire the “Official Parent Cameraman”). Find one brave soul who can record the whole event and share the link. Free yourself to clap, laugh, and beam from the audience. (Think of them as the National Geographic documentary crew — they’ll get the footage so you can just enjoy the wildlife.)
Use Your Eyes as the Camera. Before the event, remind yourself: My brain is better than the cloud. Focus on the sensory details — the squeak of shoes, the stage lights on your child’s nervous smile, the wobbly voice that steadies by the second line. That’s what sticks, not pixel resolution.
Embrace Imperfection. If you do film, don’t aim for Spielberg. Capture the crooked halo, the sneeze in the middle of “Silent Night,” the stagehand who forgets to close the curtain. That’s the charm.
Set “No Screen” Sections. Agree with yourself: first five minutes on camera, rest of the show in real life. Or alternate with your partner: one films, one watches. That way your kid sees at least one parent fully present.
Share Selectively, Not Compulsively. Ask yourself: Does the internet really need my child’s rendition of “Hot Cross Buns”? Maybe yes for Grandma, maybe no for 600 Facebook “friends.” Protect your child’s digital footprint by curating, not broadcasting.
Model Presence. If you want your child to know how to enjoy concerts, games, and life events without a screen glued to their hand, show them. Model what it means to clap, cheer, and experience the moment fully.
Create Traditions Around the Event, Not the Recording. Make the ritual post-performance ice cream, not the post-performance video review. Memories come from celebration, not replays.
THE PAYOFF
When we step out from behind the lens, our child sees our face, not our phone. They feel our pride in real time, not through a playback. For us, the footage we carry in our memory and our heart — the wobbly smile, the nervous pause, the triumphant bow — lasts longer than any file in the cloud.
Years from now, when when we will be sorting through thousands of forgotten clips on a hard drive, we might not remember which concert was which. But in our child's brains there will remain a memory of looking up from the stage and seeing us— actually seeing us — smiling, clapping, and being fully there.
And that’s the real memory worth keeping.
Because school plays aren’t Sundance. They’re messy, joyful, fleeting glimpses of childhood. The best way to preserve them isn’t through perfect footage — it’s through imperfect, human presence. So next time we're tempted to film the entire spelling bee, it's good to remember: our kid doesn’t need a documentary crew. They just need a parent in the audience, eyes up, heart open, cheering for them.
© Kristijan Musek Lešnik, 2025
