Sam Altman recently shared what he described as an interesting use of ChatGPT: connect the family calendars, explain the children’s interests and ask the system to create a personalised podcast for the morning drive to school. It might mention one child’s football match, another’s upcoming birthday and a few items from the news.
The response came quickly:
“What if you just talked to your children?”
It is a sharp reply because it touches a genuine anxiety. We are increasingly inviting technology into spaces once reserved for human interaction. We automate recommendations, reminders, entertainment and even emotional support. Must we now automate the family conversation as well?
But the criticism also rests on a rather romantic picture of what usually happens inside the family car.
Today, while driving, I found myself thinking about how little communication often takes place during these journeys already. Music is playing. One child is looking at a phone. Another may be watching something on Netflix. The parent is concentrating on traffic, thinking about work or mentally organising the rest of the day.
Everyone is in the same vehicle, but not necessarily in the same world.
AI did not create this situation. It is entering an environment already filled with screens, headphones, notifications, entertainment and silence.
Technology Does Not Decide Everything for Us
There is a trace of technological determinism in the way we often discuss such developments.
Technological determinism is, broadly speaking, the belief that technology drives social change according to its own logic. A new technology appears, and society inevitably changes in response. The smartphone destroys attention. Social media creates polarisation. Artificial intelligence replaces human thought.
There is some truth behind these fears. Technologies are not neutral objects that leave everything around them untouched. Their design encourages certain behaviours. A platform built around infinite scrolling is not merely waiting for us to decide how long we would like to remain there. It is designed to keep us engaged.
Yet technology does not determine one inevitable outcome.
The same smartphone that distracts a child can allow them to speak to a grandparent living thousands of kilometres away. The same television that silences a family can show them a story they later discuss together. The same AI system that replaces an effort can also help someone begin an effort they might otherwise never make.
Technology shapes human behaviour, but people, families, institutions and cultures also shape how technology is used.
That is why the important question is not simply whether AI is present. It is what function we give it.
A Substitute or a Starting Point?
An AI-generated family podcast could easily become another form of passive consumption.
The family enters the car. The podcast begins. An artificial voice talks about the children while the children themselves remain silent. When the episode ends, everyone returns to their individual screen.
In that version, the criticism is justified. Technology has occupied the space in which conversation could have occurred. It has transformed family life into personalised content.
There is also something uncomfortable about feeding children’s interests, activities and family calendars into an AI system without thinking carefully about privacy. Convenience should not make us careless about what information we share—particularly when that information concerns children.
But another form of use is possible.
Instead of producing a polished fifteen-minute programme, the AI could offer three conversation prompts for the journey:
“Your daughter has a football match this afternoon. What is she most excited or nervous about?”
“Your son’s birthday is approaching. What would make the day meaningful to him?”
“A new scientific discovery relates to something your child recently asked about. What does the family think it could mean?”
The system could then become quiet.
In this version, AI does not perform the conversation. It helps open one.
It may remind a tired parent about an event that matters deeply to a child. It may connect a piece of news with an interest the child has mentioned. It may suggest a question more thoughtful than the automatic “How was school?” that so often receives the automatic answer: “Fine.”
The parent must still listen. The child must still be given room to speak. No model can supply curiosity, affection or attention on their behalf.
The value of the technology lies only in helping those human qualities find an opening.
The Danger Is Not Only Artificial Intelligence
It is easy to blame the newest technology because it makes an older problem suddenly visible.
The family car has been changing for years. First came the radio, then portable music players, built-in screens, smartphones, streaming services and personalised feeds. Each offered convenience or entertainment. Together, they gradually made it possible for every person inside the car to occupy a separate informational environment.
Artificial intelligence may intensify that fragmentation. But it might also be used to resist it.
A family could ask AI to explain a difficult news story in language everyone understands and then debate it together. It could produce questions about a place they are visiting. It could create a quiz based on the children’s current interests. It could help parents find a way into subjects their children care about but that they themselves do not understand.
These are modest uses. They will not repair an absent relationship. They will not transform an uninterested parent into an attentive one. But they might create small moments of shared curiosity.
And family relationships are often built from precisely such moments.
The Human Responsibility Remains
We should remain sceptical whenever technology companies present more technology as the answer to problems partly created by technology. We should question the collection of children’s data, the commercialisation of family life and the temptation to outsource even our most intimate responsibilities.
But scepticism should not prevent us from distinguishing between replacement and assistance.
The easy question is: Why not simply talk to your children?
The more useful question is: What might help parents and children talk more meaningfully in a world already competing for their attention?
AI should not become another family member speaking endlessly from the dashboard. Nor should it describe our children to us while they sit silently beside us.
At its best, it should do something much smaller.
It should offer a fact, make a connection or ask a question—and then get out of the way.
The podcast should never become the conversation.
It should be the moment someone turns down the volume, looks away from the screen and says:
“Tell me more about that.”