Once every four years, I wish my children would watch more television.

Normally, I'm fretting about them consuming damaging media messages. But during the summer Olympics, I want them to internalize every inspiring message.

You can do something that has never been done before. Look at Usain Bolt and Michael Phelps shattering records and claiming a spot among those called The Greatest.

You can fly higher than people have ever seen. Watch Simone Biles win five medals and pull off a signature tumbling pass that no one else in the world -- male or female -- can do.

You can wreck stereotypes. See Ibtihaj Muhammad, an American Muslim woman in hijab, win a bronze medal in fencing. And there's Dalilah Muhammad, an American Muslim woman in shorts, winning a gold medal in 400 meter hurdles for our country -- the first woman to do so.

You can carry the weight of history and still swim faster. Watch Simone Manuel dominate. As an African-American, she would have been forcibly shut out of public pools decades ago; today, she can win a gold medal in swimming.

You have opportunities you might not have known existed. Look at Ashleigh Johnson making those saves for our gold medal-winning water polo team.

Your hurts can propel you higher. Read Sarah Elizabeth Robles' tweet before she won an Olympic medal for weightlifting: "Things that used to get me bullied are the things that made me become an Olympian. Consider that when some jerk tries to tear you down."

Take heart in the diversity and camaraderie of the Final Five gold-medal gymnastic team.

It's not just the heroic feats of athleticism that I want my kids to notice. There are the stories on and off the field that reveal the human spirit.

Nikki Hamblin and Abbey D'Agostino fell in the middle of the 5000-meter qualifier. They took turns helping each other up. They sacrificed their chance to win to help a hurt competitor. Neither won a medal, but they earned the Olympic's Fair Play award for their sportsmanship.

In another moment of connection, two competitors took an innocent selfie. Hong Un-jong, a gymnast from North Korea, mugged for the camera with Lee Eun-ju, a gymnast from South Korea, and it captured a story of friendship that transcends borders.

Most inspiring were the 10 athletes competing on the Refugee Olympic Team. They had fled Syria, Ethiopia, South Sudan and the Congo, and survived conditions most of us can't even fathom. They left wars and persecution, looking for safe havens in a world largely indifferent -- or even hostile -- to their plight. The world turned its back on Yusra Mardini, a Syrian teenager who crossed from Turkey into Greece in an overloaded inflatable boat. When its motor failed and the boat took on water, she and her sister jumped into the sea and swam for three hours while pushing the boat, saving the lives of the other passengers.

The refugee athletes may not have won medals, but they won our hearts.

These stories are the anti-venom for a poisonous election season.

I wanted my children to learn from the lowlights, too. You can be a world-class athlete and still turn yourself into a national embarrassment. Medals don't look good on liars.

But I prefer to focus on my personal heroes from these Games: the 40-somethings, the moms, the marginalized. They showed us over and over again that you can compete with athletes half your age.

How can you not be in awe of Oksana Chusovitina, who has competed at every Summer Olympics since Barcelona in 1992? A seven-time Olympian who, at 41, became the oldest gymnast in Olympic history, competed alongside athletes her son's age.

I cheered for Kerri Walsh Jennings, still winning medals in beach volleyball at 38.

And there was Kristin Armstrong, a day before she turned 43, becoming the first American woman to win an individual event in three consecutive summer Olympics. She is the oldest woman cyclist to ever win gold.

"People have asked me, over and over, 'Why? Why am I back?'" she said in an interview with NBC Sports. "And it's because I can."

Like nearly everyone else in the world, I'm never going to be an Olympian. But we can share that spirit.

Because we can.

A new documentary, "Screenagers," makes a convincing argument that the hardest thing about modern parenting is finding a healthy balance of technology use.

I asked filmmaker and physician Dr. Delaney Ruston to explain this after I watched her film.

Today's parents worry about many of the same things our parents worried about -- drug and alcohol use, risky sexual behavior and mental health. The intensity of problems that can arise from these issues can be devastating, said Ruston. But so can the struggle over kids' tech use.

Ruston's concerns throughout the documentary about raising children in this digital age will feel relatable to parents of tweens and teens.

"I was afraid I was being too strict or not strict enough," she said in an interview, referring to the rules she was trying to enforce around tech use with her children, now 14 and 17 years old. "I didn't know so many other people were dealing with these rules issues."

Unlike other alarmist books and shows that have come out about kids and technology use, there are reassuring parts to this eye-opening documentary.

Ruston learned from brain researchers that the reward center of the brain is more active during the early teen years. That helps explain why it can be so hard for adolescents to tear themselves away from their devices. Those devices are extra stimulating and rewarding to their developing brains.

The human brain learns through consequences, she said. Children won't learn to regulate their behavior left to their own devices, so to speak. In fact, putting rules in place without enforcing consequences or having stronger boundaries is setting up some impulsive children for failure. But given the right guidance, kids can learn better self-control over time.

In the film, Ruston highlighted some of the dangers of too much screen time, as well.

An experiment on mice showed long-term effects on their brains after exposure to a period of intense media stimulation. We don't know if the same lingering damage happens to human brains, but the study should give parents pause.

She interviewed scientists and researchers who show how video game addiction is as powerful as substance abuse addiction. Others demonstrated that our brain is not designed to multitask. And ironically, the worse we do on tasks while doing multiple things at once, the better we think we are performing.

But not all the research was gloomy. Social scientist Sherry Turkle said there's research to suggest you can restore empathy in children with a five-day break from technology.

The documentary also reveals some hypocrisy at play: Parents want to impose limits and boundaries on tech use, but they bristle at the notion of applying some limits on themselves. We tend to minimize our own usage and its impact on others, such as spouses and children.

The three-and-a-half year process of making the film changed Ruston's approach to how she manages technology with her own family.

"I started out overly controlling," she said. Her energy around her kids' screen time had a distinctly negative vibe to it. That automatically makes kids defensive about it. She has since made an effort to start by focusing on the positives, as well.

Other changes Ruston has implemented: She made the morning school commute tech-free. She installed an app on her phone that auto-replies when she's driving, so she's not tempted to text and drive. She's worked on reducing the time she spends on her computer at night. She and her husband created more outdoor activities to keep their children and their friends busy. Her family has started a weekly "tech talk Tuesday" where they discuss the ways technology is affecting them, and she starts the discussion in a positive tone. She added an app on her daughter's phone called OurPact that enables her to turn off all the apps on her daughter's phone remotely, if needed.

So, how can more people watch the "Screenagers" documentary? It's not available online, because Ruston was convinced that it needed to be part of a public discussion. Small groups, like civic or religious organizations or schools, can rent the film. She suggests that interested parents ask a school's PTA to screen it. There have been nearly 600 screenings in the four months since it was released.

It's a worthwhile way to spend some quality screen time with your children.

Sweet Pea looked a bit dizzy, wobbly on her feet that morning.

Maybe she has an infection, Ayla Abbassi thought. The Abbassi family has a menagerie of barnyard animals around their suburban home in Ballwin, Missouri. They share a four-acre, wooded lot with two dogs, two cats, three ducks and 12 chickens -- including Sweet Pea, a 4-month-old silkie bantam.

Ayla moved Sweet Pea indoors once she got sick. By the third day, the chick's back wings were splitting and her legs were buckling under her weight. Abbassi, who works as an IT project manager, called around to find a vet who treated chickens.

She took her to the nearby Family Pet Hospital. Dr. Hallie Feagans called her later that day and said that the chicken likely had Marek's disease, a common viral disease affecting poultry.

Backyard chickens have become increasingly popular pets. Feagans raises 30 chickens herself, and sees about one or two a week at the hospital. They can be difficult to diagnose and treat. While there's no cure for Marek's disease, which causes paralysis, Feagans said Sweet Pea could still possibly pull through after three or four weeks. Some chickens survive the illness.

"It depends how much work you want to put into it," Feagans told Ayla. "She still has a chance."

That was enough for Ayla. She picked up Sweet Pea and took her home to her three daughters.

"I wanted my girls to feel and see compassion," she said. She told them that one day it could be their parents who were really dependent and helpless. "You need to practice being compassionate whenever the situation presents itself -- no matter how small."

For the next two and a half weeks, Ayla or her daughters massaged Sweet Pea's legs twice a day. Ayla did water therapy daily in the bathroom sink with the chicken, trying to help her build strength in her legs. She fashioned a chicken diaper out of a sock and sanitary napkin Sweet Pea could wear while she scooted around the house. They made a sling out of a plastic grocery bag to help her "walk" upright with some assistance. Her 6-year-old daughter, Zayna, read stories to Sweet Pea nightly and carted her around in a pink-trimmed baby-doll stroller.

Sweet Pea got playtime with her fowl friends every evening.

The chicken basked in the attention.

Ayla felt a little overwhelmed by the amount of care the sick chick needed, in addition to her life as a busy working parent. Her co-workers inquired about the status of her ailing chicken daily.

People go to extraordinary lengths regularly to care for their pets and possibly extend their lives. Not many would go to such trouble for an animal you can buy for $1.50 a pound at the grocery store and serve for dinner. But when raised as pets, chickens can have distinct personalities, and the Abbassis described Sweet Pea as small but mighty.

Despite the nurturing care, Sweet Pea wasn't improving. In fact, she was getting worse and her breathing had become labored. Ayla took her back to the vet. In her heart, she knew she was not going to see Sweet Pea again.

"I remember holding her in the office and saying, 'Goodbye, my darling. I'm sorry I failed you,'" she said.

The assistant at the vet's office told her not to say that -- "You worked so hard," she told her.

Ayla cried the entire way home and waited for news.

Feagans called her later that afternoon. The chicken was showing signs of respiratory struggles. She was on oxygen at the hospital.

"What would you do if you were in my shoes?" Ayla asked the vet.

There was a long pause.

"Ayla, I would let her go. I don't think she will get better."

Sweet Pea died on Aug. 18. She had lived for about a month after she got sick.

The vet didn't charge for the medicine, the last appointment or Sweet Pea's cremation, even though Abbassi insisted that she wanted to pay. Feagans refused to charge her.

"I know she worked really, really hard to save that little thing," Feagans said.

A few days later, instead of a bill, a handwritten card arrived in the mail. Feagans wrote a note thanking the Abbassis for the love and compassion they had provided Sweet Pea.

"She was very lucky to be part of a such a loving family," she wrote. "I wish every pet was treated as well and given as many chances as Sweet Pea was."

Ayla said Feagans made her feel that Sweet Pea was a lot more important than "just a chicken."

And, to them, she was.