Thirty years ago tonight, my daughter Kelsey was born in a hospital in Worcester, Mass. She came out a bit yellow around the gills, jaundiced, indicating an excess of bilirubin in the blood. No sweat, her mom and I were told, and soon Kelsey was taking a bath under a blue, ultraviolet light, flanked on each side by smaller but equally cute Vietnamese infants from the local immigrant community. One of the Vietnamese mothers had screamed with such bloodcurdling abandon during delivery that, if I just go still for a second, I can hear the echoes.
A few years after Kelsey's birth, perhaps in 1990 or 1991, I became fully aware of global warming as a threat to modern civilization. I recall avidly reading Bill McKibben's book The End of Nature in the upstairs study/guest bedroom we had renovated ourselves -- new wood floor and moldings, walls plastered and painted, a mahogany rolltop desk bought at auction and polished to a gleaming brown. As I read, a cloud of doom wafted from the book's prophetic pages: climate change causing sea-level rise, wildfires, drought, crazy weather. It was awe-inspiring, too, the realization that mankind -- people just living their lives -- was capable of altering the planet's climate on such a grand scale. Of the more imminent disaster, the end of my marriage, the abandonment of the beautifully restored room, I had no clue.
A few years after Kelsey's birth, perhaps in 1990 or 1991, I became fully aware of global warming as a threat to modern civilization. I recall avidly reading Bill McKibben's book The End of Nature in the upstairs study/guest bedroom we had renovated ourselves -- new wood floor and moldings, walls plastered and painted, a mahogany rolltop desk bought at auction and polished to a gleaming brown. As I read, a cloud of doom wafted from the book's prophetic pages: climate change causing sea-level rise, wildfires, drought, crazy weather. It was awe-inspiring, too, the realization that mankind -- people just living their lives -- was capable of altering the planet's climate on such a grand scale. Of the more imminent disaster, the end of my marriage, the abandonment of the beautifully restored room, I had no clue.
So the years stampeded by bringing grief and joy and, gulp, now I have a thirty-year-old daughter. Recently I helped her get a new vehicle, the Prius Prime, with hybrid motor and electric battery providing 25 miles of range. It plugs into the outlet outside her garage which, strangely, is too small to contain a car. Granted, her electricity is provided by a local coal-burning power plant, but it's a step in the right direction, right? Maybe solar panels will go up on the roof in the not-too-distant future.
What can our children reasonably demand of us? UV light treatments if they come out jaundiced, yes. Ongoing love and support, surely, but that's not enough anymore. They should also expect that we at least try to leave them a world that is not irrevocably damaged by a universal practice, the burning of fossil fuels, that we've known for all of my daughter's life is epically harmful. They should expect us to care not just about our own children, but about all of our children all over the world.
On this special day, am I a pessimist or an optimist? Hmmm, good question.
Happy Birthday, Kelsey!
What can our children reasonably demand of us? UV light treatments if they come out jaundiced, yes. Ongoing love and support, surely, but that's not enough anymore. They should also expect that we at least try to leave them a world that is not irrevocably damaged by a universal practice, the burning of fossil fuels, that we've known for all of my daughter's life is epically harmful. They should expect us to care not just about our own children, but about all of our children all over the world.
On this special day, am I a pessimist or an optimist? Hmmm, good question.
Happy Birthday, Kelsey!
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