How to Talk to Your Child When the World Is Ending
How to Talk to Your Child When the World Is Ending
Hi from hell!
Today in New York, smoke blocked out the sun and a dystopian haze choked the city. My group texts where friends bitch about our schedules and deadlines and (completely fine) lives suddenly turned into emergency dispatches for allocating HEPA filters. There were discussions of fleeing, but of course, nowhere in driving distance is safe.
A pulmonologist friend said she’s staying in place and turning up the filters full blast, so I closed my panic JetBlue tabs and set up the iPad next to our old air purifier we hauled across the country after enduring years of “Fire Season” in Los Angeles.
This morning I was filling out a preschool spreadsheet about side dishes for tomorrow’s end-of-the-year class picnic, and by 2PM the picnic was cancelled and I was jamming wet towels in the gap under our doorframe.
The world, quite literally, was on fire.
Then at 3PM, I went out into the hell smog to pick up my son from school. And, after a brief but passionate argument about wearing a mask, he stepped outside and noticed the world was yellow. He had some questions. Here is how that went.
GOOF: Why is it dark?
ME, INTERNALLY: Because we live in hell.
ME: There are fires very far away, and the wind is blowing the smoke right over us. Good thing we have masks to keep our bodies safe!
GOOF: Why is the wind blowing smoke at us?
ME, INTERNALLY: Because there is no God.
ME: That’s just the weather pattern, and we can’t control the wind! But we’ll stay inside and we’ll be okay!
GOOF: But I want to go to the little slide playground.
ME, INTERNALLY: Me, too. And if the iPad isn’t charged I will absolutely put my head in the oven.
ME: We can’t today because playing outside in the smoke can make us sick. But we can have just as much fun at home!
GOOF: Are the kids playing outside going to be sick?
ME, INTERNALLY: Yep.
ME: Their parents have different rules, but since the air is so smokey, we listen to the air experts who tell us it’s safest to stay inside.
GOOF: When will it be daytime again?
ME, INTERNALLY: I have no fucking idea and have been refreshing my phone all day and it keeps changing and nobody knows. This is the reality of an unchecked climate apocalypse. We’re living in a real-life Lorax situation and you, my sweet angel child who only eats butter noodles, are going to have to un-fuck this and save humanity.
ME: Soon! Very soon.
GOOF: Do you promise?
ME, INTERNALLY: I can’t promise you that.
ME: I can’t promise you that. But we can hope so. We can always hope.
GOOF: I hope the sky is better soon.
ME, INTERNALLY: Me, too, my love.
ME: Me, too, my love.
I live in Texas. (Gawd hep me). Our smoke mostly comes from Mexico. Occasionally there is volcanic ash mixed in with it. Fun times. Last year, for the first time ever in my 78 years, we had a wildfire threat not far from my house. I was packed up and ready to leave and take the couch wolves and the 2 mini sand cats with me. I do not want to be cremated. I’ve been fecking cremating for 78 years in Texas.
“You may all go to hell and I will go to Texas.” Davy Crockett said this angrily after losing his Tennessee bid for the U.S. Congress.
Thanks for sharing this Bess. So so apocalyptic. Our darkest days of covid were during the fires in Seattle where we felt not safe being inside our outside.
I'm trying to engage more parents in talking about how parenthood and climate intersect on a new podcast (climatepapa.com). The fires are such an acute painful example.
We’re recording an episode today on the fires. Any chance you’re interested in having a quick chat we could share as part of the conversation?
I'm ben@climatepapa.com if you're open to it!