When I see your smiling, exuberant face each morning, it seems like my worldly worries evaporate, at least for the hour or so before I drop you off at your little country school. You prattle on about Water Sparkles and other imaginary creatures and worlds, while I drink my tea and watch you eat your mother's sourdough toast and the eggs you collected from your hens the day before.
Despite the rush of the weekday morning's preparations, your exuberance and boundless anticipation of what the day will bring gives me a peace of mind I am usually unable to replicate for the rest of my day. I will forever treasure these times.
You are 9 now, and quite old enough to comprehend that the world you so enthusiastically desire to experience and understand is changing fast, and mostly in ways that will make your future much more challenging than mine was at your age. I remember broaching the subject of climate disruption with you when you were but 5 years old; it was almost a casual comment that I do not think I prepared you for adequately....
...Through my work though, I hope to convince enough people of enough political clout that our future is not predestined to descend into the hellish depths of resource warfare. Change for the worse is inevitable, but we have technologies, social capacities, finances, and even historical precedents to be able to avert the worst of it.
If I can claim on my deathbed that I tried my best to diminish the hardships that you will one day endure, I will have justified my actions as a scientist, and most importantly, as a parent.
I hope you can forgive our generation and be clever enough to avoid the mistakes we have already made and the ones we are still unfortunately perpetuating.
My love for you and my need to protect you helps me get out of bed each morning and face the overwhelming challenges of my profession.
Thank you for being my inspiration.
Papa.
