To my son, born in the time of coronavirus and climate change

To my son, born in the time of coronavirus and climate change
Bill and River Weir (Image via CNN)

[Ed. – When you trim away the idiocy of the lament and get beyond the newborn’s name — River — you are still left with a piece of prose deserving of the Charles Blow Memorial Award for Hilariously Bad Writing.]

Against all odds you were conceived in a lighthouse, born during a pandemic and will taste just enough of Life as We Knew It to resent us when it’s gone.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry we broke your sea and your sky and shortened the wings of the nightingale.

I’m sorry that the Great Barrier Reef is no longer great, that we value Amazon™ more than the Amazon and that the waterfront neighborhood where you burble in my arms could be condemned by rising seas before you’re old enough for a mortgage.

The scent of your downy crown makes my heart explode. The curl in your Tic Tac toes fills me with enough love to power New York City.

If only.

Instead, the milk in your bottle was warmed by dirty, ancient fuels and as a result, you will learn to walk on a planet that has never been this hot for humans.

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