All this to say: we live in terrible times. Sure, there are several things that are profoundly awesome: new technology is magical, and the culture of childhood has been quietly (or screamingly) revolutionized over the last thirty years. But there is absolutely no good news in the world, pretty much anywhere. Glaciers the size of Connecticut are cracking from the poles, our own country is caught in a political cycle of blame and lies, we swim in a culture of cruelty, there are still terrorists we can’t find, diseases we can’t cure, and a black cloud hangs over us.
Yet with our own children, we escape into a totally alternate universe. We count numbers, we marvel at birds, we see them make decisions between blue-green and green-blue, and we marvel at their acrobatics. Has there ever been a time in history when the world we describe for our kids – and the world as it really is – has been so mind-bendingly incongruent?
How long do you wait until you’re honest about the way things really are? How old must they be? What do you tell them in the meantime when the inevitable filters through? If you feel so helpless about the world, knowing full well you have no real power to change anything about the environment, or politics, or why people are so frightened and racist, what makes you continue creating little utopias for them?
Was it always this bad? Are these the questions that every sensitive parent has asked since the ages were dark?