Am I the only parent who feels this profound sadness? That we are cooking to death? That we are giving this planet to our children? That fish are drowning in microplastic beads they have ingested? That the microplastic beads are in everything — shampoo, dishwasher pods, clothing? That going outside for ‘fresh air’ may be more smoke-filled and toxic than staying cloistered indoors? That the masking formula has flipped, that the masks are to be worn outside for protection from the climate? That the sky can be orange? That the sun can look like a sinister pumpkin? That smoke can blot out skylines? That people experiencing homelessness are sweating out heat waves on park benches? That the hottest days on record are replacing themselves day after day? That the climate has undeniably changed and deniers continue to deny, to ridicule? That dogs can’t stop panting? That it is supposed to get worse and not better? That our children will grow increasingly accustomed to heat days and smoke days? That most cars are still running on gasoline? That recycle bins are emptied to landfills? That single-use plastic is nearly impossible to avoid? That we eat, drink, breathe, and sit upon carcinogens until we lie down to sleep on top of them? That it is bad now, and getting worse, and no one seems to be doing much of anything? That the Doomsday Clock is 90 seconds to midnight? That the country with the most nuclear weapons had tanks cruising toward its capital a few weeks ago? That the threat of nuclear war is a nightly topic on the nightly news? That Americans are combining watching a movie about the making of the atomic bomb with watching a movie about Barbie dolls, that Americans are wearing shirts of a plastic buxom woman standing in a minidress in awe of the mushroom cloud in front of her? That this is our response?