After we listen to coverage about the war in Iraq we discuss the decisions our President and his advisers have made to cause the loss of lives, both Iraqi and American. In turn we discuss how American leadership is chosen through “fair” and free elections and the results of the election dictates the lives of many, both here and abroad. I instill the idea that just a few votes for the Gore or Kerry and there would have been no misguided war at all. I am comfortable exposing them to our bungling in Iraq because they are learning about choices and democracy and the importance of being politically engaged, in exercising their right to vote when they are of age. We discuss Iraq as proof that even the greatest nation on Earth can cede the moral high ground to fundamentalists and tyrants when we eschew diplomacy and embrace violence.

We talk about global warming and how, we, as humans effect every species on earth. If we decide to be wasteful and greedy then the planet suffers. We have choices, personal choices about energy use and the lives we lead, that directly effect the health of our host and our fellow tenants on Earth. We talk, again, about politics and the importance of voting for candidates we think will adapt environmental policies to help save the planet. We replace our incandescent light bulbs with the CFL variety even though we feel like we are now living at Waffle House. This is a symbolic gesture of individual sacrifice for the greater good.

I even allow a certain amount of information about Al Queada past the parental firewall because I think that they should know that all fundamentalism is, at it’s root, entirely absurd and irrational and ultimately very dangerous. We use the opportunity to speak about religion as personal choice. I express that there is no absolute right or wrong when it comes to worship. I point out that Al Queada has chosen to wage a Holy War against non-fundamental Muslims because they have been carried away by their own personal beliefs, have come to think of their personal religion as absolute. They will impose their will on innocent victims because they are sick with fundamentalism. We have these conversations so that O and G realize that whatever they grow up to believe, that their notion of God is only their notion of God; no more, no less; a personal choice that every human being has a right to.

So I just can’t think of anything, anything at all useful or worldly or important that they might learn from the VA Tech tragedy save for sadness and despair. I suppose we could talk about gun control but I don’t believe that gun control would have prevented this tragedy. The shooter went on a premeditated killing spree. I’m sure he would have been patient and wily about finding his weapon, no matter the obstacles he faced. I guess we could discuss the fact that we are all fragile and our time here is temporary and that we exist only because human beings honor an unspoken, do-no-harm agreement that ensures we don’t kill one another over parking spots and designer hand bags; that there are a few sick people that are unable to stick to the agreement because they are suffering some delusion that erroneously justifies blood shed. But really, what are we gaining by having this conversation? Another year, another moment without this knowledge does my children no harm that I can see. Sometimes ignorance is bliss especially when it saves a child from an anxiety and feeling of powerlessness that cannot be remedied or explained away through rational discourse. In my opinion, they will live much of their life perfectly aware that senseless tragedy occurs daily, no need to hustle them towards this realization.

(I re-reading, I realize I have inadvertently written a short essay about how will not discuss the VA Tech tragedy with my children because I can find no way to blame it on George Bush or the idiots who voted for him….food for thought.)

If I start talking about Halliburton or genocide in Africa or how the Pentagon is exempt from The Freedom of Information Act or the torture induced death of detainees in Afghanistan and Iraq, I may never shut up so I’m heeding the call with talk about the herbicide called RoundUp. According to smart scientists who study things like the toxicity of herbicides, Round Up, even in very low concentrations, causes fetal damage, liver cancer and inhibits RNA transcription. (This is my rather lazy regurgitation of some disturbing facts about RoundUp. If you’d like to digest the whole shocking write up please feel free to click on over to Project Censored.)

Being ill equipped to vet scientific data after consuming 1200 chocolate eggs, I have chosen to give the study’s authors my implicit trust. These purportedly informed and brilliant professionals imply that RoundUp is still on the market because manufacturer Monsanto wields great power in the agricultural industry.

Until now, I have been a HUGE RoundUp fan, having been known to douse entire weed ridden lawns with the stuff in order to start anew (nothing triggers OCD of the annal retentive variety like dollar weed in an otherwise perfect swath of sod). I was so certain of product safety that I often performed the dousing bare handed while wearing flip flops with the wind blowing. And, though I’m a little concerned about having laid the foundation for my own future agonizing death from liver cancer, I’m more than worked up about what I’ve done to G.

The weeks before I knew of G’s conception (she was in there but I wasn’t yet aware of it), I was waging a huge, RoundUp heavy offensive against the weeds in our yard. I spent whole days out there pumping and spraying and letting the toxicity drip down my arms. I learned of her conception a few days after I’d annihilated the enemy and, even then, five years before I read the report citing the certain hazards of RoundUp use, I was slightly concerned that G might be born with extra digits or a tail.

Now I’m sweating it anew. Though G has only ten fingers and toes and doesn’t seem to have a prehensile tail, she does have that little cough she gets in the Winter months that seems so much like asthma and her right leg seems to fall asleep an awful lot, she picks her nose and she chews her hair, nails and even her toenails if allowed. There’s a laundry list of little quirks and medical mysteries that I’m will surely now attribute to that RoundUp exposure. I am hoping that nothing more serious than asthma and an oral fixation befalls my little G because Monsanto covered up the dangers of RoundUp.

And I swear to you, no matter how bad the lawn looks this Spring as all the hearty tufts of wild violet and crabgrass push up where sod once I grew, I’m not going to fall back on old methods and prime my sprayer. Never mind that in order to accomplish this Round Up abstinence, I’ll have to walk by the lawn with my eyes closed and just sort of experience Spring and Summer with only my olfactory senses. In honor of my liver and the livers of those I love, I’m committed to go without.

So I’m thinking about keeping that CFL bulb in the bathroom as a nod to the Beavans and the Hairstons of the world. I mean really, if I eschew Wafflehouse lighting I may be sorry, given the sump pump in the basement is doing all it can. And global crisis is still in its infancy. But what about the mercury?