This is one in a series of posts sharing the stories of grandparents, parents and young people who are joining the Walk for Our Grandchildren, July 19th-27th.
This week-long, 100-mile walk will bring an intergenerational message of hope from Camp David to the White House to demand that President Obama reject the Keystone XL tar sands oil pipeline and confront the growing crisis of climate change. You can join us for a day on the trail, or join walkers and thousands of others for a culminating rally at the White House on July 27th. Click here to learn more and sign up.
I’m making the 100-mile “Walk for Our Grandchildren” trip from Camp David to the White House because nothing in my 51 years has made me happier than having a son.
Sasha Tidwell is 16 years old now. He is an honor student, an Eagle Scout, and a starting pitcher for his varsity baseball team. Before Sasha was born, I thought I knew what happiness was. I had climbed peaks in the Alps, written three books, and shaken hands with the Dalai Lama. Life was pretty full. Then Sasha was born. It was May 30th, 1997.
At that moment I was lifted onto a cloud of joy – far above the old world below – and I have never come back down. I watched him take his first step, read his first book (Berenstain Bears), ride his first skateboard, and – last week – drive his first car. Through all the skinned knees and book reports and muddy shoes on the carpet, I have always known that being with him and being his father made me the happiest person I could ever be. Life was pretty much perfect.
Except for the sadness. Every day, mixed deeply into the joy, is a sadness: Our climate is changing. The seas are rising. Storms are getting bigger.
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