My son prayed once. It was five years ago and he feels terrible about it. So terrible he had to break down and confess to me last night about this horrible transgression:

I was five Mom. And I wanted Bolt to be real so bad. And I didn’t know what to do. So I got down on my knees and I did that thing they do with their hands so it’s like a triangle, but not really a triangle, but you know what I mean…and I said ‘Please God let Bolt be real and come to my house.’

And I feel so stupid. And I thought I had to tell you because it’s been bothering me all this time that I did it.

I had to hold in the giggle and take him very seriously.

Honey, sometimes I say prayers in my head that I learned when I was a kid just because I think I might as well do anything that could help. I doesn’t hurt. Even if we don’t believe in God.

And he turned and looked at me, ever wide-eyed, like I had told him my innermost secret.

But Mom, that’s so dumb. I’m sorry I said ‘dumb’ but it is. We know there is probably no God. And if there is a God it’s certainly not going to make a cartoon come alive or give you what you asked for- so praying is stupid.

I took a deep breath and tried to explain.

No, prayers may not change the outcome of something. But they might make you feel better. It’s like meditating. Or breathing deeply to calm yourself. Sometimes saying things over and over can calm you and then you feel better about the situation you are praying about.

A light bulb went off.

Oh, so really they are just making themselves feel better when they pray, even though they know there isn’t a God who will answer them. I get it. I just don’t understand talking to something that doesn’t exist. Don’t they put people on medicines and in the hospital for that?

I stifled the giggles again.

Yes, they do. But for some reason our society thinks it’s normal and acceptable to believe in God. So they don’t think believing in God requires medicine or a stay in the hospital.

Well that’s dumb. Oh, I said ‘dumb’ again, I’m sorry Mom.

It’s ok honey. And it’s ok if you want to pray.

No! I only did it that ONE TIME because I was little and I wanted Bolt to come live with us. And I know there isn’t a God who is listening and even if aliens or something else is listening, they don’t care if we want Bolt to come alive and they should care about those people in Oklahoma but they didn’t care about them either. So that just means there is REALLY no one listening that can help us.

What do you think about that? Us being alone in the universe?

I think we have to help each other if we really want to get stuff done. Not pray. I mean I guess it’s ok if it makes you feel better, but you should do something for real too, not just talk to yourself and think something magical might happen. Because it won’t. You need to give them shoes and new houses. And you need to not be on your knees, because that is dumb. Oh, I did it again. I’m sorry Mom.

I’ve been careful about leaving the news on while the kids are home. With the school shooting and other tragedies, it’s just been too much for them to see.

So imagine my surprise last night when a piece I thought was rather benign on the pollution issues in Beijing caused tears and hysterics in my living room.

My 9-year old son could not believe what he was seeing. He wanted to know how the earth could be so dirty and polluted and how we, as humans, could let this happen.

Is it the cars?
The factories?
All the things they make, like my Nerf guns?
Why don’t they care?
Why can’t they stop it?
What if that happens here in Los Angeles?
What about our country?
Why do businesses care more about money than fixing this?
Why isn’t ANYONE DOING ANYTHING?

And the tears were streaming. And I did my best to calm him down and tell him many people were trying to do things, but every country was different. And every country had different rules. And even in our country people are fighting those rules.

He thinks those of you fighting the rules are horrible people. He thinks anyone against EPA regulations aimed at helping the earth are good and true and just and he does not care if that means some people don’t have a job because they at least will be able to breathe and drink clean water. He tells me OTHER jobs can be created with new inventions that keep the planet CLEAN. He does not care if that means he does not get a certain toy, he no longer needs it or cares.

The images haunted him all day and night and he would periodically stop his video game to ask me how many people might get sick from that smog. How many people might die. How plants or trees might help.

Then at bedtime, as I tucked him in…he began to softly cry again. He didn’t think there was anything a 9-year old boy could do.

I told him he was wrong.

And now, dear friends, I want to show him he’s wrong.

Help me find things a 9-year old boy can do to help – from planting trees to raising money to joining Greenpeace to… whatever.

Show my son he can make a difference. Show him the power of one and how it then multiplies and creates a movement.

I KNOW there are others like him…others that are devastated to see pollution take over what he calls ‘those mountains that are so so beautiful I can’t even see them’ and ‘all those trees that they keep cutting down instead of letting grow big and tall…it makes me so mad Mom I just want to hit my pillow.’

Show him. Show him instead of hitting his pillow he can DO SOMETHING and it WILL MATTER.

Help me show him – leave a comment with your ideas. Please.

I know he can do something amazing with his passion and his talent.

My son has spent over three hours looking out the window of our plane.

He doesn’t want to play on his iPad.

He has no interest in the little books and games and gifts I brought to keep him and his sister busy on this over four hour flight.

He’s just been staring out the window. No really, a nine-year old boy who never stops moving has been doing absolutely nothing but looking out a window for HOURS.

Mom do you think the clouds can feel us splitting them apart when we fly through them? Ok I know they can’t really feel but do you think clouds would rather be all together and not broken up by anything, like a plane or a bird or anything?

Mom do you think the  pilot really thinks all that turbulence is bad or do you think he just wants us in our seats?  That’s why school should be on planes: because it’s so beautiful everyone would pay attention and when they didn’t the teacher could put on the seat belt sign. 

Mom, do you think the air that goes through and around the planes gets mixed up in the clouds and the clouds are somehow changed by it? Like could those clouds end up being clouds they shouldn’t have been?

Mom, see where that cloud reaches that mountain over there? See that area right in the middle where is just doesn’t touch and there is that teeny tiny bit of space? That space is the most beautiful space ever. 

Mom, do you think when we fly at Christmas time there will also be clouds or do you think the sky will just have nothing? 

Mom, I need a tissue. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry. It’s just all so wonderful and beautiful. 

We’re now on hour four. And yes, THAT is my son.

My nine-year old son’s swim trunks are the ones on the left. His father’s hang on the right. As I wandered into the bathroom this morning and looked up at them both I nearly fainted when realizing they seemed the same size.

How can that be?

I was just in the community pool, him in swim diapers, sitting on the stairs holding him tight because he was afraid to go into the big pool. He had a denim hat and adorable little swim trunks and I would slather him until he was he color of paste with sunscreen.

Now he jumps in and can grab the ring at the bottom of the deep end…on the first try.

His nine-year old mind has been hard on him lately. Much like swimming, it can bog him down and pull him under as he wrestles with all his ideas and thoughts and confusion. His sensitivity and intelligence are like weights around him. But he’s learning to use them as easily as he uses the pool noodles and kickboards instead of letting them tug him down.

And boy do they tug. 

As I watch and listen to him struggle with pre-tween, pre-puberty and pre-those years…I am reminded so much of all those feelings and issues and thoughts from when we were all children and our chests felt heavy and there were a million butterflies in our stomachs. And I want so badly to pull all the weight off his chest and free every butterfly from his belly. I guess that’s what any parent wants.

But I can’t.

Instead I found myself feeling the silky fabric of his swim trunks this morning, knowing he’ll buoy himself up and down a lot for the next…oh….decade. And wishing him all my knowledge and his fathers and hoping it will help keep him above water for the majority.