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A Green Giant Takes It On The Chin

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A monumental waste of money and plastic, or the only real alternative to tap water? Depends on who you ask.

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By MICHAEL WINTER

The Tampa Tribune

Published: March 12, 2009

It's not easy being green. I've learned that the hard way.

You'd think any efforts taken unilaterally and without prior consultation on behalf of your family to decrease their dependence on foreign oil, shrink their carbon footprint and eliminate all forms of non-biodegradable packaging from the household would be greeted with praise and enthusiasm. You'd think a hot water heater set to 70 degrees and a closet filled with toilet paper made from recycled egg cartons would garner at least a grudging "thank you." And you'd certainly think replacing the old, pollution-spewing gas lawnmower with an eco-friendly "survival of the fittest" attitude toward backyard flora would earn the respect and glowing admiration of your spouse.

But you'd be wrong. Instead of laurels and giddy tributes, my unflagging commitment to keeping the earth frozen at both ends was met with what best can be described as eco-envy. How else to explain the cool reception my compost heap received?

Granted, I didn't technically create the steaming mound of coffee grounds and rotting banana peels. That honor goes to the raccoon that overturned the garbage can and tore open the bags. But I was the one who left everything where it was, thus allowing precious minerals and nutrients to leach back into the soil, ensuring fertile growing seasons for years to come. And that, my friends, takes both courage and vision.

The difference between my wife and I is that she considers a pile of trash a smelly eyesore, while I consider it an investment in our child's future. And that's really why I'm doing all this, to ensure my daughter inherits a planet where animated polar bears still star in Coke commercials at Christmastime and the Thing remains safely entombed in Antarctic ice.

Do you think I want to skip the treadmill and sit on the couch all day? Is it my fault treadmills require electricity and couches are emission-free? OK, so my wife would argue the couch isn't exactly "emission-free," especially after I've been … ruminating … on it for several hours. But that's a minor quibble.

And don't you think I'd love to own a cell phone so I could stop off at the store and pick up a box of Maxi pads on my way home, or explain why the peanut butter is back in the refrigerator even though it's been explained to me numerous times that peanut butter doesn't need to be refrigerated but opened mayonnaise does, which, by the way, was found in the cupboard, so I might as well get another jar while I'm picking up the Maxi pads? Don't you think I yearn for that? But cell phone rechargers are a terrible drain on the grid and sacrifices must be made.

I thought my light bulb initiative would be a green scheme bellwether. As old lights blew out, I replaced them with compact fluorescent bulbs. Who would possibly object to saving money while relegating the snarling energy hog known as "the incandescent menace" to the ash heap of history? Two people, apparently: my wife and my daughter. It seems fluorescents (at least the kind that fit ceiling fans) are much like my first girlfriend: slow to warm up and none too bright. I personally found the incremental buildup to full illumination quite charming, kind of like theater lights coming up on a Broadway play where the hauntingly good-looking leading man strides purposefully across the stage and plops onto a couch amid the roar of applause from an audience appreciative of his staunch opposition to all forms of electric exercise equipment. You know, something Mamet would have done in his prime.

My wife, however, didn't see things quite the same way. "When I come home and flick the switch, I expect the lights to come on. What if there's an escaped lunatic hiding in the corner?" We live in constant fear of escaped lunatics breaking in and hiding in our corners. My daughter's concerns were a tad more pedestrian. "I'm tired of stepping on my crayons."

So the incandescents are back in the ceiling fans. The bottled water is back as well. I tried to wean the family off that monumental waste of money and plastic, but try as I might, I could not convince all parties involved that city pipes aren't a network of rusting relics allowing "who-knows-what kind of seeping unfilterable crud" into our drinking supply.

I am proud to say, however, that the treadmill has remained off. And that's the way it will stay until all the little polar bear cubs can play safely on their ice floes while drinking Cokes and exchanging high-fives with Santa's reindeers.

It's for the children, you see. I'm doing it all for the children.

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