“We should recycle this milk carton when we’re done,” Graham tells me, setting his cup down and leaving a himself drippy white mustache.
“OK,” I say. “Please wipe your mouth.”
“And we can turn it into something useful,” he continues, turning his hands up and shrugging his shoulders as he often does when he’s working out an idea, “like maybe a skateboard or a toy or something like that.”
“That’s fine,” I agree, packing a frozen tray of biryani in my lunch sack.
“Cause we don’t want to be wasteful or hurt the environment.”
“Right,” I say and step out to the living room to start gathering coats and backpacks.
“Cause, you know, the rainforests are the Earth’s lungs,” he rolls on, setting his cup in the sink.
“Uh huh. That’s a very clever metaphor,” I tell him.
I nod and smile because while the tenuous connection between the health of the world’s rainforests and my recycling a milk container seems pulled thinner than taffy in a tourist’s shop, I love him for his passion and enthusiasm.
“And if we don’t recycle, the Earth will get sick and end up on a ventilator in the hospital.”
“Now, I think you’re stretching it a bit.” I shake my head and look over my glasses.
“But we should still recycle,” he says.
“OK,” I tell him and check my watch, realizing that we actually still have plenty of time to get to school.