If I don’t do something drastic soon, I’m going to end-up like Lamont Sanford on Sanford and Son.
If you’re too young to know what I’m talking about, Sanford and Son was a sitcom in the 70s that focused on a junk dealer and his long-suffering son who loved him too much to bail on the old man’s business. So they lived, day in and day out, amongst piles of junk.
The only difference in my scenario is that it’s my son, not me, who’s the junk hoarder.
The kid has never encountered a piece of trash he’s willing to throw away. And by “trash” I’m being literal here: yesterday he howled when I went to toss an old fruit snack wrapper he’d been given at school because it had some cartoon character or another on it.
Lest you think it’s just cartoon-laden garbage to which he’s so attracted, I draw your attention to the five paper napkins from the local coffee shop, the cardboard insert from his new underwear package, the sanitary hand wrap from the grocery store, and the packing box, complete with five million packing peanuts, that he refuses to allow me to recycle or dispose. And that’s just this week. And it’s only Tuesday.
As I type this, I am surrounded by trash. And again, I’m being literal: the vestiges of the packing peanuts currently adhere to every nook and cranny of the floor. This happened after I sternly told him that the peanuts simply had to be thrown away: he grabbed them and pulverized them into Styrofoam dust that, due to its unique clinging properties combined with its inability to ever decompose, will exist in my house until 3010.
I am honestly mystified about why the kid has such affection for trash. Does he have attachment problems that prevent him from separating from his garbage? Is he simply uber eco-conscious? I don’t know.
What I do know, without a shred of doubt, is that if I don’t do something very, very soon, I’m going to end-up living in the 21st century equivalent of Sanford’s Salvage. Except I doubt anyone will ever be in the market for the stuff we’re hoarding. Not that Nicky would ever part with it even if they were.
Oddly, his hoarding has shed a blinding light on how much godforsaken trash we generate.
Heretofore, I liked to consider myself above-average in the eco-friendly department. Our household recycles absolutely everything that can be recycled; we shlep to the co-op instead of a regular grocery store so that we can buy food in bulk and put it into nice little eco-friendly glass jars; we plant our own garden and supplement with items from the farmers’ market; we make our own freakin’ window, toilet and kitchen cleaners, for gosh sakes!
Blah blah blah.
Our happy little carbon footprint may as well belong to the Jolly Green Giant for all it matters. Because despite our best efforts, we still generate a heap o’junk. Nicky’s peculiar habit has pointed that out, loud and clear.
Which is why I’m so intrigued with the idea of schools mandating (or at least encouraging) zero-waste lunches.
I’ve been on the zero-waste lunch bandwagon for quite some time —not, I’m sorry to say, because I was attempting to be eco-friendly, but because I’m cheap. Er, frugal. I just can’t see laying out extra cash on juice boxes when we have a jug o’ juice in the fridge and an array of perfectly good thermoses sitting on the shelf. And forget about Uncrustables and Lunchables — if my kids want overly processed and plasticized crap for lunch, they can suck on their Tupperware.
Still, for an entire school to go waste-free for lunch is a feat. When you consider that the average kid generates 67 pounds of disposable lunch waste each year, a small-size elementary school could save more than 20,000 pounds of yogurt containers and string cheese shrink-wrap from being dumped into a landfill in just one school year!
What’s even more impressive about this is that it will teach kids to do what came naturally to our grandparents — that is, to be frugal in the true sense of the word: to practice economy in the use of material resources. This can only help them later in life, and not just with trash, either.
The thing of it is, we parents have to get on board with the program. And I’m betting that’s going to be the weak (and angry) link in this cheerful little earth-friendly chain. Let’s face it: we’re all so busy that packing a zero-waste lunch is pretty much the last thing on our long and detailed family to-do lists. Right?
But here’s the deal: Zero-waste lunches are actually easier, not to mention cheaper, than the plastic-baggie-individual-applesauce-and-chip-container-juice-box-laden lunches most of us pack right now. Heck, you can score a nearly four pound box of Goldfish crackers for about the same price as half the amount of those same crackers in individual packages. Invest the extra cash in a few reusable plastic containers and —viola!— you’re ready to roll.
Of course, I need to warn you that doing this could result in a child who saves any and all trash particles that blow onto your property. Yep, your kids may also morph into the modern-day equivalent of Sanford, a la my son, Nicky.
Then again, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. After all, if enough kids start questioning the validity of throwing every little thing out, our Earth may just have a shot at a pretty green future.
Happy Earth Day!
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