Not Everyone Loves Earth Day

Editor's Note: We recently caught up with our old friend Arbor Day, who was sitting at a Greyhound bus station in Lincoln, Neb., drinking something out of a paper bag. At first, we weren't sure whether it was he; he looked like a Christmas tree dragged to the curb. But when we offered to buy him lunch (mulch and a ham sandwich), he brightened considerably. Here is what he had to say:

Earth Day. Oh? Is today Earth Day? Whaddya know. Ask me if I care. Who wants millions of celebrities fawning over you? "Oh, Earth Day, I just LOVE what you've done for the planet." Gimme a break. Earth Day is the perfect day if you want to go shopping at Whole Foods for a $20 grapefruit from some local farm run by a goat. Then everyone can drive over in their Priuses — if the brakes don't send them crashing into your organic wine cellar — and nibble a segment of the grapefruit with water some coal-burning freighter dragged all the way from Fiji.

At this point, he took a long drink of whatever he had in the bag. A squirrel peeped out of his beard and darted back in. Arbor Day continued:

Earth Day once called to say, "Isn't it cool we're practically born on the same day, except I'm so much younger and I'm friends with Susan Sarandon and Al Gore and you're friends with, like, a woodchuck?" I hung up on him.

Tell you the truth, I'm glad I'm not Earth Day. When I was born — you know the story, right? It's 1854. J. Sterling Morton moves from Detroit to Nebraska and can't believe there aren't any trees there. What did he expect? It's Nebraska! Anyway, he plants some and then gets the big idea: Let's get EVERYONE to plant some. So he has the state declare April 10, 1872, "Arbor Day" and give prizes to the counties that plant the most trees.

They say a million got plastered ... er ... planted that day.

And pretty soon, everyone starts hearing about me and kids make banners and march in parades all about ME. And in 1970, no less a statesman than Richard M. Nixon proclaims that the last Friday in April is MY day.

That's right. Tricky Dick and me, like this. He twined two branches together.

Yeah, well, that same year, some senator from Wisconsin, Gaylord Somebody, gets the idea for Earth Day. And guess what? He's going to hold it on Morton's birthday. You know how that feels? A guy up and declares your founder's sacred birthday is now some hippie-dippie honk-if-you-like-tie-dyed-tofu holiday?

And what do you know? Twenty million people pour out to celebrate this Earth thing, and suddenly it's like, "Arbor Who?"

There was a time I could go anywhere and people would tip their hats and say, "Hey, Arbor Day! Thanks for the shade!" Now it's "Earth Day Special" and "Earth Day Savings" and "Earth Day Dow Chemical- General Motors- Smelters-R-Us But We Took Out a Full-Page Ad in The New York Times So We Care Day!" And everyone gives out free tote bags so you can carry around your halo without wasting any plastic.

The squirrel darted out from his beard again and nestled into his lap.

I'm really happier out of the public glare. But I guess if you pushed me, I'd be willing to trade Squirrely here for Susan Sarandon.

Got any more of that mulch?

Lenore Skenazy is the author of "Who's the Blonde That Married What's-His-Name? The Ultimate Tip-of-the-Tongue Test of Everything You Know You Know — But Can't Remember Right Now" and "Free-Range Kids: How to Raise Safe, Self-Reliant Children (Without Going Nuts with Worry)." To find out more about Lenore Skenazy (lskenazy@yahoo.com) and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

COPYRIGHT 2010 CREATORS.COM