Gifting our grandchildren a living hell
At the age of eighty-four I am, like most octogenarians, acutely aware of my own mortality. Will I live for another five years? Dare I hope for another ten? What will cause my death? Will pneumonia, which has visited me twice in recent years, get me in the end? Nobody knows the answer to these questions, but it is highly likely that I will die of natural causes. But what about my grandchildren? Will they die much younger than me from heat stroke, thirst, fire or starvation, or be killed in a war among hordes of people struggling to survive in a hellish world the like of which I never experienced at any stage of my long life?
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