A Cincinnati Public Education board member recently approached me, assuming I might know something about climate change. She asked what I would emphasize in developing a climate change curriculum for elementary students. After a moment of thought, I responded: "Teach humanity." For those who know me, this answer likely comes as no surprise. Her puzzled expression prompted me to elaborate. I explained that at one point in life, we are all equal. We all struggled to learn to walk, talk, eat, read, share, and care for others. The journey from a narcissistic mindset—natural to young children—toward understanding others is a shared experience. It’s not easy for anyone and often involves tantrums, patience, and the guidance of elders as we evolve from infants to toddlers, from children to adults. Along the way, some of us (myself included) forget these early lessons about letting go of the “giant I.”

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Having spoken about climate change for 25 years, I’ve seen it as a symptom of the “big I.” Most of us are infants in our comprehension of it. Odd as it may sound, addressing climate change requires us to revisit our journey out of egocentricity. Climate change thrives on inequality, forcing those least responsible to bear its heaviest burdens.

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What would it mean to share our resources with those with little or nothing? If we listened compassionately to the cries for help resounding across the globe? If we cared for others with the same energy and attention we offer our closest friends and family, even extending that care to strangers we’ve never met? Imagine if we cared for those we unconsciously deprived of necessities like clean water or food. Why should we care about a homeless person on the street or someone killed in the latest tornado, flood, fire, or tsunami? Because one day, it could be us. Even if we’ve done everything “right,” disaster has no measuring stick.

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So, what would I teach kids in a climate change curriculum? Not science. Science would terrify them. Instead, I’d teach them to apologize. To play fair on the playground. To take responsibility for mistakes, both big and small. Above all, I’d teach them to care—deeply and consistently. Care for something as if their lives depended on it, and then extend that care to as many others as possible.

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Many of us have forgotten these lessons somewhere along the path to adulthood. Yet the Earth, in its way, is teaching us new ones about survival. Unfortunately, we seem to be ignoring them. As we’ve confined ourselves to smaller spaces, the Earth is healing—without us. The Earth has erased civilizations before. Those who’ve survived disasters know this truth intimately. Perhaps those earlier civilizations ignored nature’s warnings, too. We’ve forgotten the fundamental experiences of respect and compassion on a global scale.

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Religion, for better or worse, has long extolled the virtues of care and empathy for others, animals, and the Earth. These lessons exist in almost every sacred text, yet we’ve bypassed them. For what? As we face the dire warnings of the 2018 IPCC Report—a decade left to preserve life as we know it—I propose schools prioritize teaching compassion. Students will need it in the years to come. It may be the one thing that moves humanity forward in this final stretch as we strive to redefine our existence on Earth.