Over the past few weeks, Polo in Brazil has been making its way through a virtual book tour, with reviews appearing on children’s book blogs and educational websites. Reading those reviews has been fascinating—not because they are about my book, but because of what they reveal about a much bigger question.
How do we talk to children about climate change?
After more than thirty years working in conservation, I have seen firsthand the impacts of deforestation, biodiversity loss, and environmental degradation. I have also watched climate change move from a relatively obscure scientific topic to a constant presence in news headlines. For today’s children, climate change is not an abstract future problem. It is part of the world they are growing up in.
Yet many adults struggle with how to discuss it. Some avoid the topic altogether, worried about causing anxiety. Others focus so heavily on the problems that children are left feeling overwhelmed and powerless. Neither approach feels right to me.
One of the most encouraging things about the recent reviews of Polo in Brazil is that several reviewers independently picked up on something I have long believed: children need hope as much as they need facts.
The Children’s Book Review described the book as helping readers understand the climate crisis through “an entertaining and hopeful lens.” Another praised its combination of adventure, humour, and environmental awareness in a way that feels “exciting rather than preachy.“
Those comments resonated with me because they reflect the philosophy behind the entire Captain Polo series.
Children are naturally curious. They want to understand how the world works. They are often capable of grasping far more complex ideas than adults give them credit for. The challenge is not whether they can learn about climate change. The challenge is how we introduce the subject.
In my view, there are three things children need.
First, they need wonder.
Before children can care about protecting nature, they need opportunities to experience it. Whether it’s watching birds in a garden, exploring a local woodland, or simply turning over a stone to see what lives underneath, curiosity comes first.
Second, they need honesty.
Climate change is real. Environmental challenges are real. Children deserve truthful answers to their questions. We should not pretend that everything is fine when it is not.
But third—and perhaps most importantly—they need hope.
Children need to know that solutions exist. They need to hear about scientists, communities, innovators, and local heroes who are working to address environmental challenges. They need to understand that people are not just causing problems; they are also finding solutions.
That is one reason why Polo in Brazil spends as much time exploring solar-powered communities, forest restoration, and conservation initiatives as it does examining threats such as deforestation and illegal logging. The goal is not to persuade children to adopt a particular viewpoint. It is to help them develop curiosity, critical thinking, and a sense of possibility.
Ultimately, I do not think we should aim to raise children who are fearful about the future. We should aim to raise children who are informed, thoughtful, and confident that they can play a positive role in shaping it.
If the recent book tour has reminded me of anything, it is that stories remain one of the most powerful ways to start those conversations.
And perhaps that is where climate education should begin: not with fear, but with curiosity and hope.