Grist has one more day to reach our 15th birthday goal. According to my math, we’re 968 gifts away.

The 15 year-old me — that kid in the backwards cap — spent my days playing J.V. baseball, listening to Wu-Tang Clan, and geeking out over polynomial functions.

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Somewhere along the way, I lost the cap and glasses and my love of numbers lost out to a love of words. Now I’m working a new angle as the founding director of Grist’s fellowship program — sort of like a guidance counselor who coaches up budding green journalists.

We wish we didn’t have to ask, but it costs money to do what we do. Or, as the Wu once put it, cash rules everything around me.

Grist thanks its sponsors. Become one.

Will you pitch in a few bucks to fund Grist’s future? You’ll have our gratitude to the power of infinity.