I saw an unusual sight the other day, at least unusual for me (which some could argue makes it EXTREMELY unusual). My DH and I were watching a football game a couple of weeks ago between the New York Jets and the Baltimore Ravens, and I noticed that there was a certain feminine flair to the whole undertaking. It wasn't the jiggling cheerleaders, the sleek black uniforms of the Ravens, or the fact that the Jets were getting their collective ass handed to them and looked near tears. No, it was something else.
And that something else was pink.
On the uniforms. On the headgear. On the sideline personnel's hats. On the cameras. No matter where one looked, there was something pink. Hot pink. Light pink. Baby pink. All shades of the pink rainbow were represented and represented well.
Welcome to October, which is national Breast Cancer Awareness month. I won't go into great detail about this disease because you can read all about it on the Susan G. Komen website. However, I think that when a disease reaches such proportions that big, strappin' football players are wearing hot pink headgear without batting an eye, that's significant. I know sometimes it feels overexposed, as everywhere you look you can see something pink or something about fighting the disease. I, myself, have gotten a little annoyed more than once because the cause sort of hijacked my favorite color and made it the poster child for a disease that for a long time I wanted to leave in the past where I thought it belonged.
However, I can't. Cancer touched my life in such a way that it will always be a part of who I am. I can deny it no more than I can deny my impatience or my desire to always be right (bad things that I hope have made me a good person as I try to overcome them). So I've quit grumping about my favorite color reminding me of the "bad old days" and have learned to enjoy being surrounded by something I love put there by people who are trying to make a positive difference.
Like the Jets and the Ravens. These guys were serious about wearing this pink, and it certainly didn't affect their masculinity any, although I must say the Ravens' sleek black uniforms had a certain slimming effect that was uncanny and quite lovely. I fully expected one of them to turn toward the camera and say,
"Hi, Mom! You were right. My butt does look better in black. Check your boobs!"
Nah, these guys were pounding each other senseless and getting sweaty and grunting and just having a whale of a good time playing football. The message sent? Real men wear pink. Real men wear pink because it matters. Real men wear pink because it matters because women and men are dying from a disease that we can defeat.
Please, check your breasts today.