Monday, May 17, 2010

Naked, ready to fly

So, I'm standing in the middle of our living room, stark naked, facing our sliding glass doors, holding our Flip camera in one hand and our still camera in the other, thinking to myself that this is how it happens.

I was there because while I was starting my shower, I heard Mama start yelling, "Papa! Papa! Come out here now!" Judging by the tone of her voice, I figured that one of our kids was on their way to the hospital, something had burst into flames, or perhaps both.

Turns out it wasn't anything like that, but it still got me out of the bathroom, down the hall and into the living room before the clock ticked twice, because this is how it happens: there's a time to act, and there's no time to hesitate.

When the life of someone you love is on the line, when there's nobody else who's going to save them, when there's something you can do--that's when it's time. And, for you, that time is now. If they haven't already, someone you love will get cancer, they're going to need doctors and medical research to save them, and you can give them both by supporting my ride to make cancer history--the Pan-Mass Challenge.

When you do, 100 percent of your donation will go straight to the institute that developed the prostate cancer vaccine--the Dana Farber Cancer Institute. To the institute that saved the life of six-month-old Julia...who's now seven years old, and seven-year-old Dan...who's now seventeen years old, and scores more, thanks to people like you.

Every child deserves a place like Dana Farber, where even the ironworkers who weld together the steel skeleton of the building itself help care for the kids. It's not just a hospital, it's a place built from the bones out with love.

Speaking of hospitals, it turns out that neither kid was on their way there or engulfed in flame. In fact, neither knew what Mama was hollering about, which was that the former baby, now nearly full grown, bird that's been living on our balcony for the last several weeks looked ready to take its first flight.

It was poised on the balcony railing, next to its mother, but at the last minute got spooked, and retreated to the safety of first our rocking chair and then back down onto the balcony floor. This is not unlike the progress Jewel is making toward standing and walking. She pulls herself up on anything she can, but then often ends up stranded, unable to move on, so she lets herself down, crawls over to the next vertical surface and begins again.

Soon enough, Jewel will take her first steps, and soon enough that bird will raise his wings, then spring off of our railing into the wind, trusting, as Jewel does, that should he falter, his mother will be there to catch him, and comfort him if he's wounded.

And just as I will be for Jewel, I'll likely be there, cameras in hand, recording every amazing and delightful moment.

Only hopefully this time I'll have some clothes on.


I'm working to make cancer history. Will you help me?

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4 comments:

  1. If there is only one thing kids teach you, it is to take life as it comes and roll with it, clothed or not.

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  2. Agreed. The way I phrase the lesson is, "they teach you to let go of everything."

    That and that taking care of your knees and back at a younger age would have been a good idea.

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  3. The flickr pic of 3B and the two pairs of scissors:
    "Don't make me do it. I will do it. I will... I'll cut off ALL my hair! Don't step any closer!"

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  4. LP: Are you kidding? He's growing it out "to look like KISS." If we even talk about cutting it, we get the stink eye.

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