I have been honored to know quite a few folks who have taken part in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure events all across the country. It touches me. It inspires me. And it reminds me of a story:
My older sister, J, had her own car then and didn’t need rides to school in the morning, but the baby of the family, H, and I were still in need. Mom would drive and H would sit in my lap, both of us sharing a single seat belt. (What? Like you never took a road trip lollygagging in a wheel-well or in the back window of your Dad’s car in your childhood? Puh-lease.)
I in sixth or seventh grade, and H in kindergarten or first grade made us both old enough to get ourselves ready in the morning, but Mom still ran down the check list to make sure nothing was overlooked.
One morning, as we backed away from the house, Mom started the checklist:
“Teeth brushed? Deodorant? Homework? Locked the door? Refrigerator is closed?” and the like sang out in call and answer fashion, my sister and I dueting on each “yes ma’am!” answer.
This morning, though, Mom must have wanted to keep us on our toes.
“Front door locked?”
“Yes ma’am!” we cried out cheerily.
“Bras in place?”
Silence met her query as I swiveled my head to see if I’d heard right.
With a sly grin, she met my shocked gaze and we both erupted into laughter.
Little H, however. Did not.
With great concentration, she was held open the front of her own shirt, surveying things.
“No bra,” she said very matter-of-factly, “I don’t have boobs. I just have blobs.”
Please visit the Race for Life to donate, volunteer or enter your own race. GO BLOBS!
The folks at Susan G Komen do not know who I am. Nobody is giving me so much as a pink ribbon to post this. It's just that, as it turns out, I have boobs. And I hope to for the rest of my life. I hope you do, too. Rock on.