Tickled pink

Today I went to my high school's football game (followed by a hella dope dolla dance ayyyeee). It was a loud night that I chose to fill with only people who make me feel awesome. And I got to dance a bunch, which always rocks.

But the point of this blog post is that the football game was a "pink out" for breast cancer awareness. Don't get me wrong, I am just as passionate as the next guy about finding a cute for cancer, probably more so considering how obviously it is affecting an immediate family member of mine. But somewhere between huddling for warmth and dropping it like its hot, the night became nothing about breast cancer. Yes, I was wearing pink and I dropped my spare change off with donation seeking cheerleaders, but those were thoughtless actions. I left the night no more aware of the disease and no step closer to it's end. Wearing pink got us no wear, it just made us look like we care.

No pink wrist band, no pinned on ribbon, no copy-and-paste Facebook status is going to cure breast cancer. The dollar donations at the check-out counter in grocery store are not going to add up. If they did, than why would anyone ever where any other color? Sure, as a teenager there is not much I can do, but there has to be something more than a color coordinated bandana.


I wish anyone could do anything. I wish this wasn't so out of our control. I wish all of the pink, all of the senseless donations, all of the "make me look good" gestures were genuine enough to be followed up with something productive enough to get my stepmother's hair back.