I am all about community and coming together.  I’m it-takes-a-village-to-raise-a-child.  I’m many-hands-make-light-work.  I’m about belonging and friendships and comfort and safety.  So when I had a chance to be involved at Assumption Catholic Secondary School’s “Cut for a Cure” last week, I jumped at the chance.  Assumption is a big part of my family’s life, as that’s where my husband has been a teacher for the last 12 years, and it’s also where my children hang out whenever my husband is coaching after school and I’m at work.  It’s our everybody-knows-us place, our this-is-good-for-our-kids place, our let’s-build-our-community-roots place.

“Cut for a Cure” has become an annual Spring event, after the resounding success of last year’s inaugural fundraiser.  This year, it was combined with a Spring sports pep rally.  Picture a school gymnasium packed to the rafters with high school kids.  Add in loud music, my energetic (read: loud) husband as emcee, and sports teams filling the floor seats.  Then add in a long row of chairs and dozens of go-ahead-and-shave-my-head volunteers paired with hairdressers.  And as the volunteers marched in, their hair prepped for wig-making donations, the excitement in the room grew exponentially.  The volunteers were overwhelmingly male.  Some were teachers, some were students, one was my five-year-old son proudly sporting his mohawk.  But some were female.  Some were grade 12 girls, the day before their graduation ceremony, willing to shave off their hair to make a donation.  To make a statement.  To make a difference. image image-2

I can only assume that these girls were like I was in grade 12.  At seventeen or eighteen, confidence can often run low and insecurity can run high.  Appearance is important.  Acceptance is important.  And let’s face it: society says that long hair is beautiful.  Our hair can be our security blanket, our hide-behind, our defining characteristic, and our self-esteem all rolled into one.  So to these girls, I say bravo.  Bravo for seeing the big picture.  Bravo for being mature and wise beyond your years.  Bravo for standing up for what you believe in.

And to my five-year-old son, who bravely got his mohawk shaved in front of hundreds of people, I say bravo to you as well.  As your hair fell to the floor, so did my tears of pride.  You get it, buddy.  And you made a difference.  

Cautiously watching his Dad go first...

Cautiously watching his Dad go first…



The final product!


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