Pink Tents and Tutus, Or Bursting My Son's Breast-Cancer-is-No-Big-Deal Bubble

                                           
   
This July my husband took our eleven-year-old son to set up and break down tents.  Pink tents, to be specific.  Hundreds upon hundreds of pink tents.

Our local Boy Scout troop had asked scouts and parents to volunteer as a way of supporting the people walking in the Avon 39 Walk to End Breast Cancer.  So I signed them up.  Yep, without even asking.  Would I have preferred if my son had asked (no, begged) to take part?  Sure, that might have been nice, but that wasn't gonna happen.  Now that I have hair again, my kids have practically forgotten that I ever had cancer.

To be honest, I was simply following established protocol in our house when I signed my son up for this. You see, he never asks to join in on any organized activities of any kind. Instead, he drops hints as to what he might like to do and then it falls to me to make sure he gives those things a try.  He complains mightily about the work involved, but he beams when he gets to show off new skills.  This is why I've signed him up for violin lessons for three years in a row now.  He threatens to quit each fall, but then he puffs up with pride when he performs in the town orchestra each spring.  So it's pretty much a wash.  I'm hoping self-motivation will take over at some point.  After all, he'll be in middle school soon* and everyone knows that it's not cool to meddle with a middle-schooler.

But this time I chose to meddle.  I signed my son up to be a "Tent Angel."  Not that I told him about his new job title.  I mean, who the heck came up with that one?!!  I'm pretty sure that would have strengthened his resolve not to go.  All kidding aside, "Tent Angels" are Good Samaritans who set up tents for the teams who lace up and walk 39 miles over the course of two days to raise money for breast cancer research and treatment initiatives.  They help out so that walkers have one less thing to deal with after they complete the first 26 miles of their journey.  You know, before they crash and then wake up at 6 a.m. to walk 13 miles the next day.  Volunteers get to stay at a base camp alongside the walkers and they even receive a hot dinner and breakfast for their efforts.  I'm told that this place even had hot showers.  Easy camping.  Just the way we like it.  And it's all for a good cause.

I'd been wanting my son to try volunteer work for some time and the fact that he would master how to set up and break down his own tent was a plus.  The only thing that was bugging me was the cancer bit.  Was this a good time to get involved in a cancer-related event, or was it too soon?  (Note: It was too soon for me or I would've been there myself).  Was I asking for trouble by stirring things up?  I began to worry about all of the stuff I worried about when I was first diagnosed last fall.  Would someone at the walk say something to him about having lost a loved one to breast cancer?  Would I tell him the specific reason our pack had gotten involved in this event?

Fast forward to the weekend of the Avon Walk.  My son did the usual complaining about how I hadn't consulted him before signing him up.  When he asked what people hoped to accomplish by walking 39 miles anyway, I explained that they were raising money to make sure that nobody would lose a mother, daughter, aunt, sister, or other loved one to breast cancer ever again.  I told him to think of the research that went into the drugs I had taken over the past year.  And then, in my frustration at his inability to see the big picture, I told him to think of the scouts in our troop who had lost their mother to the disease at the beginning of this year.  "She had breast cancer?!!" he gasped.  Damn!  That wasn't how I had planned to tell him.  I had been so worried that someone might say something to burst my son's "breast-cancer-is-no-big-deal" bubble, but in the end I was the one to burst it.  You see, I had never told him what type of cancer his cub scout pack leader's wife had died of.  

Our pack leader never let on that his family was facing a crisis at home and the terror that his wife's death inflicted upon me prevented me from sharing my diagnosis with him after hearing the heartbreaking news.  My husband and I hadn't known her personally, but the news hit close to home because I was in the middle of chemo at the time.  (Turns out I was wrong in thinking that "nobody else" my age was dealing with this cancer thing.)  For better or for worse, we decided to hide a few details from our son.  Yet as the day of the Avon walk approached I found that I wanted him to know that the pack had gotten involved in the event as a result of her efforts.  And that they were continuing it in her honor.  I told him what I had learned about her from those who had known her.  That she was an amazing skier and scholar and community-builder.  That she was a loving wife and mother who had been active in her kids' PTO and soccer club and in the Boy Scout troop we had just joined.  And yes, that she had died of breast cancer, but it was a different type of breast cancer.  One for which there are no targeted therapies.  Yet.  

I know that my son will have many more such moments as he grows older.  Moments where he realizes that cancer is in fact a big deal.  Moments when he (like I) reflects upon how unfair it is that one person's cancer responds to drugs while another's does not.  When he realizes that bad things can happen to anyone, at any time, but that you can't go around expecting those things to happen.  That you should do your part to help, even if your contributions seem inconsequential at first.  Everyone starts with baby steps.

My son had a blast at the event, by the way.  He learned to set up a tent.  He joked around with the scouts who volunteered alongside him.  He slept out in a huge field.  He texted me the photo you see above, of what I like to refer to as a pink field of dreams, blooming with hope for a world without cancer.  He called to tell me about "inappropriate" signs advertising free "BOOB CHECKUPS."  Oh, yeah, and he chuckled as he told me that he'd seen some guys in pink tutus.  All in all it was a great experience and I hope that he feels like he made a difference.  That's all that any scouting mom could ask for.

Next time I'll let my son decide if he wants to sign up for this event or not.  I hope he'll want to, but it will be entirely up to him.  He is, after all, a middle schooler.**

*I wrote a longer version of this piece in July but I have since decided to shorten it.
**My son has made the transition to middle school since I wrote the original version.