I Hate Pink

I hate pink.

Or at least I used to. Memories of thick pasty Peptobismol are what made me detest it. Or girly girls, and goody two shoes who hated me. Umm, not that I was a bad little girl; I took my medicine and wore dresses. But I loved my couture to be glaring orange or chartreuse green. Traditional? Never! Somehow along lifes' path I decided that pink was my enemy. Maybe 'cause all the sweetie pies who acted so darned cute were the ones that would turn into vampire-bunny backstabbers when the teachers weren't paying close attention. With a sneer and a swish of barbie pink skirts I was banned from the popular girls table; left to my lonely lunch staring at my unusual clothing choices. Kids can be so mean! And yes I do have a few unresolved inner child issues.

Pink as a young lady in high-school was a no-no, baby. Coolness was the thing, and no one was going to take black away from me. Lucky for me I grew up in the 80's and chartreuse and neon orange were "totally radical" too. Like, y'know? I shaved off half my head of hair in an asymmetrical cut one year before it was hip, and sported a large safety pin in my left earlobe as an act of rebellion against the rules, and of course all things pink.

Fast forward to baby number one. A son! Blue and more blue. A cute snugly-cuddles baby bundle wrapped up in a blue blanket. And then as he grew, the colors became the red of skinned knees and the brown of ground in dirt. Not just his dirt  but mine too as getting a shower when your kids are too young to leave unattended for very long, results in 3 day stink-a-thons for supremely exhausted moms. Why they don't warn you of this stage of motherhood while you are engaged in the act of starting a family is beyond me. However keeping up such a slothful routine is a guaranteed method of keeping your husband at bay. Not too shabby of an idea if that is your goal! But things being as they were,( me showered and cute), boy number two arrived and sealed the deal. No ballet pink tu-tu's were in my future. Tai kwon do, skateboards and a perpetual stink which emanates from my boys' bathroom is the reality that I now live in. They are 12 and 16 respectively. (At least I get more sleep).

So what do I do with this color?

My mom is a breast cancer survivor. I am so grateful for her time here on earth. Even when she is bossing me and driving me nuts. Well...she likes pink.

Pink is for the lady in Sunday school class this morning who has already had 3 cysts removed from her breasts and is looking at 4 more to be removed. Are they malignant... benign... what? Aghhhhh!

Pink is for the other woman who spoke words of encouragement to her as she told of her own ordeal with the disease. Two ladies in a group of eight. How about those statistics? That makes it one in four

1 for every 4!

But pink can also be pretty. Pink is the softness of first kisses. Pink is the color of the boutonniere he gave you for prom. Pink is the warmth of your beloved doggys' tongue as he greets you. Pink can be a blush that you got as you were gently teased by your husband for being sexy even when you were 9 months pregnant!  Pink are chubby child's hands holding yours in the parking lot of Wal Mart. Pink is your teen-age daughters hair after a friend dared her to do it.So many different pinks...

Pink is a ribbon for survivors. The toughest survivors on earth.

What do I think of pink now? I am not a breast cancer survivor, so why do I have a voice in this? Because it hits so close to home. My mom, my friends, maybe someone you know too. As a middle aged woman I have grown out of black and neon orange punk induced fits. I still dress kind of weird, but I like it that way. No longer in a popularity contest for being the coolest; I have come to a place where I love pink. For me it is the Hollywood glam of a feather boa draped across my bedroom mirror. Or the silly flower I crafted onto the top of my favorite pen. It is my go-to choice for all fancy underthings. I think of it as a luxury that is easily indulged in. But it has also become something stronger than steel and I believe in the strength of our joined voices in the fight against breast cancer. I believe in our inherent toughness even as we are weak and sick. I believe that God has made us stronger than we believe we are. And I believe that His love will help us through.

Even if what is wrong with you is not breast cancer. It could be depression, or fibromyalgia or M.S., or any other "common to women" malady. God will be there through it, right by your side and in your heart.

He is the pink of the sunrise in the morning after a long night of darkness and pain.