In 1996, when our third child was about a year old, she went into the hospital for an unknown illness. I recall walking to the corner restaurant for my wife, who doesn’t tolerate hospital food well. In the entrance way, I noticed a flyer for the first Ride For Roswell, a bike ride to raise funds to fight cancer at our local research and treatment center, Roswell Park in Buffalo. Call it divine intervention or the associative property, but the message was very clear. I rode the first 10 of those R4Rs and began to understand certain whys and certain hows, and to repay a promise that I made that day in the restaurant as a nervous father.

I’ve made an effort to participate annually in at least one Roswell fundraiser in the 17 intervening years, be it the R4R or the Chip In For Carly’s Club (100 golf holes in one day.) Some years, the sum of money donated has overwhelmed me. This year, I’ll undertake a double-header. On March 19th, the hair that I’ve let grow for four months will all come off in our school’s Goin’ Bald For Bucks event. In August, I plan to swim a mile in open water for the Carly’s Crossing event.

I remember well how challenging the 100 Holes was. It took place in August, at the height of Buffalo’s hot season. Temperatures were in the 90s [non-Buffalonians never believe us :)] and we were cruising through our day. We had finished 54 holes when we decided to avail ourselves of a sandwich in the halfway house~bad move! Sitting down, in A/C no less, gave our muscles an opportunity to tighten up and we had a heck of a time getting out to the first tee, let alone finishing the 100 holes.

People ask about the motivation for any charity fundraiser. They understand why the event exists, but cannot help but be interested in why the fundraiser is personally engaged. A few years back, the oldest member of our faculty was diagnosed with stage-four cancer; he smiled and joked his way through his final months, weeks and days, setting an example of how to handle tragedy and finality with dignity and grace. A year later, one of my high school golfers (now a graduate) found out that the cause of his headaches was a brain tumor. Colin continues to receive chemotherapy and work toward a return to his college education. Last year, the tween daughter of a colleague was diagnosed with a blastoma. She has let the world know that in her family, bald is her thing. Not to be imitated, Erin’s bald is to be respected.

I’ve often thought about the many hands that touch the life and treatment of a cancer patient. From oncologists to surgeons to researchers to caregivers to family members, so many hands playing so many vital rolls from diagnosis through treatment to remission. My friends joke that mine are the hands of a pickpocket; I find a way to separate them from their change, to lighten their wallets, to heat up their credit cards.

The Ride For Roswell has a number of different distances. The young and the less-fit can do a quick 10-mile fun ride, while the Tour de France candidate can ride upwards of 60 miles. There used to be a 100-mile distance, but the demands for policing were too great and it was gone. I rode solo a few times, while others were shared with our older children. Sometimes our kids understand why we take time to help others, and other times they need to grow up and find their own calling.

Is there such a thing as too much optimism? I’m not certain. I don’t doubt that every cancer patient knows the strength of the illness she or he must fight. I suspect that the patient sees the road and the struggle with the clearest and strongest eyes. At times, those eyes see too much and their body and soul are in need of hugs, handshakes, humanity. Personally, I cannot stop the optimism; the alternative would be a betrayal.

There is little physical sacrifice in shaving off one’s hair. Going bald for bucks is about sharing the perspective of others who look at you, then look away, then look back. It’s about gaining an understanding, not of the cost of treatment to the body that patients pay, but of the cost to each heart and spirit. In our heads, certain people can and should be bald while others must not be. We quickly judge why someone is hairless. I’m certain that most people will look at my 47-year old scalp and accept it as naturally bald. I hope that most do not. I hope that some inquire. I hope that my answer motivates all of them to invest time and energy in this campaign, or another, or their own.

I anticipate a balance between crawl and breast strokes this summer. I’m told that the seaweed in the Buffalo Harbor is more challenging than the waves. I’m kinda hoping the day is light on both, but I’ll take what I can get. Since I live on an island in the Niagara River, I have access to an open-water beach. I’m going to do my best to train there a few times in July, to be ready for the demands of the open-water swim.

To learn more about our efforts and Goin’ Bald For Bucks, visit this link.