Braving Boys

Model Material

Someone told me recently that Joey and Danny should be models. I don’t remember who it was, but I think it was a female person, perhaps commenting on a Facebook photo or something. I promise I’m not making this up, just so I can brag about my boys and how cute I think they are.

I was flattered by the modeling compliment, but since I have no idea who paid it (chemo brain), I can’t say I really let it sink in too much. But now that I see these guys posing for the staged shot to the right (they were showcasing some breast cancer gear for another post), maybe they could make it in the world of posing. Well, except that 8-year-old Joey, although very dramatic and animated, claims he’s too shy to get up in front of people, and 6-year-old Danny has a tendency to roll one eye and goof every chance he gets. Yea, maybe modeling isn’t in the cards.

But I do appreceiate the vote of confidence, from whoever it was who sent it my way.

Joey Drama

Writer Abigail Thomas offers in her book “Thinking About Memoir” the following writing exercise: Write two pages (one post) in which a child comforts an adult.

That’s easy.

The child was Joey. The adult was me. And it happened in February, 2005, one day after I realized my hair was shedding from my scalp faster than I could say chemotherapy. It had been 13 days since my first treatment with the toxic breast cancer drugs Adriamycin and Cytoxan, and not a rubber band nor a hat could hold my wisps in place. My scalp was sore, each hair still attached to my head hung with a weight that was nearly unbearable, and it had become abundantly clear that the moment had arrived: It was time to shave my head.

“Don’t worry, mom, you’re not going to die,” announced my almost 4-year-old boy, who was taking his turn shaving away the last of my chemo-stricken hair. “It’s only a haircut,” he assured me.

Whether he knew it or not, Joey was absolutely right. It was only a haircut. I didn’t die. And while some of his comments during my years fighting breast cancer weren’t as comforting — “You look like an alien,” he revealed while visiting me in the hospital in March of that same year — this is the one that still brings tears to my eyes, because, well, it was innocent, it was real and most of all, it was damn comforting.

The child, almost 4 years old

The adult, 34 years old

This post can also be found at my Breast Cancer blog.

I started blogging about breast cancer the day I learned it had invaded my body. But I’ve never routinely blogged about my children — invaders of another sort. I’ve been braving cancer for a little more than four years, but I’ve been braving boys for more than eight. Seems only fitting I document the beautiful and boisterous ways of Joey and Danny.

Joey, born January 2001

Danny, born May 2003