Old Shoes - New Trip

I'm sick of ribbons. Every color of ribbon.

I'm sick of seeing red ribbons and having them remind me of what my brother suffered before he died of AIDS.

I'm sick of seeing pink ribbons and thinking about my father's mother, who died before he ever met my mother. I’m sick of thinking of all my friends who are currently fighting, or have had to battle, breast cancer.

I'm sick of seeing teal ribbons and realizing how viciously ovarian cancer sneaks in, only making it presence known after it's already a stage four.

I'm sick of orange ribbons knowing that, because of our baby-oil-tinted-with-iodine-slathered youth, an epidemic of skin cancer has begun among my generation.

I'm sick of purple ribbons because pancreatic cancer took my grandchildren's other grandmother before she had the joy of seeing her only son marry and then become their father.

I'm sick of gray ribbons because brain cancer took one of the most giving and kind men I ever knew. It proved that evil strikes most viciously at the good.

I want all those colored ribbons to begin gathering dust in people’s scrapbooks and memory boxes.

I want the people who make ribbons and ribbon emblazoned products to be driven out of business.

I want my grandchildren to grow up in a world where the only two purposes for ribbons are to decorate birthday presents and to tie bows around little girls’ pigtails.