Why I’m Shaving My Head (Again) — And Why It Matters

13 years of baldness, or at least relative baldness (mine still grows back). Shameful truth: I hate writing these things. There’s a boilerplate for folks who don’t like to write, but that’s not my style. I could copy and paste last year’s statement—and let’s be honest, I probably will. But before I do, I want to share something that hit me hard.

St. Baldrick’s gives shavees the chance to honor a child. I always try to find a child from my area—on the off chance they might be at the event. It’s about solidarity. Showing up. Standing beside them, bald and proud.

This year, I was reading through stories, looking for someone to honor. I found one. Her status was listed as “angel.” That word stopped me cold. It still brings tears as I write this. I can’t imagine being a parent—or grandparent—of a child with cancer. Your whole world becomes a prayer for a cure, wrapped in a brave smile for the child you love.

So why do I shave my head with St. Baldrick’s? Because every donation “on my head” helps fund research that saves lives. Because kids are our future. I’ve been blessed with two healthy children and now two healthy grandchildren. Others aren’t so lucky. Their kids are facing battles no child should ever have to fight. And when childhood itself is stolen by disease, the tragedy is beyond words.

Since 2020, donations for childhood cancer research have dropped. COVID hit hard, and giving took a hit. But cancer didn’t stop. It still kills more of our kids than any other disease.

Research is hope. And St. Baldrick’s is the largest charity funder of childhood cancer research grants in the country. Your gift fuels that hope. It helps brilliant minds find cures. It gives families something to hold onto when everything feels uncertain.

I’m doing my part. I’m showing up, shaving down, and standing tall for these kids. Now I need your help. Will you join me (or at least sponsor me)?

Thank you—for caring, for giving, and for believing in a future where no child has to face cancer alone.

Also, if you’ve ever wanted to see me look like a freshly waxed cue ball, now’s your chance. Donate now—before I start charging people to rub my head for good luck.