We descended on the Oval in a flurry of laughs and heavy backpacks and buzzing conversations. On that cool autumn night, over 150 of us showed up in the heart of the Ohio State campus. Like usual, we were up to something. Something big.
If I have learned anything in BuckeyeThon these past few months, it is this: You are the only person standing in the way of what you want. You can make all the excuses you want, but in so many cases, it really comes down to you versus you. It comes down to trying something that scares you instead of writing it off as impossible. It’s this outlook that brought in over one million dollars for this year's dance marathon.
The thing about all the people standing around the Oval that night? We all happened to want the same thing: To give kids a fighting chance at the types of lives we've been lucky enough to have. The lives that have led us here, to a campus we adore and a community we can’t get enough of.
I remember our president, silhouetted against the light of Thompson Library, walking back and forth as his words gained momentum along with his stride. “One day, they’re going to tell the story of how cancer was cured. And this is our chance to be a part of that story.”
I can still hear his voice traveling out into the night, calling on us as we prepared to put in a few hours of chalk advertising for the kids we know and the ones we don’t. We all know that it was only luck that gave us our health. Our childhoods could easily have been spent inside a hospital.
Cancer is such a formidable opponent. It is everywhere. It steals our heroes, our neighbors, our friends, and our pets. It follows no logic, and it doesn't care. Sometimes it feels as though the question is not if you’re going to be affected by cancer, but when. BuckeyeThon has given me a reason not to live in fear of this disease, but to instead take action against it.
The goal of this organization is to raise money “For the Kids” (FTK). When I first heard that slogan, I thought I knew what it meant. I thought it meant raising money for pediatric patients at Nationwide Children’s Hospital. FTK means this, but I now see it to mean something more. This fight is for kids who don’t exist yet. It’s for the kids we all used to be. It’s for the kids we are going to have. It’s for the healthy kids, too.
If one Facebook post, one hour spent chalking, and one day out knocking on doors, makes one kid closer to being on the other side of the hell that is cancer, then it’s worth it. I believe that facing any adversity, cancer or not, starts with saying yes before you're ready. The rest tends to fall into place along the way.
