Roger Pires Nov. 24, 2011
When he's not offering his take on daily life, Roger Pires spends his days as a computer systems analyst. It's not exactly a glamorous calling but hey, it pays the bills. He enjoys hockey, canoeing, snowshoeing, and spending as much time as he possibly can outdoors. He lives in Udora with his wife and two kids, who are his prime inspiration for Ravenshoe Ramblings.
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Mowvember
The numbers don’t lie. One in seven Canadian men will be afflicted by it. Over 25,000 cases will be diagnosed this year with over 4,000 of them fatal. Prostate cancer is the most common cancer to afflict Canadian men with rates comparable to those of breast cancer in women. However if detected early, about 90% of cases are curable. You would think, given the threat to us all, that prostate cancer would be a prominent topic of conversation. But until recently, it was the giant mastodon in the middle of the room. Males of the species avoided the subject like the plague; it was the pariah of social conversation. Discussing your prostate was like admitting you had hemorrhoids or owned a copy of “ABBA’s Greatest Hits”.
“Movember” changed all that. The movement, which began in Melbourne, Australia, is now a global phenomenon. Its goals are simple: raise vital funds and awareness for men’s health issues, specifically prostate cancer. All participants have to do is grow a moustache for the month of November. Movember has become so popular that last year in Canada alone, nearly 119,000 Mo Bros and Mo Sistas raised $22.3 million for men’s health research.
At work, I joined a Movember team headed by a young lad whose dad is a prostate cancer survivor. He managed to enlist a number of us “Mo Bros” to share in the journey.
I’d thought of growing a Mo after listening to Lanny McDonald and Wendel Clark spread the news about Movember. But I have to admit, I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of growing a moustache. My last beard turned out to be an unruly tract of scrub that was more salt than pepper. The one and only time I grew a moustache was in high school. Pulling out the school yearbook I’m reminded why I’ve never had one since. But how could I refuse this time? It’s a great cause. And I’ve entered that particular demographic that can’t afford to stick its moustachioed head in the sand. I wouldn’t be alone, either. If you’re going to look like a castaway, it helps to have strength in numbers.
So I showed up on Day One, ready to have my picture taken. A couple of the boys insisted on a head start. “This is as good as it gets,” said one of my Bros. He sported a wisp of perma-fuzz under his nose that made him look like a blonde Sidney Crosby. He wasn’t kidding. We compared his Mo in week 3 with the one he posted on the Movember website at the get-go. It actually appeared to be thinning. Blame it on genetics; he comes from a long line of occasional shavers.
At the other end of the spectrum is the Walrus. He opted in a few days late to give everyone else a head start. With good reason. If you look closely, you can actually see that thing growing. At the three-quarter post, he looks like he has a squirrel Velcro-ed to his lip.
Style is as varied as thickness. Handlebars are popular. Software developers are seldom accused of being rugged or menacing. I’m sure the Marlboro Man probably didn’t spend his working hours behind a desk, crunching code. But with those slashes of stubble connecting the lip to the lower jaw, we look like extras off the set of “Easy Rider”.
Others prefer addition by subtraction. Beards and goatees are verboten and run afoul of the spirit of the movement. Not wishing to appear as some sort of hairy hooligan, one goatee owner simply whittled away his chin hairs leaving behind a championship-calibre Mo that’s the envy of the shop.
And yours truly? Well, what my Mo lacks in elegance it makes up for in volume. I have always suspected that my ancestry goes back to the missing link. Growing hair is not a problem. But as in real estate, it’s all about location, location, location. Over the years, as if by gravity, my hairline has shifted – mostly south. Being part wookie has allowed me to vault to near the top of the standings. I trail only the walrus when it comes to Mo lushness. I’m actually getting used to the thing, too.
My wife - my Mo Sista – supports me in my hirsute journey through Movember, although I suspect I’ll be watching a lot of hockey between now and December 1st.
None of it really matters, of course: lushness, shade, style, volume. It’s all about just growing it. Movember is a great cause and a lot of laughs. That’s as plain as the hair on your face.
