Rah-Rah Go You!

You know how random things pop in your head out of nowhere?  Like when a long forgotten memory leaks its way back into your consciousness?  I had that this morning.

I suddenly found myself remembering my youthful years in pursuit of being a cheerleader.  (Feel free to groan and make the gag-me sign of sticking your finger in your throat.  Trust me, I feel the same way.)  Come on now, cheerleading?  Really??!!

I’m not even a big fan of cheerleading.  (No offense to anyone.)  I have such a roll-my-eyes feel about the whole business – I’m sure partially due to my experiences – but also because the genre itself is culturally easy to make fun of.  You know what I mean.

As a young girl, I was a tot of a cheerleader for a Pop Warner football team.  It’s a youth-based organization of football and cheerleading.  My brother was on the team, my sister was on the squad with me.

We practiced.  And practiced.  I don’t know how many cartwheels I did in preparation – or how many times I fell to the ground attempting – but I’m sure I had the scrapes and  bruises to show for it.  Kids have that way about them – not much phases them in the pursuit of fun.

And I did like it.  We had our cute little skirts and vests.  And the requisite pigtails.  And most importantly, our own set of paper pom-pom’s.  Oh man, I loved those shakers.  There’s something about jumping up and down and throwing your arms in the air with pom-pom’s that makes a person feel good.  (I’m not even going to go there.)  But something about it made it special and cool and desirable.

So as the years rolled past and I moved into Jr. High School, being selected to the school cheerleading squad became a bit more competitive.  Grabbing a coveted spot took more gymnastic skill and social ladder climbing.  Neither which I was pretty adept at.  Certainly the splits and back flips and cow-jumps were NOT my forte.  I don’t know how many times I was probably borderline muscle tearing as I forced gravity to heave me downward in a split that clearly my legs weren’t made for.  Oh, I practiced.  And grimaced.  I was a dancer but I wasn’t a gymnast.  Back handsprings were reserved for others.

I envied those girls….whose flexibility rivaled Gumby’s.  I wanted that.  But it wasn’t happening.  Perhaps I was just better closer to the ground than heels over head.  I know that I had the spirit though – the deep voice, that could shout for hours.  And I liked to smile.  So I always hoped that would count for something.

My Jr. High didn’t have a football team – just a basketball one.  And I did make the squad.  One year or maybe two.  It’s a blur.  And not on my resume under special skills so it doesn’t much matter.  But I pushed my way in….somehow.

And then came High School.  The nirvana of your cheerleading years (if you’re of that ilk.)  It was cutthroat.  Seriously.  If you didn’t have the typical gymnastic abilities…or you weren’t of the popular ‘in’ crowd, there wasn’t a chance in hell you were getting in.  Damn.  They had cool megaphones and thick white sweaters to keep the football weather at bay.  Pleated short skirts and saddle shoes with red and gold laces.  And jackets – with the squad’s name embroidered on the back – and your first name on the front.

I didn’t get in.  No matter what I did, I just didn’t make the cut.

So I created my own squad.  My own group to belong to.  Take that cheerleader girls!!

Since I was a dancer (I had been dancing since the 3rd grade), I created, along with friends of mine, a dancer-cheerleader hybrid I had seen in other schools.  We were Highsteppers.  We would perform routines to music during halftime, on the field, in front of the crowd.  We were part of the mid-game entertainment (the requisite break from the sporting action.)  And we had our own set of pom-pom’s.  Yes!

My friend Trudi and I were co-captain’s to a bit of a motley crew.  We had tryout’s and weekly practice.  We worked hard to choreograph dance routines that included kicklines of Rockette fame.  None of our routines consisted of flips or jumps.  After all, I wasn’t much of an aerialist.

We weren’t entirely ‘accepted’ at first – I’m sure the cheerleaders weren’t too happy about us horning in on their territory.  But we weren’t out to take any of their glory (well, maybe a little), we were out to create a slice of our own.  After all, even in Western’s, there was always space for a sheriff AND a deputy.

We made it happen.  We bought our uniforms (even cuter than the cheerleaders, in my biased opinion) and we wore our saddle shoe’s on Pep Rally days in school.  Oh, and we got jackets too – with our names.

I’m sure the squad has evolved over the years – growing into whatever its newest members need and want.  But it’s nice to know I helped plant the seed.

Blazing your own path is essential to creating the life you want – the experience you wish to have.  If you don’t fit in to the standard mold (or don’t wish to), make your own.  Why not?  You are your own greatest inner cheerleader – and what better way to win then doing it your way.  No cartwheels required. – BB