I talk a really good Mommy Game.
“Chew with your mouth closed.”
“Wear your helmet.”
“Flush and wash!”
“Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.”
And I try to practice what I preach. Truly, I do.
But sometimes it’s hard, friends.
When this fall arrived, and with it, a wide variety of seasonal extra-curricular activities, The Cherubs made their selections.
Twin B chose to play tennis.
The Small One, soccer.
And Twin A informed me that she wished to try cheerleading.
“Cheerleading?” I asked, my mouth puckering around the word as if it were foreign. ”Are you sure? You’ve always played sports. Are you sure that you just want to cheer?”
You must understand my position, friends. I am what you would call a
tomboy lifetime athlete.
I grew up playing pickup basketball games in my driveway with the boys from my neighborhood before continuing on with varsity sports in high school and intramurals in college. I still run 25 miles a week.
Hear me roar.
And through the course of my team experiences, I worked up a fairly strong disdain for cheerleaders.
occasionally never uttered a disparaging word against the cheerleaders in school, but I always thought of myself as superior.
I, the athlete, possessed a skill set.
And they? They possessed…well…pom poms.
And short skirts.
It’s horrible, I know. But, in all truthfulness, it’s how I felt at the time.
But my daughter is a persistent one. So I signed her up to cheer for the local recreational football league.
I drove her to twice-weekly practices.
And I waited with a smug self-assurance for her to see the light and announce her dissatisfaction with cheerleading.
So you can imagine my surprise
To see that she has truly loved putting on her uniform
And going to her Saturday games
And being part of a different kind of team
And even learning some new skills along the way
And I, for my part, finally learned by the time that Homecoming Weekend rolled around…
Not to knock it…
Until I’ve tried it.