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Let's do a little test. I'm going to write a word and you're going to tell me your immediate gut reaction in the comment box of this post BEFORE you read the rest of the post. Write down whatever memories, feelings, or ideas the word evokes. Don't peek at the rest of the post until you've done this exercise. Got that?
Here's the word:
Cheerleader
After you leave your reaction in the comment box below, return to this point in the post to continue reading.
Revered or hated, annoying or awe-inspiring, unlike other athletes, cheerleaders evoke a visceral reaction before they've ever clapped their hands or performed a c-jump. Feminists have dissected the pleats of those short skirts, movies have cemented the cheerleader's status in the social food chain, and countless bloggers have recounted their own experiences with cheerleading from the positive memories to the hurt that comes from being cut from the squad in the first round. I could definitely identify with this thought:
It’s been 20 years since I tried out for cheerleading. It’s taken 20 years to get over the horror of not even making first cuts. I DIDN’T EVEN MAKE FIRST CUTS. Only the losers didn’t make first cuts.
Once I saw Lucas (I had a crush on Kerri Green since seeing her in Goonies), I knew that I had to be a cheerleader. And to cement my placement on the team, I didn't just rely on the fact that my older sister was friends with people on the squad (therefore, by my thinking, they had to take me if they expected to be invited to her next birthday party). I took a cheerleading class that girls were encouraged to attend who wanted to be on the squad. Think of it like a pre-squad, with equally short white pleated skirts, a red top, and high ponytails bouncing as we jumped.
When the time came to try out, I was nervous but confident. What I lacked in gymnastic ability, coordination, and rhythm would be balanced out by my sheer will. I wanted this so badly, and that had to count for something. Plus, I was little and cute, two characteristics I thought were most important to being a cheerleader.
You may have noted the part where I admit that I couldn't turn a cartwheel in a straight line (actually, let's be honest--my best cartwheel was really a crooked round-off), couldn't clap and move at the same time, and danced like Elaine. I understood that if I couldn't throw or catch a ball, I couldn't make the baseball team, but I didn't extend those same sorts of facts to cheerleading. Now, 24 years later, I understand why I didn't make the squad, but back then, it was soul crushing and confusing.
I waited all night for my call to come from the head cheerleader, who was telephoning each girl at home if they made the squad. As the minutes ticked on, my heart began to feel too large for my chest, pushing its way into my throat. I finally got up the courage to call a girl on the squad who was considered the nicest of the cheerleaders, an older sister of a girl in my class and a peripheral friend of my sister. She was sympathetic and feigned to not know what was happening with the phone calls. She told me that if I made the squad, someone would call me shortly--and those words gave me renewed confidence to get through the next hour. Of course she knew my status, having been one of the girls who judged the cheerleading tryouts, but it was a long, slow, deflating letdown as the clock reached 10 p.m. and it was clear that it was too late for cheerleaders to be calling our home.
I cried myself to sleep.
The next year, I armed myself with spirit and skills. I may have had a wonky herkie jump and maybe I still hadn't mastered a back walk-over (who am I kidding? My cartwheel was still a crooked round-off), but I could do the splits--both a left leg front split AND a side split. I had practiced
