I suppose I should have seen this coming. Your mom was a cheerleader after all. It’s in your DNA.
On a 100%-chance-of-rain-kind of Saturday, we packed up and headed to Ruston, LA to watch our LA Tech Bulldogs a little earlier than normal. Your mom’s friend, Aunt Kristi, visited us from Austin-ish to see you and to go to alumni cheerleader practice.
The big question was whether your mom would give it a try too. Or was the question actually more along the lines of how awkward your dad would feel at a collegiate cheerleader practice. Maybe some background would help…
Dad has terrible balance. Just awful. Dad can touch his toes, but pretty much every athletic endeavor he’s ever taken on has permanently injured him in some way. Swimming? See the scar on my back. Tennis? Shoulder surgery. Basketball? Dislocated shoulder, fingers (plural), knee surgery, ankle injuries. Jumping a fence? Couldn’t walk for a week, scar on my left arm. I’m just injury prone when it comes to sports. So little women being flung dozens of feet into the air by giant men makes me a little nervous.
Want to know what else makes me nervous? A tiny human walking through all of these people doing stunts. And who was that? No. Not you. Yet. You don’t quite walk. But your hero of the day sure does. Don’t believe me?
So between me wrangling you, watching Aunt Kristi be hurled into the stratosphere while I’m videoing (secretly hoping for $100K AFV material), and trying to look more fit than I am to fit in with this crowd, I can’t help but watch this little girl walk under the human pyramid and cringe as I assume she’s about to be a human pancake. It was stressful. But did you care? No. This was you.
Giving me your best, “Hey, Dad. Watcha doin’?” as I attempt to get a picture of double back flippy floppy thing they do.
So what’s this all about? Are you cheerleader material like your Aunt Kristi or your mom?
I think in the end, when your mom decided her 30’s weren’t the time to get back on the singular hand of a guy you are trusting your life with, you didn’t really care all that much.
Okay, fine. I’m lying. I took that picture at the bar we went to later so we could watch the game. You LOVED cheerleader practice.
I think next year, when your mom decides she is going to give it a go, she’ll have a loving fan who wishes she was an acrobat without a wire wearing bloomers.