Pondering cheerleaders

It’s cheerleader camp week at ‘ye olde’ alma mater. Always an interesting time. A week in which 12-15 year old bow-headed, space cadets primp and practice hours upon end to learn how to spell “Go” (G – O) and clap in unison. A week in which hairspray and butt skirts are the norm and the only table left in the gymnasium after two months of basketball camps is decorated in crate paper and balloons.

Of course, I couldn’t help but find the humor when the sewer line at the student center backed up on registration day. I wasn’t sure what smelled worse, the decaying excrement or overpowering stench of a cornucopia of perfumes wafting through the university store.

At this point one might have figured out that I am not a big fan of cheerleaders. Occasionally one might run across a group that is actually skilled in performance and can use their abilities to enhance a sporting event. However, being a former sports reporter and a current sports fan, I have seen my fair share of ineptitude sporting the school colors.

Of course, it pains my soul when my 5-year-old daughter consistently announces that she wants to be a cheerleader. I do everything I can to dissuade her of this preschooler’s ambition. I even use a local athlete who is now playing basketball for our storied university, as a babysitter for my child, hoping that her drive, ambition and athletic prowess, as displayed in the photo, (she especially loves to reminisce about her days as a volleyball player) among other admirable Christian traits, will rub off on my impressionable young child.



With this in mind, I don’t think twice about leaving our child with the sitter while the wife and I go to a movie. However, when I come home and find that the sitter has supplied my child with a set of pom-pons, I feel betrayed … stabbed in the back … et tu Brutus …

I have since informed the sitter, that I am holding her completely responsible for my daughter’s athletic development as she continues to grow and pursue constructive avenues through which to develop her skills.

I suppose, if the child wants to be a cheerleader I will let her. But I’ll be hanged if I will ever let her wear sweats or shorts with words plastered across the posterior. To date, my child has never asked for "buttboard" clothing. But I know one thing, if she ever does, I will do everything I can to nip that practice in the butt … errr bud.