Learning to fly. Learning to let go.

The Roosevelt High School cheerleaders, varsity and jr varsity.
Wish we could all see the fifth stunt group, to our left,
who apparently didn't fit into the frame.
It's fun to see the new girls learn to fly and the veteran girls teaching them.

There's something about this picture I really like.

I think it's all the reaching up. The pushing up. The stretching up. The looking up.

All the upward movement by the base juxtaposes with the flyers, who seem (understandably) rather tentative by comparison. Don't get me wrong, these flyers look awesome, but they're not on their toes like the back bases are. They're not looking upwards, like all their supporters are.

What the flyers are doing is looking out and revving up the audience -- while not letting on to their precarious situation. The flyers are totally dependent on a highly synchronized team to ensure their safe propulsion, trick, and landing.

The team moves perfectly together by counting. In this sport, precision is required otherwise a flyer gets dropped, and possibly seriously hurt. When a flyer falls to the floor, her trust in the base is broken. When trust goes down, the base can't get the flyer back up.

A reliable base who never allows the flyer to get hurt makes for a spectacular show.

I love all the symbolism in that. The teamwork, collaboration, and the idea that when someone succeeds we all do. Blah, blah, idealistic, blah. Imagine my son's hands making the motions of endless yacking, opening and closing his palms like clapping clams.

Girl child with one of her many cheer coaches,
and one of her many cheer awards. We are so very proud of her.

As you may know, I haven't been all that supportive of my daughter's cheerleading passion. I'm still not. But I am trying. This year I believe that great God almighty has taken pity upon this confused mother and made the English teacher the cheer coach. (How's that for grace?) That helps my state of wondering if cheerleading is the subject on which to spend so much time, energy, and money. Bob and I are doing back flips to finance the cheer habit and provide transportation, as girl child is now on three teams.

But what do I know? I'm lucky if I can get through any day without bloodshot, baggy eyes to meet my deadlines du jour. My goals often include recovery from sleeping with the most active subconscious in the world, which is not really sleeping. It's more like resting your brain on a bed of thumb tacks.

So when your kid finds her passion, something she loves to do, something she's good at, something she has access to, something others look to her for leadership -- you should raise yourself upwards and shout THANK YOU! to the heavens and earth. Even if you don't totally understand it. Even if it's not what you had envisioned for your child.

Right?

I'm trying, I really am. But honestly, I'm the most tired cheerleading mother you'll ever meet and I still have a hard time letting go of my preconceived notions of what passions my daughter should keep. You can imagine how giddy I was when my daugther informed me that this year she'll be the principal's assistant every day first period. (Mrs. Danielson and Girlchild kind of hit if off last year when Girlchild recruited the English teacher to be the new cheer coach. The Principal and my kid are thinking yay, a cheer coach. I'm thinking yay, a potential letter of reference for college applications.) My red eyes grew big with joy and all I could say was "I like! I like!" I think she did that intentionally so I'd lay off on my other concerns. It was a brilliant plan that worked perfectly.

Queue my son's clam-clapping hand motions to indicate yacking.

Still, if you want to join me in supporting all these upwardly mobile girls, find me every Friday night starting soon at the Roosevelt High School football games. I'll be the one cringing at the violent body contact on the field and reveling at the beautiful synchronicity on the sidelines. Then promptly going home to bed.

Thank for stopping by my blog. I wish you a wonderful weekend!

With love, T