Rome Free Academy Cheerleaders, Rome, NY
I entered the smelling gymnasium one day after ninth period class ended. Other semi-confident, exuberant teenage girls, gathered with me. Leaning against the front walls were the most popular girls in school – the cheerleaders. With orange or black bows in their pig tails reflecting school colors, short pleated skirts around small waists showing skinny legs, and white blouses with differing sizes of breasts, some of them popping open since most cheerleaders were generally well-developed girls. One of them chewed her gum loudly, cracking it as if she was replicating the whip she’d use to get us all in order shortly.
Being a dyslexic right/left direction girl, I knew I could be in trouble replicating jumps, kicks, dances, and other fast-paced movements since our cheerleading instructors were facing us while teaching them. As an honor society student, I was pretty confident I could recite the simple cheer sentences which last time I checked hasn’t changed in four decades. Why is that?
After a few takes, it was time to be called up in a group of six to try out for the team – which meant perfecting the moves and basically screaming loudly. Oh, I could scream but could I jump and remember to reverse my moves mentally? Distinctively I remember I couldn’t, I simply couldn’t. Embarrassed because I was a pretty good athlete, I slouched my way back and leaned against the cold gymnasium wall waiting for my name to be called for the cheerleading squad.
To my dismay, but not quite shock, my name wasn’t called and instantly, only in a 13-year-old-girl’s mind, I thought, “I really didn’t want to be a cheerleader anyways!” I turned my nose up, walked out the gym door with my head held high, shoulders back, big breasts obviously-not a selling point in this case-aiming forward, and left my only attempt at becoming a cheerleader behind.
But what I realized soon after and during the rest of my athletic career was the fact; I rather preferred cheering on my own swim or track teammates, more than yelling for good-looking football or basketball players anyways. I loved mentally lifting up and helping my girlfriends more than boys who already received enough accolades and attention thrust upon them in the mid-seventies.
I believe failing at making the cheerleading squad might have sparked my feminist spirit so for that I’m personally and professionally grateful. “Go, Women!” I cheer loud and proudly with my white blouse now pink to represent females of all sizes, shapes, sexual preferences, occupations, and skin color because they are my favorite people.