An Open Letter to High School Cheerleaders

In the 7th grade I resented you.

Although even at the time, I knew you were right not to select me as a member of the middle school squad. For reasons that included my natural unathleticness, my inability to do the required jumps and splits, and my general lack of necessary cheerleading skills.

But I resented you nonetheless. Cheerleaders were popular. I was not so much. The laws of inference clearly stated that if I could be a cheerleader, popularity (and all the things that came with it) would be mine. (If you're curious, you can read more on this theory in any psychology textbook, simply look in the index for "delusional disorders").

I never gave much thought to what you did at practice or before games. I suppose that my bookwormish brain just imagined that you slipped those tiny skirts and iron-pressed shells on and did your thing. The effort that it took to BE a cheerleader was overshadowed by the somewhat mysterious effects of BEING a cheerleader - perfect skin, fine hair that pulled effortlessly back into a ponytail, and, of course, the ever-coveted boyfriend. Frankly, the resentment at the time seems pretty well justified.

Flash forward many years . . . the cheerleading squad is having their practice in the main foyer of the school where I work, right outside of my office. In fact, I type this very letter to the rhythmic count of "5, 6, 7, 8 . . ."

It's the middle of summer, and they are out there EVERY DAY working their little bloomers off.

I watch as they toss the smallest girl into the air - a stunt that will look flawless come game-time this fall, now looks like medieval torture. Time after time, she is flung by her teammates, only to come crashing down awkwardly to the mat below. Sometimes one girl has a hold of her left foot, but another one drops her right foot, causing her legs to splay in a what I can only assume is an increbily painful direction.

The cheerleader assigned as the "spot" has been kicked in the face at least 3 times, and I think her left eye is starting to swell.

And it's not that these girls aren't talented . . . after watching them practice the same manuever (unsuccessfully) over and over again - they get it! They get it good. And by the time the rest of the kids get back to school they will have it nailed.

So cheerleaders, I have the utmost respect for you. You work hard at what you do, and you deserve the pretty ponytail and the date to the dance and all the other varied glory that comes with that uniform.

As for me, I take back all (most) of my resentment.

Very Sincerely.