That’s me, about 10-years-old, fully dressed in my cheerleading uniform for the mighty Huntington Beach Tritons. The Tritons were the Pop Warner team of my older brother, Randall.
The cheerleading squads were made up of the sisters of the football players. We were a mixed bag of trunk-legged fourteen-year-old, weepy six-year-olds, and future high school cheerleaders, who saw this as their opportunity to start bossing us future high school yearbook editors around.
I really, really wanted to be a cheerleader, but my fear of competition and inability to master the kick ball change kept me from ever going any further than the afternoon football fields of Huntington Beach that one season.
Truth is, I mostly just liked the uniforms–pom-poms, blue vans tennis shoes, handmade, pleated skirt. I have had a lifetime habit of choosing a sport by its uniform. It has served me well, because now, the only “sport” I participate in is walking my dogs (for which I wear flip flops and jeans).
That’s my brother Randall. He didn’t look like much of a threat on the football field, mostly because of his pretty hair. Even when it was covered with a helmet, his cute, sweaty blonde strands were still just precious sticking out the bottom.
At thirteen, Randall was already struggling to learn the delicate balance of being honest and sensitive–something most grown men still haven’t mastered. I asked him one night after a game if our cheering helped him while he was on the field.
“No, we can’t really even hear you,” he said casually as he took a bite of his sloppy joe.
Me, with a jittery, pre-cry voice which is recognizable to anyone who knows me, barely got out, “Oh.”
I clearly remember Randall looking at me from across our family dinner table and I know he understand that he had thrown a dagger at my inner-cheerleader.
In a clever move, way beyond his years, he recovered quickly by adding, “But we can SEE you out there, and that really helps. Just to SEE you there.”
Nice one.
More Randall you say:
Happy Birthday Randall
“Every picture tells a story don’ it?”
That is adorable! What a sweet brother! Happy Birthday Randall!
Not even sure why- but I sorta teared up at the end. So adorably sweet I guess.
And man o man you look darn proud in that uniform. It is the fuzzy iron on letters that take me back…..
Tucker does not have cheerleaders for his Pop Warner football team. My mom asked him if he was bummed about it. And he said:
“not really. They just make me mess up -cuz they are doing all those kicks and yelling and I have to watch them cuz they have pony tails”
Oh the distraction of a pretty cheerleader!
You really got that feathered hair thing going…my sister had that same look. Very sweet story. Not sure if your brother will appreciate you calling him precious.
I love that story! Quintessential Randall!
That is so sweet! What a good big brother to try, at least, to make you feel better. I hope my son is that good to his little sister when they get older.
I was trying to puzzle out what KICKBALL CHANGE might be — money back for a side bet on a behind-the-bleachers kickball game?
Guess you can sort out the HAVE(been cheerleaders)S from the HAVE NOT(been cheerleaders)S.
Or the idiot from everyone else.