So, I somehow have fallen into the role of Head Coach of Megan's cheerleading squad. And I am totally out of my element. Contrary to the popular perception of me (perky + blonde = must have been a cheerleader), I was not and never have been a cheerleader. (Although, that's my favorite lie to throw in in the icebreaker game "Two truths, and a lie." It gets 'em every time!) No, my glory days of high school were spent...wait for it...here it comes...
...in marching band! Yes, I was the queen of all band geeks, successfully mastering 4 instruments (flute, oboe, piccolo, and english horn), and leading the corp of 160+ as drum major my junior and senior year. While the cheerleaders in my high school were winning homecoming tiaras and little trophies with megaphones on them, my sites were set on "Superior with Distinction's" and "Best Marcher" awards. (I rocked a "right flank" like nobody's business!)
And our uniforms were a far cry from the perky, short skirts, form-fitting tops, and puffy cheer bow. My drum major skirt reached past my knees, black riding boots peeked out from underneath, and my polyester jacket, still smelling faintly of the previous owner, was tucked into wrist gauntlets and white gloves. The only skin I showed was on the back of my neck, owing to the required, slicked-up hair bun that gave the illusion of a uniform, gender-less group.
While the cheerleaders were worrying about knee injuries and properly executed jumps, I was wincing in pain from the 3-inch blisters that my drum major boots left on my heels, and building up my arm and shoulder muscles to be able to withstand waving my arms for a full 15 minute show. (I know...you are impressed. 15 WHOLE minutes....but that uniform WAS heavy!)
So, as I wade through the foreign world of cheer gear, herkies, and spirit chants (relying on googling "Cheerleading for dummies"), I am reminded of my own glory days...and glorious they were!
(::Caution...the following images may be disturbing to some viewers...proceed at your own risk::)
Pretty cute for a band geek! That instrument is an oboe for those of you non-musicians.
Nothing weird here...he was the head drum major, my junior year. It was tradition for co-drum majors to have portraits done. The gun was part of our uniforms, usually worn in a holster...before the days of zero tolerance. The photographer thought he was being cute.Stay tuned for "Confessions of an Academic Decathlete"...where I will regail you with stories of triumph, medals, and toilet-paper-on-the-shoe mishaps, in the mecca of all nerd meets...the Academic Decathlon. (Yes, I really did compete (and medaled!) on our school's academic decathlon team...and you thought I was just another ditzy blogger.)
