Circa 2008…
“I think you should be the middle school cheerleading sponsor.” -Rhonda
Uh…say what?
Listen. If my 43-year-old self could go back to a moment and warn myself, I might choose that one.
Insert warning here: RUN. Don’t do it. You’ll shed far more tears than you need to. This is not your moment to people please. The 2K isn’t worth it. Actually, I don’t remember, but I don’t think you really even got paid. Work at Chili’s! Sell jewelry. Do. Anything. Else.
28 year old me…
“Uh…sure. I have no idea what that means.”
They told me the parents would do all the work. They told me it would be easy.
Y’all. Have you ever met a group of middle school cheerleaders from the South? Better question, have you ever met their mothers? Not one bit was easy. All of it was dramatic.
It started with the girls deciding to wear pink Abercrombie on Wednesdays. Because of Mean Girls. Spoiler-they were the mean girls. And their mean girlmothers were very upset when I told them they had to stop.
Fast forward to tryouts. Let's just say I was traumatized. I can’t imagine the trauma that the 11-year-olds experienced.
Finally-it was summer. We had a squad. Reframe-they had a squad. I was there to supervise. And they all (their mothers) hated it.
I decided a retreat was best. Team building. Bonding. Learn kindness and all that shit.
The mothers booked a Chalet in the mountains. It had a hot tub. They were excited about that.
I had to sleep on a couch.
We’d been at this cabin for maybe 4 hours and I’d already had two panic attacks. I didn’t tell the moms that I could already hear them making fun of me in the kitchen with their daughters. This was going well. I took the girls outside for a team-building activity.
“Girls. The goal of this exercise is focus. Tune into my voice. Maintain eye contact with me. We’re going to move as one.”
Insert internal commentary here. What’s that walking this way? Shit. 2 black bears. A mama and a baby. Shit. Shit. Shit. I can see the headlines now. Wait. Stop. Focus. They’re all staring at you. The bears are within biting reach. Shit. No one else has any idea. They’re all looking at me.
Now, dear reader, I don’t know what kind of first-hand experience you’ve had with bears. I didn’t have a lot myself at the time, but I was a diligent 28-year-old old and I’d watched every PSA in the Smoky Mountains. This was not good.
My body started to move on roat. My palms were sweating and my heart was racing. But…what I said out loud…”Girls-keep your eyes on me. We’re going to silently move up the chalet stairs as one.”
And we did. And the moment we got inside, the girls started screaming.
The bears laid down in the yard and took a nap in the sun.
The girls kept screaming.
The rest of that trip is a blur. I think I blocked it out.
I got fired from my cheerleading coach role the next month. The moms had made a 3-page handwritten list of things they didn’t like about me.
Rhonda told me I wasn’t a good fit.
Yes Rhonda. I knew that going in. I just didn’t have the words to say no to you.
(Insert 43-year-old me giving 28-year-old me a big hug and a shot of whiskey)
The girls went back to wearing pink Abercrombie shirts on Wednesdays.
I should have said “Shit” out loud more at 28. At that point in my life, I was so focused on upholding whatever reputation I thought I had. Being the perfect teacher and mentor. Making every part of my life “Christ-like”. You know what? I bet Jesus said “Shit”. I also bet he’d look at cheerleading moms and tell them exactly where to put their handwritten lists.
Parents-if you’ve written a list of things you hate about your kid’s teacher, please find something else to do with your time. That human is just that…a human. Instead, may I kindly suggest looking for opportunities for real conversations? No one else needs extra trauma…it’s hard enough to be human. I had to work with those moms for years after that. Sometimes they still comment on Facebook posts. Facebook...that's a whole other thing.
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