Cheer Dads

Our cheer dad is not at Cheersport Nationals this weekend. This is no reflection on how awesome a cheer dad he is to my girls.

Our cheer dad…

We would not be here this weekend without his hard work to help pay for it. We would not be enjoying our time without all The Time he spent booking everything from flights to our hotel. We would not be here except for his love and dedication to his girls.

He knows the scoring system. He is the best videographer. He packs cars and suitcases like a boss. He won’t touch the hair or makeup, but I don’t either. Our oldest cheerleader mastered it on her own. He talks us down, even miles away, from slamming hotel doors, a result of our early morning nervous drama. He is the truth and the hugs after a rough performance.

Cheer dads are every bit as important as cheer moms. And oh, how we miss ours this weekend.

The Cheer Hair Rap

A little rap (radio edit version) I wrote for my daughter as she got competition ready:

Who’s that babe with the jacked up hair?

She’s a cheerleader.

It took a can of hairspray to get it there.

She’s a cheerleader.

She walks by the judges and they say ‘sup?

She’s a cheerleader.

Even a hurricane couldn’t mess it up.

She’s a cheerleader .

‘Twas the Night Before Super Nationals

It ’twas the night before Super Nationals when all through the house,

The uniforms were getting packed for a chance to compete before Mickey Mouse.

The cheer shoes were now sneaker balled with care, in hopes that the car wouldn’t stink before we arrived there.

The cheerleaders were flipping around on their beds, while visions of hit zeros danced in their heads.

And Cheer Mama in her sparkles, and I in my gym branded cap, gave up long ago our hopes for a nap.

Because cheerleaders by nature are always making a clatter, so telling them to be quiet really does not matter.

Away to the car I flew like a flash, tore open the door, and tried to pack up the cheer stash.

The moon shone brightly on our bazillion cheer sparkles below, making my eyes start to tear, so blinding I thought our dog was a bear.

Then my athletes yelled out the door, so lively and quick, “Dad, don’t forget our spirit stick!”

More rapid than eagles, the cheer luggage came, I whistled and shouted and called off the items by name: “Now uniforms! Now cheer shoes! Now, bows and eyeliner! Come on, lipstick! And medical tape! And, backpacks and lucky stuffed items! To the back and the sides and the front of the car! To the top now in a roof rack! To the top of my lap! Now pack it up! Pack it in! Let’s prepare to dash away all!”

Like the bases before the wild flyer must fly, so they don’t get a deduction, I lifted the glitter and gear and it flew, like a sleigh full of toys from St. Nicholas if he was on my packing crew.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard the prancing and chattering of my wife.

As I took a deep breath and was turning around, she came at me with a bound.

She was dressed all in cheer mom gear, from head to foot, and her clothes were all glue gunned with sparkles black like soot. A bundle of healthy snacks she had flung on her back, and she looked like a peddler just opening her cheer survival pack.

Her eyes–how they twinkled! Her dimples, how merry! Her cheeks were like roses, her nose like a cherry! I realized then that I was married to a cheer fairy.

She then started to frown, like a right angry elf, for I had forgotten those darn snacks, in spite of myself.

A wink of her eye and a twist of her head soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. She spoke not a word, but went straight to work, and filled the car with those snacks, then turned with a jerk.

With a proud sniffle from her nose, she gave a nod, and into the house and up the stairs she rose.

She shouted out a loud “Hey”, and to our cheerleaders gave a whistle, and away they all flew into bed like the down of a thistle.

But I heard her exclaim, after she stomped out of sight, “Let’s win a paid bid in Indy, and to all a good night!”