It should not surprise you to learn that I, a weird awkward
adult, was once a weird, awkward kid. I
tell people that my personality today is exactly the same as it was when I was
ten. I was off-putting on a kid, and now
it’s reasonably funny. I grew into myself,
I guess.
I preferred to wear skirts and dresses back in the day –
this was problematic because in addition to being a weird kid, I was a little
heavy. I look at photos now, and I
think, well, actually – I don’t look unusual.
I see kids out and about who are far bigger now than I ever was.
But yeah, I was a little bigger than “normal”
– which made finding clothes a chore – especially in 4th and 5th
grade. JC Penney carried a “pretty plus”
line for little girls – the boys were “husky”.
But it was limited, and my style choices were questionable. One thing that plagued me is that my parents
made me wear saddle oxfords. Yes, the black
and white shoes that, out of context, look like I’m on my way to play an extra in
a community production of Grease. Tell
me more, you say?
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| Yeah, they didn't improve my kickball game, either. |
They were good, sturdy shoes and inexpensive. I was hard on shoes. I’m still hard on shoes. They wanted something that didn’t wear down,
and softer shoes had the tendency to lack support and fall apart under my plodding. So, saddle oxfords it was. I finally graduated them after 4th
grade. I remember, at some point, I had a pair that I
really liked that were tan and navy – Bass – but mostly, it was the stiff black
and white ones.
In middle and high school, I wore a lot of Keds. White, and any other fun color I could get my
hands on. Red. Those were my favorite.
When I was going into 7th grade, my
mother enlisted the help of a personal shopper at one of the local department
stores to aid me in picking things out. At
that point, I was about as skinny as I would ever be, and I was still pretty
undeveloped. I picked out this great,
fun red sweater that had a cheerleader on the front of it. She was in a cheer pose with her hands in the
air. The designer had sewn actual fabric
pom-poms (like the crafting kind) in her hands as pom-pom. On the hanger, it was adorable. I loved it.
I bought it with babysitting money.
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| These cheerleaders are similar to the one on the front of my sweater. |
I wore it once. I had
failed to realized that the placement of the cheerleader’s pom poms was directly
in the breast region. Some boy on the
bus said, “Nice pom poms”, and I was done.
It was the only bad purchase of my shopping expedition, and since then,
I’ve been a lot more judicious. I never again bought apparel with pom poms
attached.
And that, that my friends,
is the ham-handed segue into my actual point.
I was not a cheerleader.
I can’t turn a cartwheel, I never owned pom-poms. In fact, I never did anything all that “spirit-y”. I wasn’t a student athlete. I briefly, as a favor to my sister, was a
runner for her Flag Corps. Meaning, when
they dropped their first flag in the half-time show to get a second flag – I ran
the length of the field and grabbed the discarded flags. I’m not a fast runner, but I just had to be
faster than the marching band.
When I was a sophomore, the drama club, of which I was an
active member, made a point to go to games as a group, sit together, wear our
t-shirts, and ask the cheerleaders for a pyramid. This was a PR campaign thought up by our advisor. It’s worth noting he later did jail time, but
that’s probably another story for another day.
I wonder if the cheerleaders found us endearing or annoying. I had a few friends on the squad – I should
ask them.
In my Junior and Senior year, my football game schedule was
this: Go to the game and hang out with
whomever I saw and knew. After halftime,
go see my friends in the marching band, because they had the 3rd
quarter off. Leave at the end of 3rd
quarter. Go to the drive thru at Dairy
Queen. Yes, the same Dairy Queen from 8th grade graduation. Get a Peanut Buster
Parfait and take it home. Eat it and
watch old episodes of Degrassi (the original Jr High and High – none of this
next gen garbage), then go to bed. I worked
the next day, or sometimes on Sunday, so I needed my beauty sleep.
It was my ritual, and I loved it. It set the stage for rewarding myself with
food for being social. I did something similar
in college. There was a fraternity we did
a lot of socials with, and their house was catty-corner from a Krystal. I made a deal with myself that if I went to
the social and stayed for an hour, I could leave and get a couple of Krystals
on the way home. I’m an extrovert, absolutely,
but I also had, and to an extent still have social anxiety. And I didn’t drink, so…
Anyway. Cheerleading.
I promise we’re going to stop meandering and get to the point here.
I find myself, fairly often, being the cheerleader for other
people. They need to be encouraged, and I’m
there with my megaphone and pom-poms, giving it everything I have. I’ll be the bottom of your pyramid, I’ll
scream myself hoarse, I’ll jump up and down.
My problem is – why can’t I root, root, root for the home team (a mixed
metaphor, but stick with me)? Why do I
have trouble being my own cheerleader?
I don’t have a good answer – that I’m aware of it is a good
start, but I need to get onboard with team Allison and become a raving fan.
Saddle oxfords optional. Super, super optional.
ae
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