Who's Got Spirit?

We've all run across, or at least heard about, parents who exhibit noteworthy personality traits in association with their kids' athletic endeavors. Football dads push too hard. Soccer moms do too much. Baseball parents abuse the umpires. It happens. It's undeniable, unfortunate, and often inexcusable. I've witnessed these moments at basketball courts, baseball diamonds, soccer fields, even swimming pools. I've been guilty of at least two unseemly youth sports incidents, I must admit.
Those who find themselves acting this way often come under harsh scrutiny from onlookers who believe they are above such disreputable behavior. We, the offenders, can defend ourselves only by saying we are driven to such madness by an overwhelming love for our children. Our desire to see them succeed, to not be embarrassed, to bolster their little fragile psyches makes us a little psycho. The judgemental may conclude that we are yearning for some validation through our kids' accomplishments, and we care more than they do. These schools of thought are not exclusive of one another. The truth is, credit and blame can be sprinkled liberally on the emotional and psychological soup cooking in the cranium of the typical sports parent. We all love our kids and sometimes we make idiots of oursselves because of it.
Having worked in and around sports all of my adult life, with a bonus of inflicting a wide variety of athletic activities onto my own children, I thought I had seen just about everyting. However, over the last three years, things have risen to a new level for me. My daughter has been a middle school cheerleader.
Men, let me ask and answer two questions: What's the best thing about being a cheerleader dad? What's the worst thing about being a cheerleader dad? The answer to both is the same: cheerleader moms. Trust me, many of these little girls are pushed to the limit by their own and their mothers' expectations. There's tumbling, heavy lifting, precision, discipline and teamwork. There are literally blood, sweat and tears. Throw in concussions, broken bones, strained tendons and hurt feelings.
Don't let anyone tell you otherwise: the kids who do competitive cheering are athletes. What they do is made even more challenging by the fact that they're supposed to look pretty while doing it. For many of them, the pressure from their parents can be oppressive.
I remember well my first exposure to a cheer competition. It was like "Amazing Grace:" I was blind, but now I see. The local venues, usually home to hockey games and rodeos, were cacophonous. Music was blaring and the crowd was roaring. I've been to many of these events subsequently, but you always remember your first. There was something different about the sound. It wasn't your typical sports crowd. There was more tweeter, less woofer. Screeching. Treble cajoling. Moms. Loud moms. Passionate moms. Most of them were lovely. All of them were loud.
I do not judge them harshly. Over the last three years, I have grown accustomed to them and fond of many of them. If the energy in my house during the days before a competition was any barometer, the moms deserve the outlet. The girls spent weeks preparing physically and emotionally. They paid the price, too. My own daughter had to have surgery to repair torn cartilage in her wrist. I saw one little girl from Deep in the Heart of Texas competing with a cast on her foot. I've seen knee braces, wrist supports, crutches and elastic bandages, just like a football sideline. If I had been allowed close enough, no doubt I would have smelled analgesic balm. It's been impressive and a little alarming at the same time.
Cheer moms, I've discovered, grind details in a way that most dads would have a hard time grasping. An emergency meeting was once called for our parents because the waistbands on our girls' skirts were white. Just the waistbands. Who know they were supposed to be blue? The moms, that's who.
Cheerleading squads have cheeering sections. They bring signs and wear colors. As in any other team sport, there are parents who might push a little too hard or yell a little to loudly. It might be a little unsettling for the unindoctrinated. But the moms will tell you: it's all part of the game.

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