Nils by Ingri and Edgar Parin d'Aulaire.
Found on Vintage Books My Kid Loves.
I tried out five times.
Five.
At the time (middle and high school), I don’t
think I wanted anything as much as I wanted to be a cheerleader.
Five times I learned and repeated
cheers for hours on the back lawn. Five times I practiced projecting my low
decibel voice. And, five times I arrived early at
school to check the list posted on the principal’s office window naming the new
squads.
My name was never on it.
I never made the cheerleading team.
Well, I shared this story with a group
of gals, fond friends. We meet regularly to read out loud. We encourage and
nurture each other. We listen to problems or woes without offering suggestions
or advice. Because of lots of practice, we’re able to send a silent message to
the person sharing, one that says, “I’m here, it’s okay no matter what awful,
silly, brilliant thing you tell, I’ll love and celebrate you.”
These friends listened to my cheerleader
longing and telling.
After that circle share ended, someone
said, “Susan, do a cheer!”
And soon they were all chanting the
invitation: “Cheer, Susan, cheer! Cheer, Susan, cheer!” I felt like I was at an
impromptu sixth tryout.
So I stood up and moved to a spot with space.
Channeling my high school-aged inner
girl, and with an intention to bring forth a rowdy, believe-in-yourself spirit,
I cheered:
Fire it
up, and up, and up,
Fire it
up (clap, clap)
Fire it
up (clap, clap)
Fire it up, and up,
and up!
I ended with my best spread eagle jump—my arms
and legs forming an X.
As my feet hit the ground, antiphonally, those
beautiful friends clapped, yelled, and exclaimed, “You’re on the team (clap, clap).” And
then louder, “You’re on the team!”
I made the team.
It was that easy.
On my ride home, I thought about my dream come
true. And here’s what I realized: we all can be on the team. We all can be
cheerleaders. In fact, such a desire can be one of our highest callings.
You know how Brené Brown opens her book
Daring Greatly with that Teddy Roosevelt quote? The one about the courage it
takes to be in the arena of life when it’s tough? (To be that person, “...the man
who is actually in the arena marred by dust, sweat, and blood who strives
valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again because there is no effort
without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds;
who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a
worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement,
and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.”
You know the arena I’m talking about, don’t you?
When something happens to you that brings forth the raw, every-hair-rubbed-off-Velveteen Rabbit-feelings after a pain or triumph?
Well, I’m thinking about that situation from another
angle.
A cheerleading angle. I’m thinking about
myself cheering that person in the arena.
One of my greatest joys is being with
that person.
I treasure, no it’s more than treasure—I hold
sacred the kind of trust given when another marred in dust and sweat or spent
in a worthy cause chooses to share. And I get to circle round with heart and be there.
My cheers are silent and strong.
My cheers are silent and strong.
