Cheers II

Hundreds of shrieking girls fill the hot, overcrowded gymnasium
where parents and aunts and uncles and siblings have spent the last
four hours of their lives,
subsisting on lukewarm pizza wrapped in tinfoil,
coffee, popcorn
and overpriced soda, can by can.

They are waiting for the judges to announce whether they will receive
a gold, a silver or a bronze for their months of hard work.
They've donned blindingly white tennis shoes
and pulled their hair back so tightly into ponytails
that their eyes water.
It's a good thing that they don't allow a stitch of eye makeup.

All of those coordinated hair ribbons are bouncing to the beat
of the Electric Slide and even though I have my head in my hands,
elbows on knees, ears plugged and eyes closed,
I can still appreciate their simple joy.

Of a job well done,
of hard work about to be rewarded,
of beautiful youth and the boundless energy that comes with it.

So I smile and watch her ponytail bounce,
her scrubbed face flushed with pride and silliness and happiness
for this, her moment.

I am glad she is so healthy and strong.

And so I cheer,
something I never pictured myself doing,
cheering for my cheerleader,
I yell,

"Blue! Gold! White!
Blue! Gold! White!"


and all of us,
the Husband,
the Teenager,
the Middle Child
and Twin Boy
and me
smile.

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