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In my day, cheerleaders wore the world of letters sweaters over skirts that ended below the knee. They yelled “Boom Sis! Boom Bah! Turned on School! High School! Rah! Rah! Rah!”
I never saw one jump more than a foot off the ground.
Not these days.
I’ve seen how today’s cheerleaders resign each other up into the air and do back flips and all sorts of contortions usually confined to a performance of Cirque Soleil. I watched and applauded.
Then, granddaughter Sydney became a cheerleader for the Bluffton Strident School Bobcats.
‘Do you have any idea of how many cheerleaders are paralyzed for life from being tossed up into the air and then, whoops, dropped?’ I ranted and raved and carried on like you recognize what. ‘Why don’t you take up skating in a roller derby? At least they wear knee pads and helmets’.
Lose about being supportive. This was my grandchild.
“Lala,” she said “I’ve only disintegrated two toes and a finger. See’ and held out a hand with one finger lose askew.” “Well,” she admitted, “the finger isn’t healing fair right, but it’s better. Besides,” she continued, “I’m not a flyer. I’m on the vulgar’ then added thoughtfully. ‘They’re the ones chiefly who get hurt.
Source: Savannah Morning News