Razorback Bra

More and more I find myself in a room as the only man with a group of women.  That would be nice if they were all single and looking for love.  In my case, they are not.  Most are married and parenting my children’s classmates.

Dads just don’t participate that much in these parent meetings for their daughters’ activities.  It’s dumped on poor mom.  Would be too in my house if there was one for the dumping.

Last Saturday was the mandatory parent meeting for the cheerleaders at St. Timothy’s School; me and 15 lovely mothers were in attendance.  They all looked fairly nice.  I was in flip-flops and had a visor on to cover my bed head.

Although I’ve attended this meeting for the past five years, I think they felt a good refresher was in order.

We discussed the game and practice schedule and debated how much “stunting” should be done.  I’m not too worried but don’t care to see my 13-year-old flying across the gymnasium like a final second NBA half court shot.

We were reminded no jewelry – hoop earrings and “Rah Rah Ree” just don’t mix.  Did you know that a neighboring teammate’s finger could get caught in the loop and split the lobe right open?  Yuuuuck.  Had to put my head between my legs when that image ran through my brain.  Thought I was going to pass out.

If I were female and that was even a remote possibility, guess whose ears would not be pierced?

Then we covered the topic of uniforms.  Not too short we were informed, it is an Episcopal School.  Interestingly, we parents pointed out that the team we play against with the poodle skirts look pretty outdated in the year 2013 (that school is apparently a bit more conservative).  But Mrs. Ready, the Middle School Principal, says that the skirt can’t be shorter than 6 inches above the knee when you’re kneeling.  I measured my kids’ when they were doing their nightly prayers.

“Put on your school uniform and kneel!”

“Why do you have the yardstick dad?  Are you doing to beat me?”

“Nah.  Just following up on Mrs. Ready’s request.”

Incidentally, she’s also the one who walks through the gym during the school dances reminding kids to “leave room for Jesus.”  I love that woman.

Then, the coach said everyone on the team needed to wear a “razorback bra.”

I’d never heard of such a thing, my curiosity was piqued.  I almost raised my hand for clarity but from the looks of the others in the room, I was the only one who needed to be enlightened.  Plus, I have DJ, a good resource in these situations.

I’ll have to admit, I had a difficult time concentrating for the duration of the meeting…

What in the heck is a “razorback bra?”  Does it keep the hair off your back?  If so, Uncle Jesse needs one of those.  Does it have spikes on the back?  Kind of a reverse Lady Gaga?  Is it manufactured by students from the University of Arkansas?

On Tuesday, a friend from work announced that she was going to Target and asked if anyone needed anything.  I know her fairly well so I pulled her in my office.

“Hey, when you’re there, could you see if they have any razorback bras?  Stephanie needs one for cheerleading, and I don’t know where to find those.”

“Do you mean racerback?”

“Hmmm.”  RACERback.  That –  makes –  sense.  “Yea.  Yea.  Racerback.  You wear them when you race!  That’s it.  That’s what I mean.”  (Nervous laugh.)

So for all the dads out there who are responsible for bra purchases in their home, a racerback bra swoops in on both sides of the shoulder blades, sort of like a swervey capital letter I.  If you’re still unsure, picture it on backwards.  If you envision something you saw at your bachelor party, you’re on the right track.

Sunday Post 108: Gooooo Danny!

I was watching Stephanie cheer at the school basketball game this week.  As I was sitting there, after the half time show of course, I pulled out my phone to check a couple of emails.  One had come in late that afternoon.  It was from one of my mom’s friends.  She told me how much she liked my blog and how proud she was of me.  She has no proof of this, but she also told me I was a good father.

As the second half of the game started, it dawned on me:  Everyone needs a cheerleader!

What if everywhere you went there were 12 people cheering and chanting for you?  In a meeting before you were about to make a great point, the squad would break out…

Clap your hands

Stomp your feet

Listen to the rhythm of the Dan-ny beat!

Everyone would get silent.  As I concluded my observations about the January budget figures, the girls would go wild!  Pom-poms in the air.  A Herkie, a Toe Touch and a Spread Eagle Jump in each corner of the conference room.  Whoa-whoa!  Great point Dan-ny!  Go Danny.

As I entered a meeting with an angry Y member, the team would run in –

He ain’t bad

and he ain’t cocky

He’s gonna ride over you

like a Kawasaki!

Zoom Zoom…

I bet the member would think twice before crossing me.

I’m actually pretty lucky.  Like my mom’s friend, since Lisa died I have had a ton of people who tell me I’m doing a good job and some with nothing to substantiate their praise.

I’ve seen a lot of suffering kids throughout my career at the Y, no one, not even their mama or daddy is cheering them on.  I see folks who drive the taxi I ride in or who wait on my tables at the Waffle House or who bag my groceries at the Harris Teeter and seldom do I hear a “thank you” or a “way to go.”  I know folks at church who quietly serve others but who receive little recognition.

There are times I don’t even take the time to praise my own kids because I’m too wrapped up in what I want to do.

I never thought I could be a cheerleader.  I can’t do a cart-wheel and the herkie’s a killer.  But there is simply no reason that I can’t do a better job of cheerleading for those I come in contact with throughout my life.  Folks are constantly encouraging me, I ought to be doing the same.

We ain’t bad and we ain’t cocky

Posted by Danny

One of my most memorable experiences from high school occurred when I was in 9th grade.

I was new to Terry Sanford Senior High School in Fayetteville, NC, and I had no idea what would happen as I entered the gymnasium for my first pep rally.  We all piled in on the bleachers, large dust bunnies perched beneath our wooden seats.  I’m not exactly sure what was pumped from the large boom box Miss Cherry, our PE teacher, had propped on the stage steps.  Probably Another One Bites The Dustby Queen.

We must have had a strong booster club because our cheerleaders had a number of uniforms.  I don’t remember them all, but I clearly remember the one they were wearing on this day:  short white skirts with gingham checked vests that buttoned up the front. 

As they began their cheer, they jumped to the beat:

We ain’t bad and we ain’t cocky

We’re gonna drive over you like a Kawasaki

Vroom – Vroom

As they were driving over us like a Kawasaki, our head cheerleader’s top button popped and other things followed.  I was in awe.  The only two bras I’d seen prior to this event were my mom’s and my grandmother’s – and this one was nothing like theirs! 

 “I think I’m gonna like this place,” I quipped to my buddy sitting beside me.

Unfortunately, those are the thoughts that jump into my mind when I see my daughters cheer.  Only this time, my perspective has changed.

Stephanie is on her first squad this year.  She’s cheering for the middle school basketball team.  I’m so proud of her I could bust.  She’s got rhythm, and she’s pretty darn confident in front of a crowd.  She gets her rhythm from her mother, a former show choir participant.  And no one in this family is short on confidence.

This is her first pep rally – fortunately, there was nothing for a zit faced boy to enjoy other than the dancing, chanting and music. 

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