arms out wide. “Score!” I yelled. Then I swung my arms very quickly, yelling, “ Roar! Score! Roar! Score!”
When I looked at my parents, they were both laughing at me.
“Nice bear stance,” my dad said. Then he swung his own arms just like I had, and I didn’t really appreciate that.
“Do you know another cheer?” my mom asked.
“Yes,” I said. I’d taken Vicki’s cheers and added a few of my own touches. I stood with my feet apart to give myself the best balance possible. “I want a touchdown! I want a trout! If you get in my way, I’ll rip your guts out!” Then I fell to my knees and unleashed the biggest roar ever and clawed at the air in front of me.
My parents did not laugh at this. They looked a little stunned.
“You’re going to threaten to rip the guts out of the opposing team’s players?” my dad asked.
But I shook my head. That wasn’t what my cheer meant at all. “No, Dad. I’m threatening the guts of the other mascot. They’re going to yell similar things to me. It’s called talking smack.”
My parents looked at each other.
“And you’re going to fall down on your knees like that on the football stadium turf?” my mom asked. “You’ll stain your costume.”
I looked down at the knee area of my grass-stained jeans and shook my head. “The costume is brown. You won’t be able to see grass stains.”
Then I decided to show them another cheer. “Imagine that I’m jumping rope,” I said. I pretended to do that. “Roll it! Shake it! Beat it up and bake it! Honey and sugar, you’re gonna lose. Honey and sugar, eat our boos!” And then my mom and dad were supposed to boo like maniacs, but they didn’t, so I booed for them.
“Boo!” I yelled. “Boo!”
Then I went into the second part of the cheer, which required a burst of energy. I jumped. “Win!” Jump. “Win!” Jump. “Win!”
Then I decided to pick up my jump rope. I jumped as fast as I could. Swing, jump. Swing, jump. Swing, jump.
“Holy cow,” my dad said. “If you hit anybody with that rope, you’ll knock them out.”
“Be careful, Bessica,” my mother said, taking a few steps back.
“Boo!” I hollered. “Boo!”
“Honestly,” my mom said. “Do your cheers have to be so unkind?”
I stopped jumping rope. “Yes,” I said. “That’s what people want.”
My dad shook his head. “They want to be entertained. You don’t have to jeer so much.”
I wasn’t sure what the word jeer meant. But I didn’t let that stop me from disagreeing with him. “Jeering isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
Honk! Honk! Honk!
I turned and looked to where the driveway met the road. “Grandma!” I cried.
I ran toward the motor home as it turned into our driveway. I could see Grandma’s arm waving at me from the passenger window. I picked up my sign and stayed on the grass as Willy drove up to our garage and parked, because I didn’t know how good a driver he was and it seemed he could accidentally hit me if I got too close.
“Bessica!” Grandma cheered as she climbed out of the motor home.
I ran to her as fast as I could while holding up my sign.
“It’s so good to see you!” I said. I handed her the sign, threw my arms around her waist, and squeezed her. She felt safe and familiar and good.
“Good to see you, Willy,” my dad said.
I turned my face toward my dad and glared at him a little. I didn’t think we should be encouraging Willy. That was why I didn’t put his name on the sign.
“Your pixie cut is getting so long,” Grandma said.
“It is?” I asked as I reached up and touched it.
“It’s getting to that point where you’ll have to decide whether you want to let it turn into a bob. Or re-pixie it.”
“Really?” I asked. I didn’t know those were my two choices.
“Is Sylvie growing hers out too?” Grandma asked.
Seeing Grandma again and thinking about Sylvie at the exact same time made me sad.
“I think so,” I said. I figured guessing was the best
When I looked at my parents, they were both laughing at me.
“Nice bear stance,” my dad said. Then he swung his own arms just like I had, and I didn’t really appreciate that.
“Do you know another cheer?” my mom asked.
“Yes,” I said. I’d taken Vicki’s cheers and added a few of my own touches. I stood with my feet apart to give myself the best balance possible. “I want a touchdown! I want a trout! If you get in my way, I’ll rip your guts out!” Then I fell to my knees and unleashed the biggest roar ever and clawed at the air in front of me.
My parents did not laugh at this. They looked a little stunned.
“You’re going to threaten to rip the guts out of the opposing team’s players?” my dad asked.
But I shook my head. That wasn’t what my cheer meant at all. “No, Dad. I’m threatening the guts of the other mascot. They’re going to yell similar things to me. It’s called talking smack.”
My parents looked at each other.
“And you’re going to fall down on your knees like that on the football stadium turf?” my mom asked. “You’ll stain your costume.”
I looked down at the knee area of my grass-stained jeans and shook my head. “The costume is brown. You won’t be able to see grass stains.”
Then I decided to show them another cheer. “Imagine that I’m jumping rope,” I said. I pretended to do that. “Roll it! Shake it! Beat it up and bake it! Honey and sugar, you’re gonna lose. Honey and sugar, eat our boos!” And then my mom and dad were supposed to boo like maniacs, but they didn’t, so I booed for them.
“Boo!” I yelled. “Boo!”
Then I went into the second part of the cheer, which required a burst of energy. I jumped. “Win!” Jump. “Win!” Jump. “Win!”
Then I decided to pick up my jump rope. I jumped as fast as I could. Swing, jump. Swing, jump. Swing, jump.
“Holy cow,” my dad said. “If you hit anybody with that rope, you’ll knock them out.”
“Be careful, Bessica,” my mother said, taking a few steps back.
“Boo!” I hollered. “Boo!”
“Honestly,” my mom said. “Do your cheers have to be so unkind?”
I stopped jumping rope. “Yes,” I said. “That’s what people want.”
My dad shook his head. “They want to be entertained. You don’t have to jeer so much.”
I wasn’t sure what the word jeer meant. But I didn’t let that stop me from disagreeing with him. “Jeering isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
Honk! Honk! Honk!
I turned and looked to where the driveway met the road. “Grandma!” I cried.
I ran toward the motor home as it turned into our driveway. I could see Grandma’s arm waving at me from the passenger window. I picked up my sign and stayed on the grass as Willy drove up to our garage and parked, because I didn’t know how good a driver he was and it seemed he could accidentally hit me if I got too close.
“Bessica!” Grandma cheered as she climbed out of the motor home.
I ran to her as fast as I could while holding up my sign.
“It’s so good to see you!” I said. I handed her the sign, threw my arms around her waist, and squeezed her. She felt safe and familiar and good.
“Good to see you, Willy,” my dad said.
I turned my face toward my dad and glared at him a little. I didn’t think we should be encouraging Willy. That was why I didn’t put his name on the sign.
“Your pixie cut is getting so long,” Grandma said.
“It is?” I asked as I reached up and touched it.
“It’s getting to that point where you’ll have to decide whether you want to let it turn into a bob. Or re-pixie it.”
“Really?” I asked. I didn’t know those were my two choices.
“Is Sylvie growing hers out too?” Grandma asked.
Seeing Grandma again and thinking about Sylvie at the exact same time made me sad.
“I think so,” I said. I figured guessing was the best
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