make no assumptions

I've often heard from more experienced parents that children tend to acquire many of the traits and abilities that their parents have, and, in some instances, they develop a few that were previously unbeknownst to certain genetic dispositions. For instance... Ella loves to read and write, much like I do. She draws and has an artistic side that is more akin to her father. She's stubborn and opinionated...I guess, kinda sorta like her mama. Summit is as carefree and relaxed as his daddy. And, he's smart like me! Ha!

Since Ella was a little thang, we've introduced different activities to her. We're doing this with Summit, also, but because he's still a little thang, the introductions haven't been as plentiful. When she was 4, I enrolled my girl in ballet and tap at the Conservatory. Clearly she has Matt's dancing genes :), because she abhored every second. That kind of structured dance didn't suit her; she's more of the cloth that beckons loose, improvisational movements with music that uses strange beats and notes. After the massive failure that was the Conservatory, she got her feet under her with gymnastics. Last spring, she and Summit played baseball, which seemed to fit naturally with their athletic tendencies. Once they found their grooves, nothing seemed to get in the way of a ball and the bat in their hands.

For this fall season, we talked to the kids about what kind of sports they'd like to play, and I assumed that soccer would be the obvious choice. She didn't want to do dance. She wasn't thrilled about gymnastics. She's too young for running programs. What else was there? Humph. You know what they say about what happens when you assume. We got it right with Summit. He was totally on board with playing 'soccerball.' (Imagine Mary Katherine Gallagher saying it.) Howevah. Ella was lead astray. Thanks to the Irmo-Chapin Recreation Commission rep at her school kickoff, she was lead astray. Note to self: Do NOT ask what sports are available in front of your kids if you're not ready to hear all the options.

So, that's what we did. We asked in front of her, and his answer made Ella turn sparkly with clappy, giddy, little girl excitement. To me, his answer was like a loud, boomy, slow motion sound that nearly knocked the wind out of me. I felt like Ralphie in A Christmas Story when Santa pushes him down the slide with a boot to his face, and said, "Hooo! Hooo! Hooo!" As I looked at my Ella and saw the glitter floating around her and her big blue eyes light up with rainbows shooting out of them, I felt I needed to push her out of the way of his words, like a train was fast approaching and we were standing on the middle of the tracks.

Cheerleading!?!?!?! Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. What? I instantly knew it was a bad idea. What kind of sport is cheerleading? What kind of commaraderie is there in cheerleading? The only things I have ever seen are girls in too short of skirts, with strange ribbons in their hair, trying to be louder than each other, and some not-so-very-nice interactions with regards to the whole competitive side. I mean, how many times have you heard those stories out of Texas where some mother comes after some other girl on her daughter's cheerleading squad? Like a billion and a half. Right? Am I right?You have GOT to be kidding me. I don't cheer. We don't cheer. We can't. I can't. It can't be. But, it was. It was to be. It is.

There was not dissuading the child. As soon as she heard that word, it was on. Knowing her mama's genetic history, I assumed that this would be an epic fail. Again with the assuming. She's nothing like me in this regard. Like baseball, cheerleading for Ella is a natural fit. It's the exact opposite of what I expected. She's brave and confident standing in front of all of those people. She's got the strong, steady wrists her coach demands, the loud voice, the perfect posture, the ear-to-ear grin on her face the whole time she's on the field. And, one of her BFFs from way back, Saylor, is on her squad. She loves it so much. She loves her pom poms, the ponytail, the skort, the screaming. It's her.

And, I couldn't be happier for her. My lesson is obvious: Make no assumptions. I will be wrong.