Nope. No spirit here.
Each year, the KU spirit squad hosts a fundraiser. For about fifty bucks, you can send your little cheerleader down to the sidelines to cheer on the Jayhawks during a football game. One of Ava’s sitters cheers competitively at the high school level, and she invited Ava to participate. I thought she’d have a fabulous time—what’s not to love? Between the band and the mascots, not to mention about 40 other little girls, I was sure she’d have a blast.
Our photos from the event, however, tell a slightly different story…
Ava just wasn’t into it.
Not. At. All.
And, she became increasingly miserable.
I found myself vacillating between a desire to scoop her up and save her, and a complete and total frustration at her unwillingness to participate.
I always wanted to be a cheerleader. I said this to Bryan in one of those moments of frustration, irritated that Ava wasn’t grateful for this experience I wanted but could never have. (Bryan said, “You could have been a cheerleader!” Yeah, no. “Says who?” Says the panel of judges that turned me down after I tried out. Two years in a row. “Oh.”)
I realize, of course, my attempts to live vicariously failed. Hard. And I feel terrible. Not only because Ava was so unhappy, but also because I should know her so much better than I do. I am always shocked to see she’s shy, shocked to learn she’s not excited by the things that excite me.
So again, I am reminded she is her own person. (I should note: She might be a bit like her dad, who said, “Who can blame her? I’d hate it out there.”)
My concern now comes from how I can adjust to better suit her. I can’t just sign her up for everything I’d find fun. I am really going to have to work to understand what makes her tick. I feel like I should know this already—that it should just be ingrained. I’ve been with her for six and a half years.
One thing I do know—she’s friendly. And being with her friends makes her happy.
So, apparently there’s some spirit after all.
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