I’ve never been a sports mom, especially not football. I don’t understand what a first down, punt, or defensive tackle is. I struggle to keep straight if the offense or defense is on the field. I don’t understand the flags or penalties that referees call. But I have been in the stands every Friday night for the last five years, cheering loudly.
I show up just as the sun goes down and the lights brighten. I choose my place on the bleachers near the 50-yard line and wait for my child to run onto the field. I’m not looking for a young man in a numbered jersey. No, I’m looking for my daughter as she leads the cheer team.
I see her confidence grow each year as she loudly calls the chants, encouraging the crowd to join in and shout. I feel the energy the team gives, keeping the rhythm of excitement flowing. They dance, do stunts, and work the crowd, no matter what the game looks like on the field.
This group of girls applies their full attention to their sport. They work hard to give the crowd both a sideline show and a halftime performance at every game. They shake their poms, swish their skirts, and bob their giant bows, showing the dramatics of the routines.
When the game ends, they run to the field, join hands with the players, and take a moment of thankful silence on another excellent game.
And I, a cheer mom, wait patiently in the stands for my little girl to return, filled with the exhilaration of another Friday night football game.
by Her View From Home 
by Marjorie Brimley 
by Maggy Gomez 
