This had to be the sixth or seventh time. Another weekend, dragged out of bed at an unruly time, coffee inhaled like it was a life source and presently sitting in one of the most uncomfortable seats in the world. All this is other wise known as one my sisters cheerleading competitions; today's poison, Baltimore Convention Center.
My thirteen year old sister is very easy to describe, flat-ironed straight, pink-silver-black, rah-rah girl. Just like the rest of them on her squad. The bright silver-sparkled eye shadow and even more iridescent pink lips make her seem like a New Orleans drag queen. I know, completely horrible thing to say about my kid sister, but that's what you'd think if you saw her. It's not just her though. It seems like the other thousand girls here look exactly the same way, just different colors.
It is currently 9 AM, my sister's squad doesn't go on until five or so in the afternoon, but we are here to cheer on her groups other three squads. It's just my mother and I roughing it out today. I have my camera too, that's why I'm here actually, I am wasting away another weekend of my precious high school life all in the sake of my hobby. As much as I hate to admit it, I can get some great portfolio shots at these competitions. With the lighting on this stage today, I know I've got a sure shot of something good.
The blaring music drones on, playing anything on the top charts of MTV. The music just seems to beat into your head like a chisel. Each thump squeezes your heart and nails into your head. I feel awful for thinking these things, well not really, but as I watch the girls go into their dance part of the routine I think of how there is such a fine line between competition cheerleaders and erotic dancers. Hips pumping out and in to the rap beat, suddenly the girls are down on the floor doing, in my opinion, very sexual and calling movements. There legs look like that of the water dance routines, 25 pairs of legs thrust up out of the sea of heads the audience makes, waving to and thro to the beat of the music. Then before I even know it they are up again and moving into their human pyramids. Their short skirts are all disheveled and riding up, showing their bright sparkling spankies, or as my sister's squads call them, "Cutie Booties". The girls are up, one final beat, and the lights go out. A few seconds later the next group of girls comes out and it all begins again. Legs, cutie booties, makeup, lights go down restart.
Several long tantalizing hours go by of this over and over again. Every once in a while a group will bring along their own cheerleaders, (funny thought, people cheering on cheerleaders) these cheerleaders are even more loud and obnoxious than the ones on stage. They contain blow horns, which might I add should NEVER be used in a gymnasium, shakers, wigs proclaiming their teams colors, it's like a college football game all over again, but these are just the parents. They yell and scream their child's name as if it could be heard on stage along with the other hundreds of names being cheered on, and then the mob turns into chants of the team name. I heave a sigh, cover my ears and wait for the better of the two hells, the music to begin.
Finally it becomes time for my sister's squad to head up. She is in a small group, 12 girls, all in junior high or high school. The MC bellows over the waiting music "And now entering the floor… Costal Magic." The girls enter through the center opening in the curtain, hands held high and big bright smiles on their faces as they get into position. I, in the mean time, am pushing and shoving, camera in hand, to the front of all the parents. It might sound hard or even the least bit mean, to be romping for my way up front, but I've got some stuff going for me. I've got a professional camera in hand which seems to always give me the power to just make people step away.