Out of the Mouth of Babes

The other night, my son mentioned that several classmates were planning to attend a local high school football game.  (This particular high school is the one my son will eventually attend, provided he passes grades six through nine.) I replied that I do not recall attending high school football games while still in elementary school. However, I do remember attending many Friday night events all through my secondary years, especially tenth through twelfth grades, when I was a member of the drill team. Junior then asked, “What is a drill team?” Big mistake! Grasping this opportunity to share a glimpse of my past, I began a twenty minute lecture on the definition of a drill team and its second class status to the “cheerleader.” I hauled out old photo albums and yearbooks, which provided the necessary proof and documentation that such a “team” actually existed, and that I was a full-fledged member.

When the lesson was complete, my son replied, “You are more like a drill sergeant than a drill team member!” Ouch! You gotta love kids. Their ability to tell it like they see it is remarkable. I better channel that “kinder, gentler Joan” more often.

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