As fairly small children, Sissy and I were exposed to the concept of cheering for a person, an event or a celebration beginning, as I remember, with the sound of basketballs bouncing on a wood gymnasium floor when Daddy played in the basketball church league during those early years. We couldn’t have been more than three and five at the time, yet within my memory bank, I see the gym, the risers, the crowd screaming and cheering,  and my father running back and forth across the court with the other players. Of course, we usually played with other children during the games, not paying much attention to the score, but consciously aware of the roar of the crowd, the screeching sound of rubber soles, the stop and starts of the players against the polished wood floor of the court. In concert with those sounds, the loud annoying buzzer sounded when a foul occurred, a timeout was called or a game ended.  

We graduated from the cheers of church basketball to the cheers of Elvis on the Ed Sullivan Show, the softball games in our back yard with neighborhood friends, the baseball fields of Evansville when BQ finally became old enough to play, the UE basketball games, and the football and basketball games of high school.

When I finished sixth grade at Hebron Elementary, the promise of an opportunity as a real cheerleader became possible with the continuation of my education at Plaza Park Elementary for seventh and eighth grades. They had a basketball team! They had cheerleading uniforms! They had pom-poms! What young girl doesn’t dream of becoming a cheerleader?

As seventh grade began, my newest best friends, Sally and Peggy, introduced me to this possibility and I immediately began my quest for recognition on the sidelines. Sports were not inclusive of young girls in the sixties so my option for participation was to be front and center on those sidelines. 

As tryouts were announced, I spent every evening standing in our small living room watching my shadow against the wall as I moved, jumped, split and came to a posture that emulated the practiced movements of the other girls I had watched enviously.

I don’t remember the exact tryouts, yet I am certain, I was nervous, anxious and possibly prayerful right up to the time of my tryout. I could do spread eagle jumps, the splits in both directions, and leg kicks just as well as any of the other candidates, and clearly articulate “Two, four, six, eight! Who do we appreciate?”

At that time, the focus was less on gymnastics and more on spirit, and I felt that my spirit and excitement hailed in the top percent of enthusiastic cheerleading capabilities. And yes, I did make the squad. I was officially an eighth grade cheerleader for Plaza Park Elementary. Along with Peggy, Mary Jo, Jane, Pam, Nancy and me. Ms. Simpson was our squad leader, but I will keep my thoughts about her to myself. 

Our outfits were simple black and white, skirts down to our knees, plain white Keds, white socks, a cotton shirt and a sweater with a large “P” and megaphone on the front. We were quite the team. OMG-look at those hairdos. Can you find me?

From grade school, I graduated to Freshman cheerleader and then Junior Varsity cheerleader. When it came time to try out for my senior year, more gymnastics were introduced to the cheering menu and the competition was tough. The best I could do in terms of gymnastics was a running roundoff. No flips in my repertoire. Most of us had been cheering for several years, and it was almost guaranteed that you would be selected if you had cheered before.  Or so I thought.

Our tryouts were in front of the entire school population from freshmen through seniors in the school gymnasium. Everyone had a vote. I took my turn. I jumped, I split, I posed and cheered as loud and enthusiastically as I could, finishing in a spread eagle jump into the splits with arms held high in a V for victory.  The winners would be announced the next morning in homeroom. While confident I had made the squad, nerves took over and I eagerly awaited the results. 

Jan, one of the other cheerleaders who had already been on the Varsity squad for a year, sat in front of me in homeroom. As the announcement came over the loudspeaker, I silently prayed I had made the squad. It was important to me, and I needed and wanted this recognition. 

After hearing the list and then listening to the names being repeated, I quickly came to the realization that my name had not been announced. I had not made the squad. Others in my homeroom congratulated Jan and no one looked at me. There was silence around me. Except for Jan. She turned around and with a soulful look on her face she mouthed the words “I’m so sorry.” I smiled and told her congratulations. My stomach was in knots as tears threatened to escape my eyes and I sat silently in disbelief and devastation. The bell rang, homeroom dismissed, and everyone stood to leave the room. I slowly came to a standing position, gathered my books and prepared to face an even bigger crowd in the hallways. Shaky legs, palpitating chest, a look of stoicism, I put on a brave face and made it thru the day; I took my sorrow quietly home to give my family the news.

Devastation for a seventeen year old can and often clothes itself in frivolous desires and wants, yet at the time, I did not feel this way. Being on the Varsity cheer squad was important to me, and I was devastated. Eventually, I would understand the true meaning of devastation and this disappointment would fade into the background with more important concerns taking priority.

To this day I remember Jan’s kindness toward me, and because of her gesture, I loyally watched her cheer through Senior year with a feeling of unspoken gratitude. 

Llife goes on and cheering opportunities continued for me; my son’s soccer and hockey games, my daughter’s tennis and swimming matches, my grandson’s baseball and soccer games, my own tennis and pickleball teams, grand slams at the bridge table, horse races and the underdog gray horse of the moment, great putts on the greens with Daddy. Cheering for specific sports teams kept me sane during the NCAA basketball tournament: Indiana, Purdue, Kentucky, Kansas, Butler, and Gonzaga: UGA football games, and surprisingly the Indiana University football team of 2025.

It has been many years since Harry Gonzo played for IU and the school went to the Rose Bowl. During this drought IU fans did not have a great deal to cheer about for IU football. As an alumni we expected the basketball team to soar to great heights under the tutelage of Bobby Knight and others, but never the football team. We are a basketball state. The SEC is for football greats. Yet here we are. IU ranked # 3 in the nation and scheduled to play Michigan State on this day. And in the Strange fashion, I will be there cheering and screaming at the TV knowing there are friends and family doing the same. Rose will be going crazy. Sissy will be a mess, not wanting to watch but wanting to know the score. BQ and Yordy will be following the game minute by minute. And Mother and Daddy-they will be there in spirit, telling their four Strange kids to cheer on—for sport, for humanity, and for life.

Go Hoosiers!  You can do it!