Gimme a 'G!' Gimme an 'R!' Gimme an 'E-E-F!' What's that spell? Well, cheerleaders aren't generally known for their brains. My wife hated cheerleaders in high school. That didn't stop her from being my biggest cheerleader. You see, I crave validation. That's why I made my grief journal public and shoved it's links at everyone. It would've been waaaay easier to just pick up a composition book at CVS and box of ballpoints. But I had to make sure somebody was listening or else what's the point? My head is full of my tired opinions and I'm bored.
Growing up, I always seemed to be rewarded for the stuff I half-assed, and when I put my soul into something, it met with nary a scoff. Twelve and move years of teachers can't be wrong, right? I liked the feedback from my wife better than the feedback from professionals. So what if she was biased? I'm biased about my own work, too. Among all the things my wife was to me (best friend, lover, the person who introduced me to delicious crab legs), she was always my biggest fan.
And like a cheerleader, she spurred me on to greater acts of...whatever it is I do. Out there on the football field of life, it's simple. Get that ball to the endzone and do a little dance around it. And she was there to remind me to B! Aggressive! B-E Aggressive! B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E! Now without her incessant hope for my own ability, I don't even remember if sliding into third base will get me an icing penalty or a double-dribble. Which is why this blog thing is so awesome (for me, and hopefully for you). It helps me validate myself. I have to learn how to be my own cheerleader while I'm also the star player. I don't think I look that good in a skirt and pom-poms, to be honest. These skin-tight football pants are androgynous enough.
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I hope you brought enough comment to share with the whole class!