Sorry for the day-hiatus, you loyal dozens. I spent the last 33 hours taping up my life in cardboard, lifting those consolidated life-fragments into a U-Haul truck, driving to Pennsylvania with Tay, then sleeping for 2.something hours, then driving to New York, where our lives — still in boxes — have taken a new and exciting shape in a Lower East Side apartment that might have fit into the U-Haul. This thing will be up and running again shortly, full of overwrought analyses and disturbing clips.
But I’ll share this anecdote for right now, courtesy of Lynn Scheitrum.
My mom was a cheerleader in high school — a strange enough thought, given the role that cheerleaders have played in my life. But, yeah, cheerleader. Pom-pons. Rip-curl bangs. And so on.
She cheered for Bridgewater-Raritan High, whose initials were embroidered into the wool-derivative cheerleading uniforms. BR, right over the heart.
So anyway, the high school split into two — East and West — when she was an upperclassman. Such a change required, of course, a new high school, a new teaching staff and, among other things, new uniforms for both men’s and women’s sports teams, contemporary with Title IX.
But administrative ingenuity invaded. The people in charge of the uniforms, acknowledging cheerleaders in the same way that men do now — which is to say, with some curiosity but little professional regard — saw that, because of the placement of the BR, they could adapt the old uniforms to reflect the changes. By adding the location of the school, West or East, next to the BR, they solved this conundrum.
So my mom’s uniform, re-embroidered, read “BRWEST.”
The same standard held for the other school, designated by EAST. Spell it out.