I’ve achieved a new role in life. I’m a cheer dad.

Before you start congratulating me, don’t. I have four duties as a cheer dad: Drive to the competition, pay for everything, clap when I’m supposed to and bring snacks.

Anyway, let me back up to the beginning when my wife decided to spring on me that our daughter wanted to start taking cheer lessons. I was against it at first as I got bullied by several cheer leaders in middle and high school (don’t ask, not discussing it), but my daughter’s pleading eyes eventually persuaded me.

Hey, I’m a dad to an eleven-year-old girl. I have real problems saying no to her. It’s a thing.

My daughter started attending cheer practices at this Knoxville gym on Friday evenings several months ago. Dr. S. and I are usually loath to leave the house on Friday nights as that’s a rare day off, but it meant so much to her and my daughter they agreed to make the commitment.

We learned very quickly our daughter was one of very few kids to make this commitment, as I think the entire cheer team practiced together as a unit twice. I’m not sure; I’m not invited to the practices.

Our daughter found her people in cheer. I don’t think you’d find a more positive, accepting group of young men and women who lift each other up and push their teammates to do better every practice. Most of the practices were two hours every Friday. I didn’t mind as I got to catch up on watching wrestling.

(As an aside, if you’re not a wrestling fan, you don’t have any idea how great it is to have two uninterrupted hours to catch up. There’s easily ten hours a week of this crap between the major promotions. But I digress.)

Her team is a competition cheer squad, which apparently means my household has no more free Sundays. Those are no longer reserved for the Lord; they belong to cheer for the next couple of months. It’s fine; like I said the kids are wonderful and worth the support.

It’s just so much damn work. Starting with the snacks.

If you know me, you know I never half-ass snacks. Sunday morning I woke at 6:15 and went to the local Kroger to stock up. By 8 AM, a cooler on the kitchen counter contained four sandwiches, four bags of chips, two sodas, two waters, four protein bars, a bag of baby carrots and popcorn.

When my better half examined my work, she asked me why I packed the protein bars.

No. To clarify, she asked me “Why did you get THOSE bars? They taste like ass and fake sugar! No one will eat them! Can you please go get some normal granola bars?

They were Quest crispy protein bars. I personally do not think they taste like ass and fake sugar. I am partial to the blueberry cobbler bars personally. Still wanting to be a team player, I put on my happy face, went to Kroger one more time, and settled on the Quaker Chewy Chocolate Chip granola bars.

Next, our daughter had to get dressed for the event. Her uniform was a black T shirt, white tennis shoes, black shorts and a white sparkly bow for her hair. It’s a new team, so they won’t have their official uniforms in until January, but for the time being my girl was happy to get dolled up.

Cheerleaders use an insane amount of hair spray. I don’t know how many bottles went on my daughter’s hair but I’m glad no one decided to light anything on fire around her. And boy howdy, her hair had what is referred to as “Extreme hold” for about two days.

The competition was in Knoxville at the convention center. We parked at the Locust Street garage nearby and walked to the venue where we noticed a big sign that read “NO OUTSIDE FOOD OR BEVERAGES—THIS INCLUDES COOLERS.”

Dr. Seaton and I looked at each other and then began putting as much food as we could in our respective bags. Don’t judge. There were loads of other parents bringing food in with strollers and wagons. Later I was told I probably could’ve brought the cooler in and just left it in the team’s meeting room.

At the time I didn’t know this, so I told my family I’d see them inside after I dropped the cooler off back at the car. I then put on my happy face again and started the trek back to the garage.

The cheer team got its own room to meet in and practice before the competition. Everyone took a group photo and then the coach, a lady named Ms. Alex, ran through the last minute announcements and news. All the parents then wished the team luck as they paired up and went to the warmup floor.

Us parents went to the competition stage. First came payment. Yes, in addition to snacks, uniforms, gas, entry fees and more, I’m expected to pay for the privilege of seeing the three minutes my daughter and her team perform.

Remember how I said two crucial cheer dad duties were paying and clapping when one is told? Here’s where we put that into practice.

First we wait. There’s plenty of cheer teams who want their time in the spotlight and they all get their three minutes to wow the crowds.

Parents are informed when their little ones will be on by listening to who’s “in the hole,” “on deck,” or “coming to the stage.” The first means your kids are second in line to perform. “On deck” means your kids are up next and if you hear your kids are “coming to the stage” they’re going to perform right now.

When your kids are “on deck,” you get to move to a special viewing area that has the best view. After the team’s performance, it’s back to the cheap seats you go, but for three minutes at a time everyone gets the best seats in the house.

And then comes the performance. All of that hard work for three minutes in the spotlight. Fortunately, my daughter’s team crushed it and she loved performing as much as her dad does. No awards to be had this time, but there’s more competitions coming.

In fact there’s another one this Sunday about two hours away. Hopefully there will be a decent Cracker Barrel in town as I really don’t want to carry that cooler again and it’ll rain snowballs in hell before I pay $6 for a side of fries at a cheer competition.

There’s one thing I’m not going to do for my daughter at these things, though.

I refuse to wear a cheer dad outfit.

As I waited on my daughter to take the stage Dr. Seaton nodded her head towards a gentleman in a sky blue leisure suit decked out in rhinestones. His suit jacket had “OG CHEER DAD” painted in black on the back. Cowboy boots and a rhinestone bedazzled blue baseball hat completed this sartorial nightmare fuel.

“Cheer dads are crazy,” I thought. Being, as longtime readers will recall, “middle aged and crazy,” I thought I would fit in well. Until I saw a guy in—I’m not making this up I swear—an actual mental asylum jumpsuit that read “REAL OG CHEER DAD.”

I regret to inform you all the two didn’t come to blows once.

Not to worry—I’m in touch with Jake Paul’s team about booking the fight for the next Netflix undercard.

See you next week everyone!