Session 1
We spread out around the Lake Village dining room. All 42 CILTs plus 4 counselors dispersed between Cheyenne and the salad bar, Seminole and the in-door. Our corndog lunch had been punctuated with bouts of flies, Did You Know? and the Lake Ladies cheer but now it was our turn to unveil the first CILT cheer of the summer. A hush of expectation fell over the room and all eyes were on us.
The counselors motioned for all of our kids to crouch down and they disappeared from sight. "TOTES," I yelled, the cue to begin. "MAGOTES," echoed back, in a ground-level thunder across the room.
Wake up in the morning feeling like a CILT.
Grab my backpack I'm out the door check out that Yurt they built.
42 leaders strong invading River and Lake
Playing games with our kids, it's time to shake and bake.
I'm talking ga-ga in the pit, pit.
Try not to get hit, hit.
We're tired but won't quit, quit.
Don't stop, CILTs rock, Beefster turn those speakers up.
Today, I'ma pray, we'll become a familay.
Camp T, number 3, what an epic group we'll be.
Ooooo, Oooooooooo
We built up to the climax and transitioned into the second half of the cheer-- the ever-popular original rap section.
We're CILTs. We rock, we roll, we're CILTs.
We're outta control, we're CILTs.
We're hip, we hop, we never stop. We wear brown shirts. We have a Yurt. We're CILTs.
We're leaders. Not cheaters. You love us more than Justin Bieber. CILTs.
Our repetitions of practice turned us into a well-oiled machine and we flew through the articulated words faster than ever before. There was no time to take a breath.
We wear backpacks, we hacky-sack, we can cup stack, this CILT wolf pack.
We don't lack, we never slack, so don't talk smack. We're CILTs.
CILTs. EVERYTHING IS FEASIBLE.
We bellowed the final words, our arms raised to the sky as if to say, "We dare you to challenge our ability to make anything and everything feasible."
The crowds clapping carried us to our seats in the back of the room with smiles on our faces and our breathing labored from cheering.
Session 2
The mid-day sun beat down on us. The heat and humidity were unrelenting. Our shoulders slumped and our eyes squinted to shut out some of the bright light. Beef, our conductor, stood in the center of the Longhouse porch. He whistled to get our attention, "Team. Last practice all the way through." We all stood up a little straighter. "Last time. Best time." He pointed to Keegan to start us off. Standing on the bench, Keegan blew out the long, low note on the green vuvuzela.
In unison the members of the rhythm section raised their arms to form each letter as they repeated in bold monotone, "C-I-L-T-S, C-I-L-T-S, C-I-L-T-S," for the first four measures. Shelby and the campers following her concentrated to stay together and tried to ignore the aching in their arms. They were laying the musical foundation for the rest of us.
Beef signaled for the ostinato to join in. Our staccato voices added the next layer of music to the cheer as our arms made robot motions for visual effect.
We are the CILTs and we are cool, when we go swimming in the pool.
You cannot stop our reign of rock, after you shower change your socks.
We will advice you on your life, we can relieve your pain and strife.
Please do not ask about our age, you will incur our wrath and rage
The vuvuzela is the sound that you will hear when we come round.
Do not be startled, do not be scared. If you have candy we can share.
The ostinato and rhythm repeated their parts anticipating the crescendo. Growing in volume we added the melody as the umbrella to our symphony. Arms flying, Beef cued the rest of the CILTs to join in.
CILTs we rule.
We live in the Longhouse and the
Everyone broke from their individual sections and joined in the resounding,
Yurt yurt yurt yurt, yurt, yurt yurt yurt
Yurt yurt yurt yurt, yurt, yurt yurt yurt
Yurt yurt yurt yurt, yurt, yurt yurt yurt
with hands pumping the Star-Trek-Vulcan-Hand-Sign-turned-Yurt-5.
We decrescendoed into a rest concluding the "Mars the Bringer of War" section. Meg, show choir singer extraordinaire, stepped forward to singing the transition line. Her voice rose like the sun breaking the silence of the night,
Hey CILTs
Everyone took a deep breath and joined in with the Beatles song,
All 40 kids
Take a great camp, and add your swagger.
Remember, it never is about you.
Then you can be, the best CILT group ever.
As we crescendoed into the next section we all pointed at the children walking by in main field, becoming more animated and alive with every word.
Children, Children, Children, Children, AHHHHHH
It was as if something erupted inside each of us and everyone on the porch was caught up in a wave of energy as we danced and belted out the chorus with every fiber of our beings as if our life depended on it.
Na, na na, na na na, na na na, Hey CILTs
Na, na na, na na na, na na na, Hey CILTs
Na, na na, na na na, na na na, Hey CILTs
We broke from Lennon and McCartney's contagious refrain to our definitive conclusion.
Hey What?
Ok cool. See you tomorrow.
Everyone collapsed onto the benches, out of breath from the five minute cheer, to soak in the moment before heading to pop-stop.
Session 3
The Pathfinder counselors left the closing campfire stage in a blur of pink t-shirts while Scott stepped back up the microphone. "Next up is the CILTs," he announced. The counselors in the brown CILT t-shirts walked single file onto the stage. Our campers stayed still on the benches with their adopt-a-cabins out in the audience.
From the back of campfire we heard, "Aaaahh! Sah-vein-yah! A-mah-knee-sim-ah-koh!"
Everyone's heads turned to see where the sound had come from. Their eyes landed on Beef who was holding up little Braden i.e. Tecumseh's own Simba. All of the CILTs in the audience and counselors on stage called back, "Oooo, wane-yah-oh"
"Oooo, wane-yah-oh, wane-yah-eh," we sang. Everyone began the motions and chanting the rhythm together,
Yurt and Longhouse, CILTs are wearing hat-sleeves
Yurt and Longhouse, CILTs are wearing hat-sleeves
The boys continued in their bass voice as girls broke off into the first verse,
From the day we arrived at Tecumseh
The CILTs were many, and now we are one.
There are more kids to meet, then can ever be met.
We really want, our grilled cheese for lunch.
The 30 girls took over the rhythm and the boys had to sing loudly in order to be heard,
There are way too many CILT girls here.
That is why, we live in the Yurt.
With the sun rolling high, in the Tecumseh sky,
To show our guns, we take off our shirts.
Beef lifted Braden high into the sky above Pride Rock the campfire stage and all of Team CILT sang with gusto,
It's the CILT way of life, so get off our swag.
42 leaders strong, we don't mean to brag.
Till we find our place, on Tecumseh staff.
It's the CILT way, the CILT way of life.
Everyone punctuated the ending with a simultaneous pound on the ground. Beef thumped the ground with his staff five times and everyone jumped up and fist-pumped,
We came to camp, camp, camp, camp.
I hit the lake with all my friends, friends, friends, friends.
I'm wearing all my friendship bands, bands, bands, bands.
The Yurt is hot without its fans, fans, fans, fans.
Yeah, yeah.
And CILTs goes on, and on, and on.
And we'll rock on, and on, and on.
Yeah.
All of the campers and counselors that had memorized our cheer during the week sang along with us from their bench Dynamite has just been released on the radio and everyone couldn't help but to dance in their seats.
I throw my hands up in the air sometimes, saying C-I, baby L-T.
I wanna celebrate and live the dream, saying C-I, baby L-T.
'Cause we're gonna rock this cabin, we go 14 nights.
We're gonna light camp up like it's dynamite.
'Cause I told you once, yeah I told you twice,
We're gonna turn this water into a block of ice.
We froze in a dramatic silence across the campfire, a block of ice if you will. Beef yelled, "Boom," to release us from our frozen trance. In an imitation of Jessica's Daily Affirmations we finished the longest cheer ever.
I like my baby.
I like my backpack.
I like my broken Annies.
I like Joe Pop.
I like Germ-X. Huh.
The counselors jumped off the stage, the CILTs took their seats again, and Beef returned Braden to his mom.
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