My prediction for the New Year is that America will experience a definite upswing in all categories. The overall population will be happier, businesses will prosper and gravy will be lump-free. I know this to be true because of the main indicator I’ve tracked for years — the Majorette Factor.

Several years ago, while attending a parade, I noticed there wasn’t a single majorette. The marching band had flag corps members, but there was no majorette anywhere. “What is this world coming to?” I wanted to know. “America is losing sight of what’s important. Twirling batons make the world a better place!” Sure enough, shortly after my observation, the USA plummeted into a huge recession, country music lost its focus and the bee population almost vanished.

There was a time when all little girls either took dance or baton lessons. I chose to be a majorette because my hands were more coordinated than my feet and the baton could double as a weapon. Every week, my mother would take me to the Myrtle Grove YMCA and Miss Rita would teach us how to twirl. We wore blue sparkly costumes our Mamas sewed for us and marched in parades all over town.

Southern girls love to be majorettes because everything about them is so sparkly. Much more so than a simple cheerleader who usually wears a plain cotton uniform (except for NFL cheerleaders, but that’s misusing the power of sparkles in a questionable way). Hairpieces are often used to achieve coordinating “poufs” among the twirl line and lipstick is custom ordered to harmonize with the sequins.

After a few years, someone hurt my feelings and broke the news to me that I was skinny, so when it came time for high school, and Daddy asked if I wanted to audition for majorette, I replied, “Humph! That’s for girls who can’t read music.” I had moved on to another silver love, the flute, but would never confess the real reason for shunning the majorette gig was because even in the sweltering Southern month of September, I felt much more secure beneath the cover of a heavy wool band uniform than a skimpy costume, no matter how many rhinestones they tried to bribe me with.

In college, my roommate was a former all-star twirler from her high school, but in those days, the universities had the gall to enforce weight and height restrictions, and since she was a curvaceous 4-foot, 11-inch beauty, she didn’t even bother. But she brought her bag of batons with her to school, and she and I would stand on the front lawn of the dorm and twirl and spin until we had a group of girls join us, all laughing and shouting at the fun. It seemed like we all had a smidgen of inner-majorette just dying to get out.

The most incredible twirling feat I’ve ever witnessed came from two male twirlers at Troy University. Each young man stood in an end zone and at the given moment, threw their batons across the entire length of the field to each other, over the head of an Elvis impersonator who was playing an electric guitar on the 50-yard line, and then to the crowd’s delight … caught them! No one remembered what song Elvis was playing, but we all went home talking about the magnificent majorettes, uh … majors … baton twirlers.

This year, when it came time for the Christmas parade, I stood in front of the hardware store and heard the sound of drums approaching. And I Suwanee, if not one, not two, but three entire groups of baton twirlers came strutting down Fairhope Avenue! Adorable babes and girls ready for the big leagues were all sparkles and smiles. Hallelujah! You just wait and see. Civility will once again rule the earth, puppies will smell sweeter and a Southerner will reclaim the title of Miss America. All in the world will be right again, because the majorettes are back in town.

Leslie Anne Harrison will appear as the featured writer at Greer’s Market in Downtown Fairhope with the WABF live broadcast preceding the First Friday Art Walk on Friday, Feb. 6. Come meet her from 4p.m. – 6p.m. and sample some of the store’s specialties.