I never learned how to be successful at jumping double-dutch. Growing up in the city, double-dutch was a wonderful summer activity that took little equipment and few people for a fun time. You took two jump ropes and turned them simultaneously in opposite directions. Each person turning, one on each end of the ropes, moved their arms back and forth in a rhythm that made the ropes create two arcs that encircled the individual jumping in between. The jumper had to lift up as not one but two ropes came around, smacking the ground. There was an amazing dance happening. The ropes made a song as the jumper danced, moving inside this bubble.
Anyone could participate and you only needed at least three people. But this was an art form that I just wasn't good at. To turn the ropes, you had to keep that beat. It takes coordination to move your arms, left and right, at the same time as your partner. You had to keep a good pace, adjusting for the jumper. The jumper needs to avoid getting hit. We won't even get started on the singing and requested tricks that goes along with the whole thing. And more challenging than anything, at least to me, was jumping in. That was my down fall. I couldn't figure out when to jump in.
Double-dutch was usually played by the girls on the block. I have seen some talented young boys in this game. I really think you have to have a certain skill set to be good at double-dutch. You need to be agile and I was, well, more like a bull. I've always had more of a power forward roughness rather than a point guard swiftness. I would barrel into the ropes, getting them caught around my limbs. Try and try I would, but I couldn't pick the right time to jump into those ropes. After a while I stopped trying. I wish I could have been a part of the dance.
I find myself at times still waiting for the right time to leap into things. Mine is a scientific mind. I watch the pace, the ups and downs. I can still hear the tapping of the feet of others keeping the rhythm, adapting to the movements of their partners, calling me to jump in. I so want to get it right. I want to analyze the situation and discover the formula for finding that exact nanosecond where you should throw yourself into the ropes. I wait, jerking back and forth, waiting for just the right moment. "Now, no... wait, OK, now... not yet, wait..." And I wait. But if you wait too long, your friends will take their ropes and find another person to dance with them. You miss out on the fun.
Don't get me wrong. I have had moments of joining that were magical. I leaped out of corporate America and became a teacher. I had sat on the sidelines, wondering what it would be like to be a part of educating our young people. I wanted to work with others and to make a difference. After calculating my finances and examining universities and the job market, I left my job and went back to school to be certified to teach. It was not always graceful. You learn humility being a middle age woman, relying on someone much younger to show you the best way to cut construction paper. No one tells you about projectile vomit from a six year old when you're in grad school. But I jumped in and I kept my feet moving. I am a teacher. I keep a beat. When a young person lights up and understands a new concept, the awesome feeling that you get inside of your heart can not be described. I had a part of this miracle. I am part of the dance.
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