Double Dutch, two jump ropes twirling simultaneously in opposite directions for one or more jumpers, reminds me of starting a new school. Each time, I would be faced with new people, new systems, and new ins and outs. I would observe for as long as permitted, as long as I could fly under the radar.

Eventually, I would be forced to jump into the moving ropes-a group project, homework help, or information on how to be excused for a dentist appointment. Occasionally, I would jump in voluntarily, compelled by my desire to fit in, to find my place. My loneliness would overcome my nervousness. 

I became an expert at identifying the cliques, the personality of each group. I was always drawn to the popular group with a force that I couldn’t understand. An invisible attraction similar to the inexpensive toy I loved from the grocery store: Wooly Willy. Willy’s bald head and clean shaven face peered out from the cardboard covered in a plastic bubble with lead shavings trapped between the two. Also held in place by firm plastic was the magnetic wand with which you could direct the lead shavings around to create hair, beards, sideburns, and moustaches. With a simple shake you could clear your handiwork and start again. The perfect toy for a car ride or airplane as long as you kept track of the red wand.

Wooly Willy and his magnetic personality?

In middle school, I longed to be in the popular group. Another new school, it was all girls, and the stakes felt higher. Watching, I waited for the right time to jump in between the dueling rhythm of the ropes. Once in the group, there was no rest just like jumping double dutch. The crack of the rope on the asphalt was relentless, unless you tripped and everything came to an abrupt halt.

Almost immediately upon joining the popular group, I began looking for a way out. Preferably one that did not include a public spectacle, a tangle in the ropes. My way out was simpler than I had first imagined. The very things that made me feel different, the parts of my life I preferred to hide, were the circumstances that saved me. My mom worked and was not available to drive me to every playdate or sleepover. My parents were divorced, and every other weekend was spent with my dad, a couple of towns over which to a middle schooler felt like another state. I began working. Babysitting consumed my nights and weekends.

The holders of the ropes got tired of my lack of availability. I faded away and returned to my comfortable space of solitude. The next year, my friendships evolved. It was like the small magnet glued to the end of Wooly Willy’s red wand had fallen off and rolled under the seat. The intensity of Double Dutch was replaced with the ease of riding bikes. You ride at your own pace, free to head off in another direction or go home when necessary, as well as inspired to ride just a bit further when with a trusted friend.