Edges Laid, Ropes Ready: A Double Dutch Summer Story"

Before the ropes ever hit the pavement, before the chants filled the air, and long before the first hop, there was always the hair.

Saturday mornings in the summer meant one thing in our neighborhood: Double Dutch on the block. But before I could hit the sidewalk with my friends, I had to sit still between Mama’s knees, head tilted back just enough for her to get the part straight.

“Don’t move now,” she’d say, warm grease on her fingers and a rat tail comb in hand. The click-click of barrettes and the sweet smell of Blue Magic filled the room. It wasn’t just about looking cute. It was about getting ready to jump. Ponytails needed to be tight, beads secure, braids neat. No stray hairs flying in our faces. We had to be aerodynamic.

Because once you were in the ropes? Baby, it was showtime.

The Ritual Before the Game

My best friend Keisha lived two doors down. She’d come over after her mom slicked her hair into two perfect afro puffs, one on each side, wrapped with red ribbon. My cousin Tasha preferred cornrows, low and clean, so her glasses didn’t slide when she turned.

We’d gather on the porch with our jars of Dax and wooden brushes, helping each other fix a flyaway or re-tie a satin ribbon. Hair was part of the prep. It was how we showed up. Like armor. Like flair. And like love.

Double Dutch Wasn’t Just a Game

We weren’t just jumping. We were competing, performing, surviving, thriving. We'd pick who’d turn first, then pick our corner spots, tapping our feet to find the rhythm. And when you jumped in at just the right time? It felt like flying. Feet tapping, knees lifting, chants echoing through the air:

🎶 Cinderella dressed in yella...
🎶 Went upstairs to kiss her fella...

We had rules. If your hair beads flew off, you had to stop. If your puff fell, you were out. But mostly, we cheered. We’d scream for each other like the world was watching.

A Sisterhood in Every Skip

Looking back now, I realize those moments were more than play. We were learning rhythm, teamwork, self-expression, and pride. Our hair was part of our identity and Double Dutch was our language. We were little Black girls in a world that didn’t always see us. But on that block, with those ropes, we were bold, brilliant, and free.

The memory still sits with me. Tight braids, slapping ropes, and the feeling of landing that perfect jump, with Mama clapping from the porch, proud and smiling.

If you ever pass by a group of girls twisting ropes and singing rhymes, stop for a moment. You’re watching a legacy. A ritual of joy, culture, and resilience passed down from girl to girl, block to block.

And it all begins with the part in your hair and the rhythm in your soul.