Pool_1

fast double rope jump for hours without missing a step or ever repeating a rhyme. Marcus had nasty rib pain in under a minute at it. The one exception for male jump rope was straight stripped down boxer's style. That was OK. But keep the face and definitely keep the attitude. Do not let it look like it is fun. Its training. Even the best training would-be boxer couldn't touch the sustained energy output of the least capable jumping rope girl. Hey. That's just the way it goes. Style was important. There was no money to buy style. You stood or gestured in style. You spoke with style. Gucci shoes? No. Style was in the stride. Fashion individuality costs big bucks. There were no pennies to be found here. How could kids wearing older brother's underpants as a swim suit show dignity and style. It was in the lilt of the speech, in the pauses of restrained recognition and in the bond. You have to be blind to not see the rags. But that's theater! Don't the actors tattoo scenes in your mind with their words and manner. Does anybody miss the props in a good Shakespeare rendering? The bond. Actor, audience. Do any of these kids see the rags? No. Its the bond. Style cements the bond, creates new realities that supercede the unimportant physical appearance. The bond of style begins young. Counting toes, "Little Pee, Penny Rue, Ludy Whistle, Mary Hustle, and Great big Tom, gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble." Of course the babies got tickled on the gobble gobble part and lip farted on their bellies at the end. Always with style. Always with the eye contact and facial connection that says without speech, we are one. Unity. Singularity. But there were outsiders here. The different ones. Even there, the reflex was to form bonds. Bonds could be of acknowledgment of differentness. Children would huddle and whisper among themselves, then shoot out, "Hey, Mr. Life Saver, you a go-