Elder Girleen has over the past few months reached a stage where she likes — no, is obsessed with — jump-rope chants. You know… Miss Mary Mac Mac, all dressed in black, black, black. Whenever she and one or more of her cohorts gather, you can bet they’re off in the corner or up in the playground play structure, playing intricate clapping games that involve saying convoluted rhymes over and over until their mothers go insane.
Meanwhile, of course, all the boys of the same age are all kicking each other in the shins.
And that right there, as if you hadn’t already figured it out, shows the difference between the genders. Talk about social currency! The deftest hand-clapper of today might just be … the PTA president of tomorrow! Girls are like that, you know.
I must’ve missed this stage when I was seven (which explains why I’m not PTA president this year), because I’ve been wracking my brains but can’t come up with versions of these chants from my childhood. The current ones though, are a lovely snapshot into what’s really important to the youth of today.
Underwear, for instance:
My mommy gave me a penny
My daddy gave me a dime
My sister gave me a boyfriend
His name was Frankenstein.
He made me wash the dishes
He made me wash the floor
He made me wash his underwear
So I kicked him out the door.
I kicked him over London
I kicked him over France
I kicked him over Disneyland
Without his underpants.
Or punching people:
I went to a Chinese restaurant
to buy a loaf of bread.
She asked me what my name was
and this is what I said:
Choo Choo Charlie
I know Karate,
Punch you in the stomach
Oops, I’m sorry!
Cheese, Cheese, wonderful cheese!
Why don’t we do our elbow squeeze?
Or even more punching of people (or at least the threat thereof):
Brick wall, waterfall,
Girl, you think you know it all.
You don’t
I do
So — poof with the attitude.
Welcome to McDonald’s,
May I take your order?
See my pinkie,
See my thumb,
See my fist,
You better run!
Dada is alive and well and roams the nation’s playgrounds.
Katherine L. Hester 