The Black Girl Next Door: A Memoir

A powerful, beautifully written memoir about coming of age as a black girl in an exclusive white suburb in "integrated," post-Civil Rights California in the 1970s and 1980s.

At six years of age, after winning a foot race against a white classmate, Jennifer Baszile was humiliated to hear her classmate explain that black people "have something in their feet to make them run faster than white people." When she asked her teacher about it, it was confirmed as true. more >>

A powerful, beautifully written memoir about coming of age as a black girl in an exclusive white suburb in "integrated," post-Civil Rights California in the 1970s and 1980s.

At six years of age, after winning a foot race against a white classmate, Jennifer Baszile was humiliated to hear her classmate explain that black people "have something in their feet to make them run faster than white people." When she asked her teacher about it, it was confirmed as true. The next morning, Jennifer's father accompanied her to school, careful to "assert himself as an informed and concerned parent and not simply a big, black, dangerous man in a first-grade classroom."

This was the first of many skirmishes in Jennifer's childhood-long struggle to define herself as "the black girl next door" while living out her parents' dreams. Success for her was being the smartest and achieving the most, with the consequence that much of her girlhood did not seem like her own but more like the "family project." But integration took a toll on everyone in the family when strain in her parents' marriage emerged in her teenage years, and the struggle to be the perfect black family became an unbearable burden.

A deeply personal view of a significant period of American social history,The Black Girl Next Doordeftly balances childhood experiences with adult observations, creating an illuminating and poignant look at a unique time in our country's history."The Black Girl Next Doorstands out...forthright and courage[ous]." --Los Angeles Times"...provocative and gripping..."--New York Times

Chapter One

Running the Race

On an early autumn morning in 1975, as fog rolled off the Pacific Ocean and covered the Vista Grande School playground, my first-grade girlfriends and I decided to squeeze in a quick foot race before school began. A row of backpacks marked the starting line and, two at a time, we dashed to the chain-link finish. On this morning I ran against one of my closest friends, Tammy, a freckled white girl with auburn hair. I bunched my large hands into fists and pumped my arms and legs in a full sprint to reach the fence well before she did. I could hardly hide my smile, so I knelt down to pull up the knee socks that pooled around my ankles, not wanting to gloat. Tammy trailed after me, pigtails bouncing, the corners of her mouth down turned in defeat. The warning bell announced the beginning of the school day as we collected our belongings and headed for the sprawling complex of single-story brick classrooms. In the din of children's voices, silence fell between us, and I struggled to think of a remark to break it.

Tammy spoke first. It didn't matter that I beat her, she explained. I waited to hear what she had to say, assuming she was trying to be a good sport rather than a sore loser. "My dad already told me," she said, "black people have something in their feet to make them run faster than white people." The claim rang in my ears like an accusation of cheating or cutting in line. Hours of barefooted play at her house and mine had allowed me to observe her feet and my own. My third left toe was shorter than the fourth one, but her toenails were longer than mine. Our feet were different, but I felt nearly positive that I did not have something hidden in mine.

The bickering match that erupted between us had become a full-blown argument by the time we crossed the asphalt and reached the door of our classroom. We appealed to our teacher, Mrs. Branch, a bottle brunette who sported a poor imitation of Farrah Fawcett's hairstyle. She hurriedly declared that my friend's father was right -- black people indeed had something in their feet to make them run faster. My breath caught as her words hit me as hard as if she'd given me a slap. I tried to protest.If black people had special feet, I thought to myself,why didn't I know about it<< less