across town into an experimental school located at a local college. It was convenient be-
cause it was located near the high school where she was working.
I got an excellent education at that school, a very different education from what my peers
received at our neighborhood school. We were taught how to chart stocks and bonds. I was
part of the debate team, and I played in orchestra. The population of the school was approxi-
mately 80% White, mostly Jewish, and maybe 20% Black. The first orchestral piece that I
learned to play was an Israeli song, “Havanagilah.”
Most of the Black students at this school were bussed from a poorer neighborhood called
South Jamaica. The teachers at the school tended to see all Black children as the same, but I
was some kind of anomaly. I was far advanced in reading and pretty articulate for a kid.
I came there already playing a musical instrument. I did not fit any of the stereotypes, and I
think it made them uncomfortable. At school, I did a lot more challenging of authority than
they thought I should do. I took my cues from White children who did it all the time. How-
ever, what was acceptable from them was not acceptable from me.
As a student, I felt a lot of pressure in elementary school, both because I was considered
different from the other Black children and because the staff knew my mother was a teacher
and a community activist. Someone was always looking at me. I think a lot of them were look-
ing and watching for me to fail. I remember watching civil rights demonstrations on televi-
sion and thinking, “Why do people hate me just because I have black skin?” It was hard to be
a person who loved to read and write and play an instrument and have people judge me be-
cause of the prejudices they had against my people.
When I think back to that time, I do not remember having any problems with the White
children at school. I was invited to the birthday parties and bar mitzvahs, though I was usu-
ally the only Black child there. I met a lot of families and I learned that we were a lot more
alike than we were different. The Black children were often much more difficult for me to
deal with. My mother dropped me off at school so I was not riding the bus with them every
morning. I did not come from their neighborhood or have the same experiences as they did.
They saw me as a token Black who was being held up in front of them as the way Black peo-
ple could be and they resented me because of it. I was trying to take advantage of the oppor-
tunity the school provided, but they felt I was acting White so I would be accepted by the
White teachers and students. These young Black children were so used to being put down in
school that they banded together and developed a form of cultural resistance to the way
they were treated. Now I can also understand how difficult it was for those Black students in
South Jamaica. They were being made to squeeze into a structure that did not want them or
care about who they were and how they felt.
As a middle-class girl whose mother was a teacher, I was taught not to fight, and to talk
about disagreements and work them out. I was always a tall child, a lot taller than most of
the children in my school, so I was usually left alone. I had a problem with one particular girl
who wanted to fight me. It bothered me that I could not make this girl a friend or at least be-
nign. After she had cajoled me for weeks, I finally spoke with my mother who told me I would
have to make her stop. She surprised me by saying, “After school, when she starts to harass
you, you knock her head off.” I said fighting was against everything she had taught me, but
my mother said, “If one thing doesn’t work, you have to try something else. Now if you don’t
do it, when you get home. I’m gonna whip you. I’m not going to let you become a victim.” I
still remember that day very clearly. That girl started to pick on me and I thought, “If my
mom drives up, I’m really in trouble.” So we fought and I won. Later I looked down the block
and there was my mom sitting in her car watching to make sure that I was okay.
From my mother I learned to do what I had to do to succeed, and if one thing did not
work, to try something else. Another valuable thing that my mother taught me early on was
116 CHAPTER 4