Jennifer Baszile - The Black Girl Next Door: A Memoir

More praise for
The Black Girl Next Door

A refreshing addition to the written history of the African American experience.

The New York Times Book Review

Stands out. Forthright and courageous.

Los Angeles Times

Powerful and provocative.

Dame magazine

Will move you, enrage you, and ultimately empower you.

Essence magazine

In elegant prose, Baszile shares enlightening observations throughout. Proud and comfortable in her skin, as well as clearheaded about its hazards, Baszile has written a classic portrait of that girl next door.

Publishers Weekly

Touching. This poignant autobiography is both a tender coming-of-age story and a strong reminder that the wounds of racial injustice in the United States run deep and are slow to heal.

Library Journal

This is an absorbing look behind the facade of one black familys striving for integration and the American dream.

Booklist

Although the memoir is serious and challenging, the book also is packed with offbeat humor and suspense.

The Connecticut Post

Thought-provoking. Written with heart and gut-wrenching earnestness, Basziles memoir charts a life of pleasure but tension, confusion tempered with wisdom and hypocrisy with a touch of irony. The result is enough to stop any reader in their respective tracks.

Canyon News (Beverly Hills, CA)

One of those works that allows people to both find common ground and break down walls.

Bookreporter.com

Jennifer Basziles memoir deftly blends a revealing history of a black girl growing up in an affluent, mostly white neighborhood in the postcivil rights era with an intimate and poignant story of what it was to be simply a girl growing up. This memoir will resonate with those who have felt disenfranchised from the American dream even while working hard to attain it, yet her story will feel familiar to anyone who remembers the moment they realized parents arent infallible, that life isnt fair, and that growing up is both a curse and blessing. Her eventual triumph makes reading Basziles journey even sweeter.

Kim Reid, author of No Safe Place: A Family Memoir and winner of the 2008 Colorado Book Award in Creative Nonfiction

A wonderful book that gives an intimate look at one womans journey to success. Jennifers story is powerful, provocative, and at times painful. Her voice is honest and enlightening. A must read!

Chrisena Coleman, founder of Just Between Girlfriends Book Club

Thoughtful, inspirational and timeless. A true tale about the triumph of the human spirit.

Alan Lawrence Sitomer, author of Teaching Teens and Reaping Results in a Wi-Fi, Hip-Hop, Where-Has-All-The-Sanity-Gone World

Compelling. Thoroughly engaging. An important addition to the African-American story. In The Black Girl Next Door, Jennifer Baszile, with youthful innocence and matured reflections invites us to the neighborhoods once forbidden. Through her personal observations, up-close and honest feelings, we experience the inside of the house and the emotional toll extracted as these pioneers set out to mature the American dream. Read this memoir and extend your understanding of the making of America and the maturing of one young girl as she made her way through these uncharted waters.

Clifton L. Taulbert, author of Once Upon a Time When We Were Colored

This title is also available as an eBook

{ a memoir }

Jennifer Baszile

Copyright 2009 by Jennifer Baszile

Certain names and identifying characteristics have been changed.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Touchstone Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Touchstone trade paperback edition January 2010.

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Designed by Mary Austin Speaker

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:

Baszile, Jennifer Lynn.

The Black girl next door : a memoir / Jennifer Baszile.

p. cm.

A Touchstone Book.

1. Baszile, Jennifer Lynn, 1969Childhood and youth. 2. African American womenCaliforniaPalos Verdes EstatesBiography. 3. African AmericansCaliforniaPalos Verdes EstatesBiography. 4. Palos Verdes Estates (Calif.)Biography. 5. CaliforniaRace relationsHistory20th century. I. Title.

F869.P25B37 2009

305.48896073079493092dc22

[B] 2008012867

ISBN 978-1-4165-4327-5

ISBN 978-1-4165-4328-2 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-4165-9449-9 (ebook)

for Caleb

O N 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 childrens voices, silence fell between us, and I struggled to think of a remark to break it.

Tammy spoke first. It didnt 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 Fawcetts hairstyle. She hurriedly declared that my friends father was rightblack people indeed had something in their feet to make them run faster. My breath caught as her words hit me as hard as if shed given me a slap. I tried to protest.