“You Ain’t No White Girl!”

By Desiree Smith

I remember being one of the many underprivileged inner-city kids in the mid- ‘60s who went to “Head Start” preschool. Head Start was just one of the new social programs implemented to help welfare families ensure their children could learned their ABC’s and could count by the time they reached kindergarten. I loved it. I would change clothes at least three or four times before I was finally cute enough to go off to school. My hair also had to be just right. The parts that separated the four large braids that I wore every day had to be line-straight or else my mother would hear my whining and eventually “right her wrong.” I maintained my meticulous ways throughout my preschool year and well into my kindergarten year and throughout my school days as a young girl. I can tell you though, that by the second grade, I had certainly perfected the art of schoolyard couture.


This one day in the spring of my second-grade year was very special. In fact, it was nothing short of perfect. As my Mom put on the finishing touches, she tied a purple ribbon, which matched my new purple dress, around my head, and let my long jet-black hair flow

I can tell you though, that by the second grade, I had certainly perfected the art of schoolyard couture.

over past my shoulders. I could not have been more ecstatic. I was so glad to see my usually braided hair now silky soft and long and flowing, just like Alexandria’s hair. My naturally kinky hair, which didn’t move unless I had barrettes on the end, always looked shorter than all of the white girls in my school. Now, thanks to Madame C.J. Walker who invented the pressing comb, my hair could magically transform into long beautiful tresses, just like the white girls. I had begged my Mom,

My three younger brothers and sister were all sitting around watching the magic of my nappy hair turn into “good hair.” I urged my Mom again,

My little brother, a year younger than I, taunted and teased me throughout my entire transformation. He laughed at me as I endured the two-hour-long process, which was quite painful. But all the pulling, tugging and pain was worth every second. All that mattered is that I would look pretty with my hair straightened.

My brother was going to make sure that I didn’t feel pretty. He bent down and put his face right in mine and reminded me,

My Mom held up the very hot pressing comb, pretending like she was going to burn him if he didn’t act right. She asked,

is good hair. . .unless,you don’t have any,” she teased. “But look here—I don’t want you going to this party thinking that those girls are going to treat you like you are white! Because you ain’t!”


In my mind I knew she was wrong. I felt pretty and regal in my matching purple poncho and matching gloves. My brand-new black patent leather shoes gleamed like new money. My Mom lavishly sprayed me with Sweet Honesty, Avon’s newest perfume, and we were off to Alexandria’s tea party.

Not just anyone got invited to Alexandria Masters’s house, or should I say mansion. And I don’t think a little nappy-headed colored girl had ever been invited to Alexandria’s annual tea party before. I just assumed this because, aside from my little brother, I was the only other “colored,” as they use to call blacks, in the entire second grade—or school for that matter.

Alexandria was the first kid at my school to greet me. Even though all the other kids were stand-offish,

But look here—I don’t want you going to this party thinking that those girls are going to treat you like you are white! Because you ain’t!

rude and clearly confused about how to treat me, Alex, as her friends called her, always protected me. She seemed to go out of her way to protect and befriend me, in spite of what the rest of the clique had to say. She was pretty, with long blonde hair and eyes as blue and huge as the new “Suzie Walker” doll that I begged my Mom for, and finally got, a year later.


As my Mom drove into the large circular driveway of the biggest house I ever saw, I could see Alex and her mom at the top of the steps greeting her select guests. Alex’s mom was beautiful like Alex. She had brilliant white teeth and big blue eyes with the most perfect make-up I ever saw on a mom. She was tall, slender and was wearing a form-fitting, short white linen dress.

She had on matching white 4-inch “roach killers.” That’s what we called stiletto heels with the pointy toes, because they were perfect for killing roaches when they hid in the corners. Her hair was blond and long like Alex’s but she wore it pulled back with a diamond-studded pony tail holder. I thought, “No wonder Alex is so pretty! And, no wonder Alex is so nice, just like her mom!”


I was embarrassed by the old rusty green station wagon my Mom was driving, so I jumped out of the car before it had fully stopped. I quickly waved bye to my Mom, making sure I would cut out any last minute chit-chat. I waited my turn to introduce myself to Mrs. Masters. One thing is, all my Mom’s children had GHT, “good home training.” We knew how to act in public and especially with adults—and especially so with white folks. I walked right up to Mrs. Masters where she very warmly greeted me, showing her straight teeth. She said,

Mrs. Masters didn’t fuss over me much, like adults would sometimes do, but she clearly admired me. She bent down and gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her breath smelled like Dentyne gum, even though I never saw her chewing. She then pointed to the side of the mansion and directed me to go through the side gate and through the rear entrance.

I stood still for a minute, puzzled, because all the other girls were entering through the large double doors with glass that looked like it had diamonds in it. I was sure I had not misunderstood Mrs. Masters, but decided I would go right up to her and ask politely,

I did have a great time at the party. All the girls loved my new look and some even brushed my hair, with their hair brush!

After returning home that evening, I started feeling confused and saddened by what Mrs. Masters had done. My little brother, picking up on the fact that maybe things had not gone so well at the party, started taunting me again,

My mother immediately came to my rescue. In her usual calm demeanor, the one she had when she was about to “spit some wisdom,” and said,

Mom had me sit on the floor between her legs and began braiding my hair into four braids. After she finished, she leaned forward and said,

After my Mom was finished braiding my hair, she leaned forward, kissed me on the forehead, then patted me on the behind and said,

She always knew how to make me feel better by saying something wise and then something funny. I laughed. And on my way to bed, I went into the bathroom, turned on the faucet and held my hair under the running water until my hair transformed back into the nappy braids again.

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