Tuesday, 12 October 2004 | White sheep

I was fourteen in February 1989, and Black History Month was being celebrated at my school. Even though it was a public school, it was terribly small; the entire eighth grade consisted of roughly forty people, and only three teachers taught all of junior high.

That year, the three teachers (who governed like self-appointed royalty) decided that there would be a Black History Month play. I don’t remember what play it was, but the cast was enormous. In fact, every black child in the seventh and eighth grade had a part in the play; it may have even been required.

In the weeks leading up to the performance, the cast spent long afternoons in the auditorium, rehearsing lines, learning where to stand, and learning how to project their voices. Naturally, since there were no understudies, attendance had to be perfect on the day of the play.

It was Janet—the girl playing the lead—who was out sick.

Having already employed all of the black students in junior high, the three kings were in a dilemma. Rather than doing something predictable—postponing the play, reshuffling the cast a bit, or having someone play two different parts—they nominated someone altogether new to play Janet’s part, someone who hadn’t read a word of the play, and, incidentally, someone who was white. They nominated me.

I only had a tiny bit of acting experience, and I’d only played secondary characters, which I preferred. By that point I’d decided that being on stage was fine, but having the responsibility of the lead was terrifying, even under normal circumstances.

I was wearing denim shorts and an oversized t-shirt that day, and had a bad perm that made my shoulder-length blond hair coil like Christmas ribbons. I stood on the stage, in the midst of my faux black family, and read the unfamiliar lines straight off of a script that I glaringly held in my hand. I felt like an undeserving idiot.

For the uncomfortable entirety of the play, my black family seemed to accept me as if I were one of them, even though I hadn’t rehearsed with them, and even though my skin was the wrong color. Even though the situation was clearly absurd.

I’d almost forgotten.