I can still remember when my mother and father sat my brother and I down one summer day and explained to us about the Educational Integration Program that was to be instituted in the next school year. This program was designed to take inner city kids—like us—and provide the opportunity to have a better education in the suburban communities that were traditionally all white. I was not sure what "better education" meant, but I trusted my mom and dad when they said that this was something they never had— a chance at receiving an equal and fair education.

On my first day of school while riding on my new school bus with over 40 other African American students, the eerie silence and thick tension in the air simply confirmed that the other kids on the bus were just as anxious, hopeful and frightened as I was. When our bus arrived on the school grounds, I expected a big WELCOME sign greeting us as the first class of integration students, after all this was 1979 and we were in Los Angeles—right?

To my surprise, however, we were greeted with eggs, tomatoes and rocks being thrown at our bus. Fear and confusion overwhelmed me. I had seen this type of thing watching Dr. King on TV. Tears of pain and anger stung my eyes when I witnessed the water hoses hurting the people marching for equality and I got chills when I heard Dr. King say, "…one day little black kids and little white kids can play together and go to school together…free at last, free at last." I realized that I was that little black girl he was talking about, and maybe staying in this scary school with these mean people was my way of contributing to what Dr. King died for. If I ran back to safety, then we really weren’t "free at last." So I convinced my parents to let me stay.

I had been an athlete since the age of eight and had just begun to run track when they announced they were having tryouts for both a Charlie’s Angels and the Bionic Woman competition. I was thrilled and sure I could win. I knew that I ran the fastest in the entire school! I had mastered my roll…stop…point…and "freeze sucker!" to sheer perfection. In the days leading up to the big competition, which included over 40 hopeful little girls and over 75 curious onlookers, I sharpened every skill to ensure my placement. I knew all of the key lines of both the Angels and the Bionic Woman.

On the day of the big competition I was calm and assured. "Ready set go!!" I was out in front instantly! When I finished the 100-yard race many of the girls were just approaching the 75-yard mark. This gave me the additional boost of confidence that I needed seeing as though I was the only African American girl that chose to stay in the competition. The judges were five very popular girls and a boy who I guess represented Charlie.

Only the first six of us who placed in the race advanced to the "Roll, Freeze and Pose" competition. I waited to be the last candidate and my competitors did just as I thought—they giggled, fumbled and foiled the freeze. I, however, froze right on the mark—hot asphalt and all. My performance was so impressive that the audience gave a gasping "WOW." You would have thought I had been an Angel for years—at least since I was six!

Finally, it was time to decide who would be both Charlie’s Angels and the Bionic Woman for the entire school year. I stood there as the judges huddled, periodically looking over their shoulders to get one last visual of us before their final selection. With six girls left, three would be the Angels, one would be the Bionic Woman and there would be one alternate. This would leave only one person who would not be selected at all. I began to look side-to-side to see who that could be. Maybe Cindy—she came in last in the race, or Kim—she could not coordinate herself enough to roll and freeze. Maybe it would be Michelle, she made a habit of calling everyone very ugly names and she just did not come across as an Angel. I felt sorry for whoever was not going to be chosen.

"The decision is made," exclaimed the one boy. "The official Charlie’s Angels will be Diane, Tiffany…" I felt my heart sink… "and Cindy." "The official Bionic Woman…" the young judge went on to say. My mind was racing part in disbelief and part in hopefulness. One chance, I know I will be chosen for this I thought as I could feel my palms sweating and my chest getting tight to hold back the tears. "Bionic woman will be Michelle." To make it worse, he went on to announce, " Kim was chosen as the alternate." Boo’s began to fly from the audience.

As each person approached me to protest the decision, I could see nothing but blur between my tears, my head was spinning and my anger was rising. I had been cheated and I didn’t know why. I stood frozen on my mark. I replayed the entire chain of events in my head to see what I could have done better or should have done with more passion. After five horrifically long minutes of scanning my brain for answers while hearing the newly appointed team of school heroines scream and holler, I concluded that I could not have produced better results—I had out performed every other girl. I deserved an answer so I walked directly over to the judges sitting there basking in their power and asked, "Why was I not selected if I out performed everyone in each competition?"

Suddenly, as if waiting for me to ask that question, the school ground fell silent. Everyone stopped and stared and I wondered then if I had made a big mistake. Nothing could embarrass me more then what just happened, or so I thought. The judges just looked at me with no sense of care or concern for my feelings and asked the question that would change my life forever, "What hero have you ever seen that was Black?" Then another little girl stated, "We did not choose you, Lisa, because you don’t look like any Angel or the Bionic Woman, but you can try out again next year if you happen to begin to look more like them in the future." Not knowing what else to do at all of ten years old, I walked away crying, as they laughed hysterically.

That day in September 1979, I became ever so acquainted with the pain and hurt that my grandparents and great ancestors must have endured. Since that year in fifth grade, I committed to being a hero for other little girls who needed one and hence, became a motivational speaker.

Twenty years later, during my keynote at a church in Los Angeles, which included stories of my trials, tribulations, passion and perseverance, I shared my commitment to change and the importance of empowerment. I emphasized that the cost of living this dream can never exceed the cost of throwing it away. I received a standing ovation from the audience and was elated and overjoyed.

As I made my way through the crowd stopping to acknowledge admiring guests, a hand was placed on my shoulder and the most familiar voice said, "You are so inspiring; you are a true heroine." I turned and nearly fainted. I stood amidst three thousand people and hugged Lindsey Wagner (television’s Bionic Woman), scrambling to exclaim that she was my longtime favorite. She said clearly and with conviction, "Today, you became my favorite and the true Bionic Woman."

On that day, I forgave each of those judges from my childhood for judging the outside—not seeing the inside—of me. I also forgave myself for being angry for the dark skin I was born in and the pain that it brought. I knew in that moment that it didn’t matter which heroine I looked like, because I now knew exactly which heroine I resembled—me.

© 2002 Copyright Lisa Nichols

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