The Lives of Babes: Dana Johnson’s “Melvin in the Sixth Grade”

We often forget that significant cultural battles are waged every day on the playground. As adults, it is easy to harbor this utterly ridiculous idea that childhood is either a time of great innocence—think of a baby sleeping, of utter freedom, no bills to pay!—or subterranean evil—bad seed, anyone? But well-executed coming-of-age stories remind us that life’s major dilemmas play out on the kidscape with at least as much nuance and complexity as they do in the adult world. Dana Johnson’s “Melvin in the Sixth Grade” illuminates the ways that conflicts around race, class, and gender color the lives of children. We remember the Little Rock Nine, who integrated Central High School in the fifties, but we seem to lose track of the fact that they were just kids—and that was high school. Recall the famous photo of the Bostonian brandishing the American flag like a bayonet. Let us not forget that this was about kids going to school. In 1960, little Ruby Bridges, wearing her pinafore and Mary Janes, was escorted by the National Guard; she was on her way to elementary school.

Enter Dana Johnson, decades later, and her heroine, Avery—the only black girl in her sixth-grade class in 1981. Her family has moved to the suburbs to escape Los Angeles’s infamous gang violence. Heir to the strides of the civil rights movement, Avery joins her new school without any legal or social drama. Her class is wonderfully diverse, with classmates representing America’s many ethnic groups, California-style. Dr. King’s dream fulfilled? The answer is a resounding “Yes and no.”

Recently, I had dinner with a writer who was a leader of the Black Arts movement of the 1960s. “This is the difference between my generation and yours,” she said to me. “My generation of black people, we just wanted to go to school in peace. We wanted to eat a hamburger in public without being beaten. We just wanted to live. Your generation? You want to be loved.”

Don’t we all? This is the matter at the heart of Dana Johnson’s amazing story. Avery, outcast because of her race, simply wants to loved. In the middle of the year, another new kid joins the class. He is Melvin Bukeford, a white boy from Oklahoma who is as alien to his West Covina classmates as Afro-puffed Avery. But unlike anxious Avery, he isn’t bothered by the pecking order. A miniature James Dean, he smokes cigarettes and waves away the taunts. In the hands of a sentimental writer, the rest of the plot would roll itself out in the safe territory of an afterschool special—the black girl and the Okie form a special friendship and demonstrate to the cool kids the true meaning of friendship. But no, this world doesn’t follow any of those rules. This is not a fight between jocks and geeks. This is a knock-down, drag-out conflict between the least popular kids at school, where the reward is avoiding the very bottom of the heap. In the stylings of the classic coming-of-age story plot, there is a coveted party invitation, but the girl who holds it smells like pee. In other words, the prize is no prize, but Avery can’t help wanting it anyway.

Reading this story feels a little bit like looking though a collection of photographs selected to document rather than to flatter. Johnson’s strength lies in her commitment to showing her characters at their most vulnerable. Avery is no strong black woman in miniature. Unlike her brother, who is older and has the benefit of masculinity, she is not bold enough to say “I ain’t stuttin these white folks.” Her feelings, instead, echo in the lovesick lyrics of Peabo Bryson, “I’m so into you. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” The admission is brave, honest, and heartbreaking.

Avery is a character who stayed with me for years after I first encountered her in this...