Mishna Wolff grew up in a poor black neighbourhood with her single father, a white man who truly believed he was black. He strutted around with a short perm, a Cosby-esque sweater, gold chains and a Kangol - telling jokes like Redd Fox, and giving advice like Jesse Jackson. He walked like a black man, he talked like a black man and he played sports like a black man. You couldn’t tell my father he was white. Believe me, I tried, writes Wolff. And so from early childhood on, her father began his crusade to make his white daughter down with all-things-black. But Mishna didn’t fit in with the other kids in her neighbourhood: she couldn’t dance, she couldn’t sing, she couldn’t double dutch and she was the worst player on her all-black basketball team. Yet when she was finally sent to a rich all-white school, she was too black to fit in with her white classmates - and she was more uncool than ever. This hip, funny memoir will have readers howling with laughter, recommending it to friends and questioning what it means to be black or white in America.