in some ways, Ronnie turning out how he did was my fault. Mommy left us with our aunt Gwen but I...

in some ways, Ronnie turning out how he did was my fault.  Mommy left us with our aunt Gwen but I was the one making sure he ate right, that he did his homework, put on clean clothes.  Once he came back from school bruised and sniffling and his shirtsleeves all gunked with tears and snot.  I made him take me back to the playground and had him point out who it was that’d beat him.  It was this scrawny little motherfucker on the monkey bars.  I was almost ashamed of him.  I left Ronnie standing on the sidewalk and beat that kid’s face in.  He started howling and screaming, trying to cover up.  He didn’t know what was happening to him.  I must’ve been at it, eight, nine minutes.  Me, swinging so hard that my arms got tired.  That evening, I told Ronnie he was a pussy having his big sister fight his battles for him.  Are you going to be a pussy all your life?  Who’s going to take care of you when you’re grown up?  Me?  Don’t fucking count on it.  He just nodded and sniffed, and looking at him, it  was just disgusting.  I pinned him down and sat on him and made him smell my farts.  I put my butt right in his face and let loose on him.  Then I started hitting him, not as bad as that other kid— not on the face, not bad enough to show— but bad enough.  And I said, Ronnie.  Sweet baby.  I want you to remember this.  This is going to save your life one day.  And I made damn sure he felt it.