Punch Me Up To The Gods: A Memoir

by Brian Broome

White children got sent to their bedrooms or were given a good and loving talking to—​punishments that shamed the knee-jerk ass-whuppin’s my siblings and I were subject to for a misspoken word or the slightest infraction. I didn’t even have a bedroom to get sent to. White children were given “allowances.” Allowances: money that was given to them just for being alive. White children became indignant when their television parents did not raise these allowances or withheld them as punishment for some adorable mistake they’d made. Their household chores seemed more of an option and not a command necessary to keep the very household functioning. Their clothes were never out of style, never dingy with wear. Their homes were beautifully decorated. They all had bicycles and their own bedrooms, and I was in thrall to the opulence and ease of it all. The parents of white children were loving toward each other and playful with their children. They acknowledged them and talked to them and always seemed to be in a good mood.