The Black Family: A Stream of Consciousness

by D’Shandi Coombs

Disclaimer: All elements of conventional dialogue and grammatical conventions were intentionally omitted.

Happy-go-lucky Sunday dinners after a hell-raising hand-clapping church service because Jesus saves and washed away our sins pass the oxtail and rice and peas even though it is only 6 o’ clock but I am starving.

My soul is starving.

Family is everything, but maybe not this family. We must communicate and laugh and pray together, but don’t you dare tell our business.

But I will tell yours, oh yes, I will.

Your first period, your first boyfriend, a girlfriend! Let’s shout it from the rooftops, for you have sinned against God. And I have sinned, and we all have sinned, but your sin is worse than mine because it embarrasses me.

Did you tell your grandmother? The backbone, domestic abuse survivor, for I have worked two jobs and my children have never gone hungry, and I made sure that they feared me. Because to fear is to respect, and you children have no respect. I would never allow the things your parents allow you to do. Coming home at 2 in the morning, the disrespect, I run things around here, not you. I hold the knife in your mother’s back.

And you’re proud? Financially unstable dearly departed mentally diseased offspring and you’re proud.

“Hold grandma’s hand.”

Volunteer to hold her purse so that you may rummage through it for leftover Sunday candy. Eh ginger and mint, old people shit. Old people shit and the same old shit.

Family court, small claims court. You need to start working because your mother needs help. Not my business, I need help. I need to help myself get the hell outta here. So, we’re moving, for the fifth time this year. Crown Heights again.

“lemme gi yuh da joke”

Did you know your father lives in the projects five minutes away from your house? While you sit in that brownstone with your mother and sister as roommates. Make sure to buy groceries and pay your portion of the rent, but you’re a child in this house. You ain’t grown! You think that you’re better than me with your college degree and because you grew 2 feet taller than me?

But I love you, and you’re so cold. Why don’t you talk to me, you don’t tell me about your day and you’re so mean, that’s why you don’t have any friends. I’m caring, not annoying. Use the $40 child support from that man to buy yourself a MetroCard. That good for nothing, poverty stricken, you look just like him man. Oh, and by the way, he’s driving us to your brother’s graduation, make sure you’re ready on time.

And say good morning! Good morning dreams and aspirations and the future you envision where you are better. Better than yesterday and everyone whom you have ever come across in your life. But remember to come back. Come back and build this community, that was left neglected and unattended and stuck in this cycle of generational poverty. But I get tired, and they don’t listen.

And my head aches and my heart hates for my brothers and sisters in this black family.