Zana’s Reviews > Punch Me Up To The Gods: A Memoir – A Raw Coming-of-Age Story of Black Boyhood and Queer Identity > Status Update

‘Back home in the United States, stories of unarmed Black people being murdered abound, most notably by police, but also by white people who are “afraid for their lives.” So many white people in America are “afraid for their lives” all the time. Far too many of them seem to prefer being “white” to being human.’

“...Because, I may be biased, but I am fully confident that the entire state of Ohio is nothing but a racist cesspool. It wears on the Black psyche until you either leave it forever or get damn good at football. I chose the former.”

“Every woman I know done had to navigate since the time we was little girls and Black girls get set out on the most dangerous waters.”

“...these white gay men love their Black men to be the kinds of Black men they see on television, in their sports, in rap videos. Manly and unflappable. They like big Black bucks, hardened by racism with graceful bodies chiseled by sports.”

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“Growing up, it didn’t take me long to learn that my gayness detracted from my Blackness. Black, gay men are punch lines to the Black community. An anomaly to be ridiculed. Relegated to the role of church choir directors. We are a nationwide family secret, courtesy of masculinity and religion.”

“I remembered the childhood lessons I received from my father and my friend Corey. There is no crime greater than a Black man acting like a girl.

Recently, I’ve seen Black boys on this same bus huddled up together, holding hands and whispering sweet nothings. They are unapologetic—stronger, prouder, and braver than I was. Than I am. Than I ever have been.”

“Black boys don’t get a long boyhood. It ends where white fear begins, brought on by deepening voices, broadening backs, and coarsening hair in new places beneath our clothing. Then there’s our skin, which provides little middle ground. The world seems either fascinated or repulsed by it.”

“He once paddled me for hugging a white girl. Her name was Maria and, one day, after band period, I gave her a hug at the top of the stairs just above his office and she pranced away. When I looked down, Mr. Nye was looking up at me real mad and jabbed his finger toward the floor hard, ordering me to come to him right now....”

JFC

“...I’m drawn back to my boyhood lessons in disaffectedness, nonchalance, and hollow strength. It was a never-ending performance that I could not keep up to save my life. And when I failed consistently, there was never any shortage of people around to punish me for it.”

“My father’s beatings were like lightning strikes. Powerful, fast, and unpredictable. He held his anger so tightly that, when it finally overtook him, the force was bone-shaking. He punched me like I was a grown-ass man. He went blind with rage and just punched with all the strength of a steelworker. It never took more than one to lay me on my back, windless. Then he would dare me to get up. I never did.”

JFC