This book, Without a Net, is important because it actually acknowledges that class exists in America.
Such is the head fuck of class in America. A single mother, a nurse, raising two children in a slummy town, a deadbeat father run out the door, she doesn’t think we’re poor, fears we could actually be mistaken for rich by the workers who grant us our food stamps. If the case worker saw the gold they might think she was rich. Ma had to take off her jewelry, the thin, gold chain she wore, laden with little golden charms, a Tweety bird, Nefertiti, #1 Mom. We’d be on food stamps, and we were only on them that one time when Ma had a hysterectomy and couldn’t work. See? If we were really poor we’d need more.
Our alcoholic dad split, no child support but that’s O.K., my mom doesn’t want to take nothing from nobody, no handouts, no charity. We were like everyone else in Chelsea, Massachusetts, and certainly better than many, the immigrant families crammed ten to an apartment, on welfare, or the families with a really bad alcoholic drinking all the money away. Don’t you think that if I had it I would give it to you? Really, no money for a candy bar? Really. No college, though, but who went to college? Kennedys! My mom had money for Depeche Mode tickets when I begged her for them. And it’s true-I had MTV and Catholic school. I DIDN’T GROW UP POOR, IMPOVERISHED, DEPRIVED.
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