Missy and I had this cheap, beat-up chest in our room. It held our toys. Calling it a toy box is generous to both the box and its contents. But there aren’t always the right words—I find that true when I want to describe the tossed-off things that are gathered up by the poor.

rough house is a rewarding read because of Ontiveros’ developed class, gender, and racial consciousness. she can write intimately and lovingly about her father without losing any of the horrifying violence that was also a significant part of his personality, and I think it's because she knows that he both produced and was produced by his environment. he's never let off the hook but his circumstances, the realities of being poor in america, are never forgotten either. this is the work of a woman who is unpacking her life and while I would never put myself on display like this I am glad she did so I could read it.