Kasher in the Rye: The True Tale of a White Boy from Oakland Who Became a Drug Addict, Criminal, Mental Patient, and Then Turned 16

by Moshe Kasher

“We can’t figure out what you learn best with. It seems like something might be wrong with your brain.” She pointed to her fat head. “So we are going to bring you to a special classroom to help you learn. It’s called Portable Three.” Portable Three. The retard portable. “But isn’t that where the retarded kids go?” I asked. She was shocked. “We don’t use that word anymore. Differently abled.” “Do you use the word Down syndrome? Because the kid with Down syndrome goes to Portable Three. Do I have Down syndrome?” I never got an answer. To this day I’m not sure I don’t. Every day after fourth period, I would begin the long slog to the Portable Three DMZ at the back of the school. The first day there, I expected the door to open to a scene from an antebellum hospital for the mentally infirm. I expected young women chained to the door and people rocking in the corner picking at scabs. A woman with madness in her eyes would jump on top of me gasping, “Leave now… you’ll never escape this place.” What I got was much different. Portable Three looked a lot like a regular classroom. The fourth-period class was specifically for people like me, regular kids with an appropriate amount of chromosomes but an inappropriate amount of F’s on their report cards. The more severely disabled students were given classes earlier in the day and then sent home to lift heavy things for the carnival or eat paint chips or whatever. What I was expecting was a caricature of a special education classroom, ...