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

My mother, who was at every group, every counseling session, following closely as the interpreter translated my raging stream of obscenities, had become a kind of model rehab parent, by which I mean constantly involved and totally oblivious to the fact that her own dysfunctions were at least part of the problem. She was constantly humiliated by me. The tables had turned. I grew up humiliated by how she said things; now she was humiliated by the things I said. “This place is a fucking joke! You bust us for stuff you know we are going to do anyway.” I looked right at Tim. “Do you just enjoy being a dick because you are an adult?” Tim bristled at this and shot back, “Do you enjoy wasting everybody’s time here? Standing in the way of the kids who want to get better here?” “Nobody wants to get better here! You dumb ass, can’t you see that? We are all fucking trapped here like little rats. We all want to go get high. Most of us already are!” Oops. Too much information. “Like who?” Tim asked, hungry. “Well, like your mother and I smoked some rocks together before I bent her over the soldering equipment.” Maybe I’d gone too far. Tim’s face flashed in anger, and I thought maybe he was going to hit me. I loved pissing adults off. My mom jumped in at this point, speaking through her interpreter, who was flustered by now, fucking up every fifth word. “Why don’t you hug some respect?” he’d ask. “Have. Have some respect.” I was simultaneously mocking him, correcting him, interpreting fo...