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

Of course, this was a bit unfair. Fat teens don’t really have “fat bellies.” It takes years of harrumphing, beer-swilling and Salisbury steak, “gotta get away from my wife” nights to grow a big fat man tummy.

I was a ball of hate. Of course, you could have split that ball in half and seen the white-hot magma core of fear. That’s what was really driving me. I didn’t really hate them, I really hated myself. I felt worthless, broken, and terrified. Then again, I couldn’t have told you that. All I knew was that I was angry. The complex language of suffering and fear bewildered me when I heard it coming from inside me. I couldn’t express it, I couldn’t translate it. To me it just sounded like snarls and screams, so that’s what I spoke in. Maybe I wasn’t an asshole after all. Maybe I just couldn’t figure out how to stop acting like one.