A father shares the experience of having a meth-addicted son and the toll it takes on everyone in his life. You can't read this book without feeling the strain and sadness that every day is for a family with an addict, but there was just something about this guy that really bothered me. And I'm not talking about the addict -- he's, of course, a black hole of demand and tragically wasted potential -- I'm talking about the father.
I just flat-out don't believe David Sheff much of the time. I'm sure he's giving his two younger children more wise comments than they actually verbalized themselves. A couple of examples: 6 or 7-year-old Daisy says that she doesn't believe that death is scary but, instead, like the end of a vacation when you're ready to go home. Jasper, somewhere in the 10 to 12-year-old range refers to his college-age brother as a "good kid." No, no, no. That's not how children think or speak.
Yes, I'm sure that the Sheffs are in hell most of the time. But this book came off as a indulgent, self-absorbed, and unnecessarily stretched. Focus on the two kids and your wife -- while you're wasting effort on Nic, you're killing the family that still has a chance.
C-
Non-fiction #4
