Killing Your Parents: Rob Reiner and his Schizophrenic Son

I never favored his politics. Nor did I travel in his elite circles.

Like most Americans of a certain age, however, I had fond memories of Rob Reiner as Meathead in the legendary 1970s sitcom “All in The Family.” And, of course, I loved the movies he later directed including” Stand by Me,” “When Harry Met Sally,” and “A Few Good Men.”

Recently I learned of something else we had in common: grown sons with schizophrenia. Mine attacked me once. And last month, Reiner’s allegedly stabbed both him and his wife to death after slitting their throats.

“Words cannot even begin to describe the unimaginable pain we are experiencing every moment of the day,” his other two children said in a statement following the brutal murders. “The horrific and devastating loss of our parents…is something no one should ever experience.”

My own familial confrontation had a better outcome. It happened back in 2006 when I knocked on Drew’s door for his 19^th birthday and was met with flailing fists. Later, peeling myself off the floor, I called police. And thus began a years-long process culminating in his commitment to a mental health facility that probably saved his life and possibly others.

Drew wasn’t always violent. Once he was a bright kid with thick blond hair, a winning smile, and what seemed like a limitless future. Then things started going awry. He got arrested for setting a trashcan on fire, stole candy from a liquor store, and ran away from home. I’ll never forget the day we realized those were more than just teenage shenanigans.

By then, his mom and I were divorced, and I was visiting the Philippines. One day she called me from California where Drew was living in my house. “David,” she said, sounding alarmed, “are you home? Because Drew says he hears your voice in the other room.”

And that’s when we knew our son was delusional.

A few weeks later he drove to a nearby construction site and nearly killed himself by drinking liquid sealant. Which marked the beginning of a decade filled with suicide attempts, on-and-off commitments to mental institutions, verbal and physical altercations resulting in serious injuries, homelessness, drug addiction, and, finally, Drew’s arrest and conviction for felony assault after attacking an attendant at the half-way house where he lived.

In fact, he ended up spending six months incarcerated in the same Los Angeles correctional facility where the Reiners’ son now awaits trial for their murder.

The problem with mental illness in America is that nobody takes it seriously. Or rather, civil libertarians have determined that one’s right to be sick outweighs the public’s right to be protected. All of which is rationalized by the myth that serious mental illness like schizophrenia is situational rather than genetic.

Reiner himself contributed to that belief in a 1997 interview. “You will not find one single person in jail for a violent crime who had a great childhood,” he insisted. In other words, “read to them, sing to them, hold them, nurture them,” and everything will be just fine.

Until, as in his case, it wasn’t.

My son’s situation is a bit more hopeful. After years of cajoling, lobbying, networking, and arguing, Drew’s mom and I finally got him legally conserved; a process by which a court-appointed guardian can consent to confined treatment even against a patient’s will.

And so the boy who once showed so much promise now resides in a locked mental health facility near San Diego, California, where he takes meds regularly and gets routine counseling. Today, at 38, Drew seems far less volatile than he was in the past. Does he still hear voices? Well, honestly, from time to time. Does he attack attendants? Not so much. Will he ever lead a normal life? It’s hard to say.

But here’s the good news: no one has gotten killed. And unlike the Reiners, we’re all still here.