The Journey of Jonathan Tepper: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Addiction
Jonathan Tepper describes the process of finishing his memoir, Shooting Up, as akin to an eight- or nine-month pregnancy. It’s a metaphor that encapsulates the years of gestation—nearly two decades—before his story finally emerged into the world. The memoir reflects on his childhood spent amidst addiction, poverty, and the AIDS epidemic in Madrid during the 1980s and ’90s. Tepper expresses a sense of pride, stating, “It’s nice to see the little creature out in the world.”
A Childhood Like No Other
Tepper’s upbringing was anything but ordinary. As the son of American Evangelical missionaries, he was immersed in a world where seven-year-olds do not typically hand out Evangelical pamphlets to heroin addicts in exchange for ice cream. His childhood was marked by a unique understanding of danger, learned through the glint of discarded syringes and the tightening grip of adults around him. “When you’re very young,” he reflects, “you don’t really know what’s normal. . . It’s your environment, you are normal.”
His parents were drawn to San Blas, a notorious heroin market in Madrid, believing they were divinely called to work among its drug users. This mission shaped Tepper’s formative years, as he spent most of his childhood alongside his parents, witnessing the complexities of addiction and community.
Not a Therapeutic Exercise
Interestingly, Tepper did not approach writing this memoir as a therapeutic exercise. “I didn’t set out to write it to process anything, or to heal myself,” he clarifies. Instead, his goal was to tell a beautiful story about friends, family, and a neighborhood that was fading away. This intention is evident in his calm and lucid storytelling, where horror emerges not through dramatization but through the accumulation of experiences.
“Humans need stories,” he asserts. “They need some kind of shape—not to explain things away, but to hold them.” This perspective allows readers to engage with the narrative on a deeper level, fostering empathy and understanding.
The Outsider Perspective
Growing up as a missionary’s child has left an indelible mark on Tepper’s worldview. “That outsider perspective never really leaves you,” he notes. It shapes how he perceives people and how cautious he is about judging them. His life has been characterized by international experiences, thanks to a successful career in finance, which has further reinforced his sense of being an outsider.
The decision made by his parents over 40 years ago to move to Spain led to the establishment of Betel International, a substance-abuse charity that now operates in over 100 urban areas worldwide. Tepper’s memoir revisits the early days of this movement, capturing the uncertainty and sacrifices made by those closest to it.
Courage vs. Recklessness
In Shooting Up, Tepper writes primarily from the perspective of a child, grappling with the blurred lines between courage and recklessness. “You can’t pick your parents,” he observes, “but they get to pick your life.” While he acknowledges feelings of bitterness during his early adolescence, he resists the urge to judge his parents retrospectively. Instead, the narrative reveals a gradual movement toward gratitude, complicated yet genuine.
One of Tepper’s key intentions was to avoid retrofitting his childhood with adult understanding. He emphasizes the importance of capturing not just what happened, but also what he believed at the time, even if those beliefs were misguided. “Moral understanding,” he reflects, “comes through encounter, not instruction.”
The Impact of Loss
A pivotal moment in Tepper’s life—and in his memoir—is the tragic death of his brother Timothy, who died in a road accident when Jonathan was a teenager. This event marked the end of his childhood innocence, forcing him to confront the reality of death. “That was the turning point in my life,” he recalls. “Before that, death felt abstract. After that, it was real, and it was everywhere.”
Tepper’s insights into grief are particularly striking. He articulates the unsettling nature of forgetting, suggesting that the worst loss is not just the person, but the gradual erosion of their presence in our minds. “Thoughts of suicide seduced me,” he admits, revealing the depth of his struggle. Yet, he also acknowledges that the primary reason he never acted on those thoughts was his desire to spare his parents further pain.
Beyond Faith
While Shooting Up could be framed as a book about faith, Tepper resists this categorization. “I don’t feel I have all the answers,” he states. “I don’t want this to be a Christian book as such.” His aim was to tell a beautiful story, allowing readers to draw their own conclusions. Despite this, he acknowledges that some readers have found their faith rekindled through his narrative.
A Mission of Preservation
As the memoir unfolds, its deeper purpose becomes clear: it is an act of preservation. Tepper is acutely aware that many individuals from his past—addicts, friends, and children who died young—are at risk of being forgotten. He hopes that by sharing their stories, he can help the children of those who have passed feel the warmth and love that once surrounded them.
Memory, he understands, is fragile. Writing becomes a means of resisting erasure, a way to keep the voices of the past alive. Now as a father, Tepper reflects on the inevitability of loss, recognizing that “one day, my son will lose me.” He describes life as “a long chain of love,” one that is continually passed down, broken, and repaired.
In Shooting Up, Tepper’s mission is clear: he hopes that the book speaks for itself, showcasing love in action and preserving the memories of those who have shaped his life.
