So, there’s this book, Teach Like Your Hair’s on Fire by Rafe Esquith, and a coworker, who I like and respect and admire (really), loves this book. Listening to her talk about it makes me love the book too. Hey, I want to be a great teacher. Sure I do.
I also want to be a great mother. A great wife. A great daughter. A great friend. A great person. Oh, and a great writer. But I can’t do them all like my hair is on fire. I don’t have that much hair.
That I-could’ve-done-better feeling follows me around most of the day (and most of the night). Does it follow you? And if you’ve only got so much hair to burn, who do you burn it for?
Obviously, if I don’t say my son, I’m a bad mother.
But whenever I do get it right…whenever there is that great moment between mother and son or between teacher and student or between writer and the page–oh, the feeling of excitement and relief. A bit like having a fire extinguisher put out my head. okay, better than that.
The thing is–I’m sick and tired of self-help books and seminars and CDs and whatever. Truth is, I rarely pick up self-help books or anything, but we do live in a self-help culture, which I sometimes appreciate and see the value in, and sometimes I just want to shout at–“Leave me alone. I’m not that bad!” Not to mention I don’t like the smell of burning hair.
Now, I’ve got a less than great novel to finish.