Once upon a blog post, I made a little joke about becoming a Hebrew school teacher. Well, I have some very scary news for next year’s kindergarteners of Savannah’s Shalom School: It’s you, me, the Torah, a coupla tamborines and maybe some warm apple juice and crackers if you behave yourselves on Sunday mornings, kidlets. We’ll get along just fine as long as you pretend I know more than you do. And your parents don’t read this blog.
At the risk of called out as self-absorbed by the big kids on the Jblog block (poor Amishav! What a dumb drama to have happen to the wrong person, but he seems to have handled it with his usual humility and grace), I need a little navel-gazing moment: At 25, I had a shaved head and hairy armpits, drove a VW camper and wrote a newspaper column that inspired weekly death threats. At 35, I wear make-up every day, am sporting something suspiciously close to a sensible mom haircut, drive a beige minivan and have just accepted a job as a Sunday school teacher. If I hadn’t somehow morphed into a responsible adult in spite of my best efforts, I’d beg one of you to come to Savannah with a stack of Charles Bukowski books and some cocaine and kidnap me for a weekend.
*Sigh* At least now I have a true reason to buy some of Susan Fischer Weis’ fabulous chag-themed Yontifications.