My son turned in the last part of his biography project today, but it wasn’t on the subject he wanted.
When he first got the assignment, he thought it was cool, because he already was reading Slash’s autobiography. He proposed it to this teacher, who said no way.
In a sense, I could understand. I’ve read big chunks of the book, and it’s graphic and profane and frank. It actually was the frankness that sold me on letting my son read it. It ain’t all pretty, but it seems like a fairly accurate recollection, and for a young guitar fiend I didn’t want any sugarcoating. The boy is sensible enough that some of the more sensational parts he finds not thrilling, but demonstrations of a lack of judgment, so it serves as a mild warning as well.
Anyway, apparently he was instructed to use a book from the school library. (I briefly thought of donating the autobiography, but figured it never would see the light of day there.) He chose another musician, and set to work on his project.
My husband was not happy about the choice: Kurt Cobain. “A heroin addict who shot himself?”
“Yes,” I said. “They wouldn’t let him do Slash, a heroin addict who had lots of sex.”
Muttering ensued. Whatever the intent of the assignment was, it clearly had nothing to do with role models.
This post originally appeared on ourMidland.com, the online home of the Midland (MI) Daily News. Republished with permission.