Itinerantdaughter's Blog

No bones about it –– I’ve been lazy recently.  Luckily my job provides me with lots of free entertainment in the form of book proposals put together by crazy, egomaniacal, or genius people.  The below author is obviously a combination of the three.  (He’s a contributor to “over a dozen” Chicken Soup for the Soul books.)

*Note: I’m definitely breaking at least a moral code, if not a law, by posting this.  I’m too lazy to even apologize.

Dear Editor,

Rap/hip hop is one of the most misunderstood forms of music in the world. Some believe it doesn’t require any musical technique, theory or talent. Others find the lyrics offensive. But hip hop artists sing about life on the streets, in sometimes impoverished, problematic areas. Because rap comes largely from a culture that has a lot of problems, people tend to think that the music is the cause of these problems rather than an observation of them. Unfortunately, there are rap fans and reactionary journalists who still believe this as well.

That’s why the best age for children to learn about rap/hip hop music is when they’re young and able to form their own opinions. Meet Kurtis Croak, a hip hop frog who isn’t into throwing down gang signs or ganking another toad’s log. Kurtis and his friend, Master Toad, hope to tutor a young frog named Lil’ Wog in the true culture of hip hop. First, though, they must convince the other frogs in the bog that the music is both respectable and inspirational.

Kurtis Croak is a picture book that will find a place in the hearts of young children, and help them understand and appreciate the music of cultures other than their own.

Kurtis Croak

The Hip Hop Frog

Warning: This story bangs real hard.

Once there was a frog who lived in a bog,

his name was Kurtis Croak.

He wore a do-rag wrapped around his head

and his jeans were slung real low.

Kurtis had a rapper friend

known as Master Toad.

Fistfuls of bling hung on his neck,

‘cause that was how he rolled.

The two would chill for hours a day,

catching mayflies on a stump.

They’d discuss the old school rappers

Like Frogface, Sticky Tongue and M.C. Jump.

—

Of course I won’t include the whole rap here.  You’ll have to bribe me to get it!

Tonight I am going to see Margaret Atwood speak at the New York Times.  I reluctantly must admit I’ve never read any of her books, but I am a fan of her poetry, particularly this one, which is about many people I know.

A Sad Child

You’re sad because you’re sad.

It’s psychic. It’s the age. It’s chemical.

Go see a shrink or take a pill,

or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll

you need to sleep.

Well, all children are sad

but some get over it.

Count your blessings. Better than that,

buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.

Take up dancing to forget.

Forget what?

Your sadness, your shadow,

whatever it was that was done to you

the day of the lawn party

when you came inside flushed with the sun,

your mouth sulky with sugar,

in your new dress with the ribbon

and the ice-cream smear,

and said to yourself in the bathroom,

I am not the favorite child.

My darling, when it comes

right down to it

and the light fails and the fog rolls in

and you’re trapped in your overturned body

under a blanket or burning car,

and the red flame is seeping out of you

and igniting the tarmac beside you head

or else the floor, or else the pillow,

none of us is;

or else we all are.