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A Journal Rap

Thursday, June 11th, 2009
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"Dr. Nash" Retires

When I taught English years ago at City Colleges of Chicago, I required each minority student to keep a journal.  Students were given extra credit points to put tickler questions on the left hand corner of the blackboard.  My aim was to create a community of writers as soon as possible.

The first day, I always started out with, “What fears do you have as you enter this class?” and “What is soul?”  (a slippery word to define.  Pen out a good one, Dr. Nash will award you 4 gold stars.)

Have journaled most of my adult life.  Along with my students, I read some of my entries out loud to the class, hoping they’d see how rambly and incoherent, emotional and wild, imperfect and downright nuts their professor can be.

I also included this first day of class journal rap.  They were similar to one that follows.  (Please forgive its religious overtones, for many of my students were born-again Baptists.)

Oh Yea of little faith, take heed in what my 3rd grade teacher Miss Lawler said way back when dinosaurs were still roaming the earth, smoking Cools and lurking late at Fey’s pool hall.  My flame-haired teacher said, “Ronnie, why not tell Dear Diary your many problems?  Pretend you are speaking into the ear of God.” Click to continue »

Chapter 1. Dancing on the Dangerous Side

Thursday, May 7th, 2009

Changing Colors Book 1 The Long and Winding River to Kashmir’s Door

Gratitudes

Honoring my parents, Marjorie Ethel Jones and Samuel Arthur Naas.  Although in these 2 books they may seem like villains, in the end they too changed their colors.

Smiling upon my sister Nancy, who always believed in my talents to weave a true Irish tale.

Remembering the sisters who have rocked my soul, see-ers like Evelyn Green and healers like Berlina Baker at the Stream of life, South Side Chicago.

Loving, always as if for the first time, Ms. Mahogany Kashmir Dubonet Moses.  Without her spark our love story would never have been spelled out.

Thanking my brother Terry Naas, who continues to make my heart tender, and my Aunt Myrtle Waters, who gifted my child with the ocean whispers from her abalone shell.

Stealing another kiss from Princess Vicksburg, and high-fiving Bega-the bookends who represent my personal myth.

Hallelujahing the long-tailed Dragon.  Without her “Out, out, I want you out of MY house,” my kayaking adventures in the boundary waters of romance would never have gotten launched. Click to continue »