Final Revised Copy Of Auto Essay.

   JasmineHarris-Foster

I woke up to thesound of yelling around 2 in the morning. I looked around the room. It was darkand the yelling was very distracting. I stumbled over to the light in my roomand turned it on, rubbed my eyes and shook my head while walking over to my bedroomdoor.  I opened the door to walkdown the stairs the yelling got louder and louder. As I neared the bottom ofthe steps I looked over and saw my parents yelling at each other. All of asudden my mom stopped yelling and I heard her yell “Jasmine call 911. Call foran ambulance. I think I’m having a heart attack!”

This is my language benchmark for 2nd semester english. if you don't like the formatting here, I attached the file. 

   
The act of code switching is consciously or unconsciously changing the dialect or language in which you speak. It’s unnerving when somebody you see every day code switches, and then before, you realize that you code switch as well. How does it affect the way other people interact with us in our lives?
I was with my father going to my aunt Sadie’s house, and the entire drive we talked. When we enter the house with the sausage rolls and pork pies-which is traditional Scottish food-I hear,
“Antony! How’rre ye mah boy? Shoot, yer boy con’t be bigger dane me! Turn around boy!” says my aunt ecstatically. So I turn around and we stand back to back. And then I hear my dad.
“Oh. ‘E’s got at least fore or foyve inches on ye’.”
“No ‘e in’t! Let me tell ya dis boy! Ye will never be bigger dane me! Ye get dat?” she says jokingly.
“’Ello Sadie.” I say as I give her a hug. Even though I’ve never been to Scotland, the second I see my great aunt or grandmother, I will undoubtedly code switch. I will say most of my words with a Scottish tongue. My aunt and father talked for about a half hour, and the entire time, my father was saying words I know him to say differently.
I was sitting between them, and the entire time, my tongue is twisting. Writhing in my mouth. Trying to change back into its original form, but unsuccessfully. The power of the automatic transition was stuck in 2nd gear.
After a bit we start talking about my trip to Liverpool, and Sadie says, “if ye’ come bock from Liverpool talkin’ like a Liverpudlin, you’re gonna get one of these!” She opens her hand.
“If I come back talking like that, give me three.”
“Some wardes they yooz ther ‘ave been used fer yirs. In Scotland, before I knew what it meant, I was sayin’ ‘yaijeet’ ‘get that fer me yaijeet’ and awayeyemugye”
I’ve known this woman since I can remember, and every time I see her, the tongue just mashes up, and every word that comes out of my mouth isn’t mine. They're words that belong to a boy that grew up in Scotland. Who’s heart, body, soul, and mind are there. But this woman and my grandmother both make me at home in a place I've never been.
My friend once told me that she was at school, an acting troupe came from London. After they did their play, they were allowed to ask questions. Her family is from Scotland, so she automatically code switched to speak like she was from the U.K. Later, her friends asked her why she spoke funny. That added to her personality
It doesn’t just happen to me either. I have friends that are Puerto Rican’s and when they are at school, they speak like anybody else, but at home, their language and dialect is completely different. It’s not like we- people- choose to speak differently, it’s just the way interact with those who affect us.
And finally when some people see one of those changes in their friends or family members, they freeze up for a second. Then that person, instead of being a person with five distinctive properties, becomes somebody with six. They have a whole new personality on top of the others.
If we add another piece to our personality, and somebody watches this transformation, it could completely change how people look at us. It takes a few moments to adjust to this new thing we’ve been exposed to.

Itamar Ben-Amos
Iron Stream
English
Mr. Block
                     Language Autobiography

    While most people believe that their language dictates how they would act or how they would grow up, I did not. I believe that my language, although it helped to shape the way I grew up, had not as much significance as many people would have thought. But as much as I say that it didn’t have a big effect on my growing up experience, it still had an effect on how people viewed me and considered me to be.

 Growing up, I lived in the household of two languages, English and Hebrew. Now my parents, not wanting that I be shut off from the world around me and the world of the Americans, surrounded me in my early years in English, so that I would be able to communicate with the world outside and not be seen as an outsider. As I entered my elementary school, chosen because it taught Hebrew along with English, and kept various Jewish practices, they began to take away my little foundation of English, and began to talk to me more and more in Hebrew rather than English. This helped in a way, since I was struggling a bit in my Hebrew class, and it helped me grasp the grammar rules of the language, but it also did something else, that I did not notice until later. Years went on, until my parents started to talk to me completely in Hebrew, with me responding sometimes in Hebrew back, but only when I was in company of friends, to wow them with my ability to speak a language they couldn’t.

Entering High school however, gave me a new revelation. My parents, had woven a web very tightly around me, giving me problems with my 3rd language, Spanish, and separating me from the rest. Just even in the way I addressed my parents, Ima and Aba, mother and father. So already I’m marked as different. Coming to this school, where most of the other people had already taken at least a year of Spanish, putting them ahead of myself and making it harder for me to grasp the basics. I found whenever I would try to conjugate a verb or think of the definition of a word, poof, gone would be the word and in its place the word, but in Hebrew. Now good as that may be for my learning Hebrew, it wreaked havoc on my Spanish grades, not to mention my differentiation between my two and a half languages. Sometimes I would find myself talking to a friend and midway changing to another language, whereupon I would have to backtrack and repeat what I had just said. Most commonly this sentence would be, “Nu? Mah koreh itcha?” gibberish right? Well that’s Hebrew in a nutshell, and that sentence meant, “Well? What’s happening with you?”

However, knowing Hebrew is a blessing, as well, and I like to think more than an impediment. Since I know Hebrew, I am able to talk somewhat like an Israeli, and speak with other people who know the language pretty well. Several times, this language was the main reason why I had such an easier time getting along with the locals in Israel and having a better time then all of my classmates on our class trip to Israel, landing me the unofficial job of being translator for some of the kids. Since I know another language that out of most of my friends and my family, my family and I are the only ones who really know this language, giving us an advantage over my friends, and giving us a language to converse in and to say things to each other so they won’t understand. It’s funny anyway. Seeing people being exposed to a language that they don’t understand may give me a bigger ego, but it is still worth it to show that just because I have problems with one language, doesn’t mean that I can’t know something that they don’t.

Joseph Rainis
January 14, 2008

As a white kid, growing up in a predominantly white neighborhood, I was pretty white. The only things I really knew about black culture were the things I saw on television. After going to public school for a few years, where there were more black kids, I began to see more things about the black culture, but I still did not know much. Little did I realize, the black students didn’t know everything about black culture either. What I saw from the black kids at school was similar to the things I saw on television.
I began to think, about what black culture really was and what it represented. I thought that if even the black kids at school didn’t know about it, maybe it wasn’t even real. I also thought about white culture, and if that really existed. I also thought about why these cultures were so different, and why they hadn’t integrated after being together for hundreds of years.
“For a white kid, you sure are good at football!” A young boy names Rahim Harris said that to me at recess. It was 3rd grade, and we were friends. From that point on, we had been best friends. Rahim and I were not as different as I thought we would be. We both had families that loved us, we both went to school, got good grades, and even had similar interests. The new discoveries I was making about culture were beginning to confuse me.
Rahim didn’t know it, but he helped me figure out the truth about culture. Culture shouldn’t be something you’re ashamed of, and it shouldn’t take anything away from you. He helped me learn that good people are good people, no matter what their culture or background is. People can be so different, but still just click. Rahim and I grew up in two different societies. I lived in a good neighborhood, and his wasn’t so great. His friends tried to get him into things like drugs and violence, but I didn’t have the same peer pressures, yet we still were great friends.
On an average day, in fifth grade, Rahim wasn’t in school. It didn’t think much of it. Maybe he was sick, or even just running late. During second period, which was Reading class, the counselor stepped in. She said, “Boys and girls, I have an announcement to make. Rahim is not here today because he is in the hospital.”
That caught my attention. I was a little worried, but I was sure he was okay, thinking that if it were a big deal, the counselor wouldn’t just come in and blurt it out during class.
She continued, “Last night, Rahim had a fire in his house. He got out, but has some burns, and is going to be out of school for a while.”
“How bad are the burns?” I asked.
“Oh, well, um, we don’t know all the details just yet,” She replied. I realize now that she didn’t want me to get upset, as I was a nine year old child who just learned that his best friend was in a fire. All of us kids wanted to organize a visit to see Rahim, but the teachers decided that was a bad idea, because none of us were older than ten years old, and seeing a classmate covered in burns couldn’t be good.
For the next two weeks, I did nothing but worry. In school we had no work, as us students were still shocked, and too worried about our friend to read books and write math problems. Instead, we did fun things to take our minds off Rahim. We mostly colored in coloring books and played games.
About two weeks after we found out about Rahim’s accident in the fire. The counselor came in again. This time the news was worse. “Boys and girls, I’m very sorry to inform you that Rahim passed away this morning.” At that, I burst into tears, and so did many other students. We go out of school early that day, as many students were too sad to even color or play games. I was completely sick. I couldn’t stop crying, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t get it off of my mind. I didn’t go to school the next day, but students who didn’t come weren’t counted as absent. For days I thought about him, and finally came to the realization that he was gone forever. I went to his funeral with my dad. I saw some other kids from school, but most had come earlier. I had also found out that Rahim was 75% covered with third degree burns. I miss him. I wonder what he would be like now. Although I don’t think about him as much as I used to, every now and then, he pops up in my thoughts. Rahim was a great kid, and I will never forget him.

Yousuf Khaled

1/6/07

Iron

The unbearable heat beat across my back as my family and I sluggishly walked up the hill. Our only motivation was what was at the top. It was worth the walk, for when we reached the top the great sphinx of Egypt greeted us. “Yousuf shof ma akbarha.” My dad said in awe. “Yeah it is big.” I replied. We continued on to the great pyramids of Giza.

“I wanna climb to the top.” My brother yelled excitedly.

“Mafik Faisal Ilshorta yinhabsak.” I said sternly.

“Why would they arrest you?” he asked.

“Cause so many people died trying to climb it.” I replied. We took some pictures near the pyramids and decided that the heat was too much for us so we got a taxi to take us home.

“Guys when we get in the taxi don’t say anything. If the driver knows we’re from America whowa rah yithak elyna.” my dad said before we got in the taxi.

“Why would he try to cheat us?” My sister asked.

“Because he’ll know we don’t know the city.” My mom replied.

This was unclear to me then but now I understand that the taxi drivers used language as a way to identify people. If you spoke Arabic strangely they would surely know that you were from another country. They would exploit that and use it to cheat you.

When we got in the car the taxi driver eyed us all down. I stared straight back at him.

“Asalam uelikum.” He greeted us. “Wa elikum asalam.” My father responded. “Wan bidakit roh?” He asked.

“Elah el Hilton tanimerof. ” Dad replied.

“Akhmin wayne?” He said.

“Ana min lobnan.” replied Dad.

 I was starting to get a little worried seeing as my dad just told him that we are from Lebanon therefore, revealing that we weren’t from around here. My worries were soothed away when they started talking about politics. That means they’re getting along. When we got to the hotel the driver had a big smile on his face. We forgot to ask him how much we were going to pay him, allowing him to decide.

 “40 gina” The driver said happily. My father took that like a smack in the face.

“Lash 40 gina?” Dad said confoundedly. He had no choice; the rule in Egypt is if you don’t decide they do. That was the first of many times I would witness someone getting swindled by a taxi driver.

By now I’m starting to understand the real power of language. Whether you like it or not what the first words you say to anyone will tell people where you’re from, your social class, your intelligence, and even your religion. You say a lot more then you think.

The next day we decided to go to a Museum in Cairo. We got a taxi a block away from the hotel so it would be more difficult for them to see us as Ajnabi or foreign. This time the taxi driver treated us nicely. When we got to the museum a strange man walked over to us.

“Assalumo elakum” He greeted us.

“Waelakum as salam.” We greeted back.

“Would you guys like a tour?” He asked in perfect English.

“Ea.” We said. So off we went in the museum with this strange man as our tour guide. We told him to give us an English tour because my siblings and I wouldn’t fully understand him. We got to the mummy exhibit, which you have to pay for separately, and the Tour Guide said:

“Here is the mummy exhibit.”

“ Don’t talk when we go get the tickets or they’ll charge us more” Dad said in a whisper. I understood that language was identified you but I didn’t know it was to this extent. I looked at the prices and there were three sets: Arabs, foreigners, and Khaligy or people from the Persian Gulf. I asked my mom who were in the Persian Gulf and she said that they where people from: Saudi Arabia, UAE, Qatar, Iraq, Iran, and some other countries. I was extremely surprised that a government owned museum would discriminate not only to those not from the Middle East but also to those who are from the gulf. As I was gazing at the mummies of Egypt and of my past experience in Egypt I wondered. The people of the gulf can easily be identified by the way they speak. People could look at their speech and would charge them accordingly. Language is a very powerful thing in my culture it can bring you up or it can destroy you. It dictates who are your friends, what school you go to, and many other things. The worst part is that no matter what we do there is no way we can stop it.

“Where you from?”

“Here. West Philly.”

“Huh? You can’t be. You been here all 15 years?”

“Why can’t I? But no I grew up in the suburbs.”

“Oh ok that makes since.”

The language I use demonstrates how different I am. It makes others think about where I am from. The funny thing is to me it’s just the way I speak.

I am constantly asked where I am from and why I talk the way I do. I am an African American teen and when I walk down the street that’s all people see. But when you talk to me I am said to talk like a “white” girl. Yes it’s true I don’t use any kind of slang. Sometimes I cut my words short or I may say one or two things considered black talk, but I even get shy to say nigga. For some reason it just doesn’t sound the same way when it comes out my mouth.
Maybe it’s the stereotypes that influences people to think I am suppose to talk a certain way. Maybe people create a certain image for blacks and if you don’t follow those typical guide lines your different. Or in my case you’re white.
To explain my background I am from the suburbs. I grew up in a neighborhood called Harleysville. Where everyone was friendly and they felt it was ok to leave their doors unlocked all the time. I went to Christian Academy, my teacher there was also my babysitter. I lived down the street from my church. I couldn’t complain.
I moved to Philadelphia after about 4-5 years living up there. Life in the city. I still go to church up there and I still have family there. I even have friends there. The person I was up there has followed me down here too. Maybe that is why I seem to connect to people who are diverse.

SLA is a school mixed with all kinds of people. There are so many different ethnicities and so many unique people you never see the same thing twice. And my group of friends show that diverseness.
My friends are called the G’s. We are made up of African Americans, Puerto Ricans, Whites, and Indians. Each person speaks some type of a different language. Hector, Steph and Dan speak Spanish, Sharon knows some Spanish too. Jay and Mithun speak Bengali, Mike and me speak English.

All the time we are sharing ideas about our religions and our different views. Being friends with them opened my eyes to other cultures, and it helped me learn that it’s interesting to learn something other then what you’re used to.

That is how I am shaped now. I like when Hector, Steph, Dan, and Sharon speak some Spanish to me. I would love to be fluent in it. Also I try to remember little sayings in Bengali and that’s how I want to be for now on. I think it’s important to be flexible. It’s important to be able to communicate with all kinds of people. The world shouldn’t be separated because of communication issues.

Robert Yemola
Copper Stream
January 11, 2008

Language Autobiography

We were all sitting at the dinning room table eating our Dinner like Vultures. Nobody was talking just focusing on eating, the only sound that you heard was the clinking of forks against glass plates. Finally my little brother spoke up asking for more food.
“Mom I need more mashed potatoes”
My mom began to reach for the mashed potatoes when my grandmother snatched the potatoes real quick and said, “ That’s not how you ask for something”
“Mom can you place some mashed potatoes on my plate” Said my little brother trying to be funny
“Well if your not going to be serious and ask right then you can go sit in the parlor until you decide what is the proper way to ask for the Potatoes” said my grandmother angrily
“Fine then may I please have some more mashed potatoes” my brother finally said before she got any angrier but it was too late my grandmother was already angry.
“Cindy these kids really need to start talking more proper, he’s 8 years old already and he still thinks it is ok to use improper English,” Said my grandmother to my mom
“Believe me I know,” said my mom annoyed.
“Well if you know they why are you just sitting there letting him talk like that” said my grand-mom “ When I taught you when you were young I taught you that you would always speak proper English and I thought that you would pass on what I taught you on to your children.”
“He asked for some properly so just let it go I don’t know why making such a big deal out of this” My mom finally said in an angry tone.
    In today’s society language does affect how far you get in life but it is not as much of a factor as 50 years ago. That is why in this conversation my grand-mom gets upset, because when she was little if you did not speak proper you would not have as many opportunities in life.
Even though that is not the case in today’s time my grand-mom has not realized that it has changed. That is the way that a majority of old people are, they do not want to change their views on things. Even if the thing that they still believe in is really wrong they wont change their mind.
    So in today’s time even though language does affect some of your opportunities. If you go for a job interview you should speak in some type of proper English. But its not like old times where you are supposed to speak proper English all of the time.
    The final thing is that over time the definition of proper English has changed. Fifty years ago proper was really proper and over the years proper English has gotten less proper. So old people who still have not changed their views use the old definition of proper English that no one uses anymore, instead of the new proper English that is not as proper.
So I think that in the end it comes down to the fact that older people do not want to change their views. My grand-mom thought that my little brother was speaking very improper when he was actually speaking normal English in today’s definition.