I AM black

By Ashley Etheredge 

“ I am black.” Who are those other people to tell me that I am not black, that someone else who is clearly not black is “blacker” than me? When was it ever okay to let other people put you into categories of which they knew nothing about? These are the questions that stay unanswered, wandering around my head as I go through my daily routine.  I wake up, get ready and then on my to school.  Sitting through classes, raising my hand every now and then when I know the answer or don’t even though I knew the answer or had something to say. But didn’t, because of that annoying worry in the pit of my stomach that never dissolves.

Worry that I’ll hear someone copy me and say, under there breath

“Why does she talk like that?” or “What?” As if I had said something in some foreign language.

Then lunch, my mom makes fabulous lunches that some people would call gourmet but to me its just food, many times leftovers. Because of that, many people ask me for a piece of what I am eating. Some people in very thick black vernacular or slang others Standard English, some not even with words but gestures. I am forced to try to understand this vernacular, of which I am supposed to understand based on the color of my skin. Yet I don’t understand what they said, I even had to have someone translate it for me. “ You should piecedat,” they said; which means ‘may I have some’ or ‘can I have a piece of that?’ I remember thinking to myself ‘what? I’m sorry. What? I don’t understand.’ I even had to ask them “ Sorry can you repeat that?” Just to understand something that would make perfect sense to many people. What a connection, huh? There’s no connection. Instead of having an understanding for that way of speech, I felt and continue to feel forever barred, dumbfounded and confused when other slang phrases are used. How could I when I don’t often hear that way of speech, but “files don’t enter a closed mouth” a saying that I read in How To Tame A Wild Tongue. Which showed me that in the end although I am blaming the problem I’m not helping myself by practically avoiding the vernacular either.   

I never noticed how proper I spoke until I came to High school, my first public school, where people from many different parts of Philadelphia went to school with me called Science Leadership Academy.  The people would talk to me and make “the face”, that same pain inflicting face of “ why does she talk like that” or “Whoa, okay then”.  But I also noticed that it was not only the black people who spoke the “black vernacular” many people from other racial backgrounds did as well.  Which at first I thought to be strange but then connected to what my mother had told me “ no matter what you look like, where you come from is what makes you, you”. 

So who then decided to make up all of these racial border lines for people who were black or guide lines for those who did not grow up acting, talking or even dancing “black”?  

When I was just hanging out with my friends one day after school, they began talking about loud black girls and what was the typical black girl. As I listened to what they were saying began to notice how to them I didn’t fit the description of the category, black girl.

“ Black girls always have the best chick fights.”

“Why”

“Because they have all of this fake shit on”

“ What do you mean?”

“ Like they’ve got weave and those huge ear rings that are huge for no damn reason”

“ Not all black girls where stuff like that ya’know”  

“ Not all of them like you, you’re not a regular black girl you know that”

“ I’m not?”

“No you’re an Oreo”

“ Right, what’s an Oreo?”

“ Wow, how do you not know what an Oreo is?”

“Okay Ash an Oreo is someone who is black on the outside and white on the inside”

“Oh”

“ Yeah, just like Asians are Twinkies, ya know”

“ Yea, right.”

I don’t believe in Oreo or Twinkie references for people, only as cookies or prepackaged pastries. I think that people would have more metaphors to layered vegetables, parfaits or a stew. People are not only what people see, they are like minestrone soups. They are the mixture of backgrounds and experiences put together like puzzle pieces.

But who really created these puzzles that only have one solution?

The people, who create the stereotypes, are the ones whom create the categories; often someone that isn’t that race makes an idea of what a group of people should be like or act like based off of maybe one or two interactions maybe not any.  Then for some reason when someone doesn’t fit that stereotype then they’re weird and find themselves in the same place that I do. An outsider, created by the majority singling out any people that are different in any way they can.  The minority then molds to the stereotype so that they can be part of the group, instead of standing up for what is right and needed.  There is no need for people to fold and bend to rules made up by people you don’t even know, or may never know. No matter if you are Asian but look American, and Islander but only look black or have a mixed culture but only look like one parent there should never be border lines for who we cannot be. The borderlines are not only drawn for race but for religious beliefs. I am not a very religious person but also I know that no matter what religion someone worships they should not be less or more accepted than others. Each individual that proudly worships a god has the right to give thanks to his or her higher spirit; they are no different from any faithful worshiper.

 All of the minorities and the majorities need to stop making stereotypes about each other, people are not all pieces to the same puzzle; and there is not only one solution for how they will turn out. 

Which brings me to the conclusion that although I am an outsider to a culture that could have been mine, I can understand and connect to many people outside of that culture because I am also weird.

 Because my mother and father spoke “standard English” around me since the day I was born it is the only language I heard, so that was the one I spoke.  I also read books that were written in “standard English” which then added to my vocabulary. Although my mother and father are both born the south they don’t speak in a southern accent because they grew up in the north, and still my mother sounds southern when around family that speak with a southern vernacular.  But I never did because that’s not what I was used to nor was I comfortable with it. 

Instead I decided to embrace the “standard English” that I knew and stay with it like taffy stuck to the roof of your mouth. I knew early that I would not change the way I spoke for someone else, that I would not change to fit someone else’s fancies or pleasures. The only thing that I would change about my speech for someone is what words I use if someone did not understand the word(s) that I spoke. Then I would choose a more commonly used word and hope that they were familiar with that one.

I believe that there is no reason why I should separate my speech from the knowledge that enriches it. My name is Ashley Etheredge and I am a knowledgeable, proper teenager at the age of 15 and I am black, until I accept that it is the other people that are the outsiders to the way I speak. Until then “I cannot accept the legitimacy of myself” now only time will tell how much my character will develop as my life goes on.         

Glimpse From The Past To The Future

The end of middle school made me happy. No more ignorant kids, no more yelling across the room telling kids to shut up because I wanted to learn. Well at least I thought it was over. The slang in my middle school was crazy, people talking slang to teachers, people writing it on papers, and even on projects. I knew I need to be somewhere else, but I dealt with it because I knew I would miss my friends if I left them behind.  Till this day I remember all the little things people in my middle school did to irk me, they were so ignorant trying to get in the way of the kids who wanted to learn.  I for one was not going to let a pack of wild kids ruin my educational time. I would complain to the teachers and all they would do is take points off their grade. Which didn’t help me to concentrate in class while they were acting like a pack of ten year old that had candy for lunch.

I remember on day in science class I was sitting in the front while there was a group of kids sitting in the back of my roll. They where joking around and making silly comment in Spanish about the teacher. I was getting aggravated each moment it went on.  As they began to throw paper balls I lost my temper.

“What the hell are you guys doing!” I yelled at the top of my lungs grabbing the attention from the whole class.

“Jonathan stop yelling!” The teacher said in an angered voice as the other students began to laugh at me. I was embarrassed and frustrated I was the one getting in trouble for such foolish act these other students were doing. 

“Cállate la voca!” I yelled at all of them as I turned to my friend Jeffrey who told me to not pay attention to them and just let them be idiots like they where.  Jeffrey was one of my best friends. Actually he was like a brother to me. We would always tell each other how we wanted to go to the same high school. Yea we was tight like that. He probably would be here now if it was not for his ignorant father. He didn’t know what was best for his son so he didn’t let Jeffrey come to SLA. I was really upset because he is a very smart student and now he goes to a neighborhood school.

“Jonathan you have a detention with me after school tomorrow.” She said as she got out a detention slip and wrote on it with a black pen. “Jonathan was distributing the class, and being rude to his fellow class mates.” The slip said on it. At this moment I wanted to cry. To bad she didn’t know Spanish. I wanted to take out my anger on those kids in back of the class that got me in trouble.

“No me importa!” I said in a low voice hoping she didn’t hear me or anyone else. I tried to hard to learn in that class but I could never get those kids to shut their holes, which made me mad, really mad.

“Jonathan cállate la voca!” Someone said while I was struggling to keep my temper low. That is one thing that I can remember about middle school that really made me mad. The teacher spoke only English so she didn’t really know what we would argue about. 

I did have to take medication while I was in middle school because my temper. I was really hyper active and blanked out. I remember when I threw a chair at a student in the third grade and they got a cut on their knee. Now and days my anger problems are controlled.

My new life as a high school student is different. Even though it’s hard to tell who’s real and who’s fake. The discussions in class are so much more then in middle school. Even though if we went into deeper conversations most of the students would have no clue what was going on.

My speaking skills have moved up a whole notch being around all of these great students. I am learning more vocabulary every single day, and my appearance is becoming even better. Such as when we need to speak to visitors I speak different such as It’s a pleasure to meet you, and other ways as well. Then when I am with my friends I act like myself. I say things like a yo what’s up, or How you doin. I sometimes speak with out saying the complete word, such as doing, I usually drop the G in the word and that’s when I am speaking with my friends mostly. I don’t speak like that around teachers because I just don’t want to look dumb. I feel I have to be professional when I am around important people.

Emilisa Lopez
Iron stream
                    Autobiography
    Since I could talk I spoke Spanish, making it my first and only language. That is until I was around 4 or 5 years of age where another language was introduced, Standard English. At first it was like tying my shoes for the first time, all I needed was practice. From the start, my teacher was my older by 11 years sister, my mentor. To her I was her princess and she was my role model. Teachers had a big impact on me too. I was a student that tried to dominate both languages. I most of the time tend to mix them since my mind process everything it smells, hears, talks and the rest of the senses. At some point when I am speaking, I stutter. It’s a known cause because I am trying to speak in English yet I am processing my thoughts in a whole other language.
There are times that I know what to say but I stay quite because of fear of sounding strange, different or odd compared to people that where taught English. There are times when I mixed the language when I am talking. With other Spanish-speaking people it is overlooked but “Standard English” speakers catch it, process it and critise it. They think it’s out of place and it affects me because Spanish is who I was, who I am, and who I will always be. That I cannot change and I am not changing, it’s my culture.
This is why I code switch, a way I can hide my true identity, a mask to show who I really am. At school I use what can be defined as Standard English. In class I raise my hand to get help from the teacher and wait for them to walk over or to pick on me. They answer with their professionalism “Yes, what is your question?” With a slight smile on their face and wonderment. My mind quickly tried to process my question “Can you explain this? I don’t understand it” Standard English, when I would of asked, “you get this stuff? I don’t understand crap.” At home if the situation like Thanksgiving happens would be as followed.  The smell of savory food was still in the air from dinner. “Ah thanksgiving” was the main thought in my head. Then I heard my brother in law’s voice asking me something, “Can you watch the kids while I go visit a friend”. My head snapped out of my thought and slowly moved my head to look at him, “what?” He repeated his question while walking down the stairs. In a minute he was gone.
As soon as they were gone my niece and nephew stood up and ran around with my other nephew that came with my other sister. “Ok… Now this is HELL” is the only thought that was going through my mind. Nothing would keep them down, no movie, no food, NOTHING. My mom was my savior at that moment. Something special of this year’s thanksgiving was that it was my mom’s birthday, but she really didn’t celebrate it like she should of.
She brought out the coloring books she bought and the jumbo crayons and all you would hear is their squeaky voices saying “thank you wela!” They started coloring with the biggest grins on their faces that I didn’t think that it could fit in their small faces. Their styles where completely different from each others. My niece outlines her drawings and her brother colors outside the lines. My other nephew colors in a rainbow pattern. I turn to my sister that was sitting in between me and my mom.
The first thing she said was “ Es tu cumpleaño y le estas regalando a ellos, y ellos que te regalaron a ti?” and I answered for my mom “tu no sabias, UN GRAN DOLOR DE CABEZA!” The whole night ended in laughter and we sung happy birthday to my mom with a pink cupcake.
Now my mask is gone, I am proud to show who I am and use both languages as an advantage. I have fun in school and now I actually like the looks I get from people when I switch it up on them, some people even like it. I am the one people come to for help in Spanish. Now I put both languages out there for people to see, I don’t only write poetry in English anymore, I write in two languages so twice as many can enjoy it,
I used to be shy about listening to Spanish things like Spanish music even though I always was. Now there are times where I am hanging out with my very close friend, and we decide to listen to music, I walk around with my laptop in my hands and Spanish, English and even bilingual music blasting and us laughing. I laugh when I suddenly start speaking Spanish with my other bilingual friends and they are left puzzled and wanting to know what was said. Every Spanish speaker I notice has his own style, one speaks professional, other speaks it sloppy, I myself speak it fast and I noticed that I do that a lot with out wanting to. I am happy now that I can show both my cultures, the one I am born with and I am completely proud of, and the one I adapted and learn to love.

Thesound of “Between the Lions” could be heard throughout the living room, as mysister, a little under 2, my live-in cousin, who was around 5, and me, around 6,were blankly staring at the TV new at the blaring images of monkeys doing weirddances and loins singing and showing off books. What nonsense was this? It was maybe 11 or 12 in the afternoon, Ialways like that time of day. One, because it was time for lunch and two, thosecrappy shows like “Barney” or "Teletubes" weren’t on. Yet as thethree of us sat in front of the TV in a row from tallest to shortest, thenewest member of our group was in a tiny crib over in front of the abandonedfireplace resting his head.

            Inever understood babies, all they ever did was poop and sleep, I neverunderstood what made them so adorable. But when the one in the crib was born, Icouldn’t help but have the newest reason of why they were so spectacular. Hewas small and fragile, like the slightest touch could break him. He alwayssmelt like powder and some other weird baby smell I couldn’t describe. But everytime I was near him I couldn’t help but smile.

            Hewas just the perfect little creature, of course that’s all I ever called him “MyCreature” I never said it to the adults’ faces but that’s all I he was, “MyCreature” So as he slept, the three of us continued to engulf ourselves withdancing monkeys and talking animals. But soon as we were disrupted, a smallsound from the corner of the room called out and we all turned. “My Creature”was moving and tossing and turning, His hands were moving and he was eyes wereblinking on and off.

            AllI did was watch him laid there and cry; TV was the last thing on my mind as Iwatched him make silly gurgle noises and cry. But just when we were about toignore him, the loudest scream went off into the air scaring my sister, cousinand I off of the ground we ran over to the crib and watched the baby cry. Notknowing what to do, my cousin and my sister started making stupid faces to get “MyCreature” to stop crying. But nothing work, they even started to imitate thestupid characters we saw on TV. But when I finally had enough I simply walkedaway from the two and went upstairs. The hallway was dark, like it was all thetime at that hour. I turned right and knocked on the door, when a strongLiberian accent called.

“Come.”

            Icreaked the door opened and slipped through as a blast of peppermint and Vicksrushed into my nose. My grandmother was moving things around in her room,grandpa was probably down in the basement doing laundry and my other grandmawas probably in the kitchen. Usually they would be up here in the room talkingfor hours on end. But right now I was only looking for this grandma right here.She had her lapa wrapped around her head and another was wrappedaround her waist like a skirt. She looked up at me and I tried to remember whatI was going to say. I opened my mouth but something different came out.

“Na, nephew a vov,”

            Mygrandma looked at me and her eyes were opened wider than anything else I coulddescribe. A small smile grew longer on her face and she started to dance andcheer. She was cheering so fast I couldn’t understand everything she wassaying. Oh shit, what did I just say?I watched my grandma dance out of the room and into the living to see my cousinand sister still trying to quiet the baby down. Grandma scooped the baby up inher arms and threw him onto her back, she slipped the lapa from under the baby and tied in quickly around her and thebaby’s back. She then stood straight and walked into the kitchen with the babytied on her back. Soon, my sister, my cousin and I, were back in front of theTV watching brain-numbing shows.

            Nightfall,appeared quickly and I was cuddle up in my bed when, I had a sudden urge to see“My Creature” I crept out of my packed room and tip toed into the hallway werethe TV’s light could easily be seen in my parents’ room. I opened the door andsaw my parents sleeping deeply. The TV was loud but not loud enough to wakethem. I tip toed over to the crib and saw “My Creature” playing with his feet.I walked over to him and glared.

“You’rea strange little creature aren’t you? You sleep in the middle of the day, keeppeople up at night, cry at random times and you smell terrible a lot. But I’myour big sister so I have to do certain things for you. Even if that meansspeaking the weird sounds all the adults speak. I’m only doing it cause you’rehere now, but don’t expect any special treatment, I didn’t do everything forthe little girl baby either. So stop causing trouble ok?”

            Ipoked my finger through the crib’s bars and put my finger into his hands as hegripped it up. I shook it up and down and pulled it out. I didn’t feel likegetting out after that and just watched TV the rest of the night next to thenoisy creature’s crib.  I snuck theremote from under my parents and changed the channel to some late nightcartoons. I was giggling and laughly softly at the show until a little soundwent off. I turned over and saw a big smile on “My Creature’s” face. But Iwasn’t smiling at all.

“I’mgetting rid of you as soon as possible,” I whispered to myself.

            Butsoon, a quick memory came back to me, I was saying the exact same thing to mylittle sister. Giving me the conclusion that I was stuck with these littlemonsters I called brother and sister.

Language;La Lengua.

My language,your language.

Mi lenguaes diferente a tú lengua.

            Mylanguage consists of different elements, whether it is two different languages[Spanish and English], two different dialects [Hispanic dialect when speaking Spanish],using two different types vernacular [street vernacular versus my ownpersonal], or even switching codes. I lived in very different and diverseplaces in my life such as a suburb in Virginia where it was extremely quiet, tothe sound filled streets of West Philadelphia. I remember when I was younger wefrequently moved around. Since I had spent half my summers down South I soundeddifferent from my brother and sister. My brother and sister would call me namesbecause I talked so proper. They would say to me, “Chelsea whatchu doin'?"I would reply, "Nothing sitting here watching television." They wouldlaugh at the way I said it and I couldn't understand why. I thought I soundednormal. From then on I started to learn my way of fitting in speaking slang andlearning swear words even some Español solo mal palabras. I learned andemulated what I could to stay under the radar of bullies and haters alike. Iremember once I got angry with this some boy that played too much and Iremember saying, "What the hell is wrong with you puto! Que pasatú mente?" Over the course of my years in school I had become a mereproduct of my environment. In order to survive socially in school I had toadapt and in order to adapt I had to be around the things [i.e. people] in myenvironment. Throughout my elementary school years I became a very angry child,anyone who said anything I didn't like soon got cursed out either in Spanish orin English. I got into fights regarding the things I said to others and startedto lose some friends because of it. I was so angry all the time but I hid itwhile home to keep my other split personality a secret. Whenever I was atschool I never acted as I did at home. When I was growing up I was told tospeak proper English instead of slang.

            Mymiddle school years were a little more drama filled and I still fought hard tofit in with my peers but once again I failed to hide my high level of intellectand I was once again the nerd/geek etc. I hated being categorized under theaforementioned terms but it was better than being teased because of the way Italked. In my last year in middle school I decided I wasn't going to fit inanymore no matter what school I was going to the following year. I was gonnalet my surroundings fit me and blend to my liking instead of just trying to belike everyone else, I was gonna dare to be different and stand out. I hadfinally found my own voice and I stood up against being an outcast because Irealized something, you're only an outcast when you cast yourself out.Therefore, I was gonna be myself, just plain old Chelsea Alexis Starks fromWest Philadelphia born and raised.

            From eighth grade and throughout high school I started being myself. I expressedmyself freely and stopped caring so much about what everyone thought, about me,my speech, mi lengua, todos. When I came to SLA that's where mi lengua fueevolucia. I started writing poetry more often getting in touch with anotherside of mi lenguaje. I had deeper thoughts and feelings some of these feelingswere very dark but the manor I expressed them showed how my language andthoughts went from surface to depth. I surrounded myself with people who sharedthe same qualities as me such as poetry and began to develop a largervernacular [way of speaking].

MyDarkness

Man I'mso lost in this forest of darkness tryna climb mah way out I'm reaching for ahand to grab me but I don't feel it...I hear the voice but can't feel histouch...help me before this sea of darkness and sullenness eat away at mahsanity...

Oh dearinsanity was never the plan ya see your man was sleepin on the job and I guessthat's when you fell for me I prolli woulda fought through hell to be betterthan the ex, love you so good that you wouldn't worry bout the next mayne butsomehow sh*t got swiched around like a sex change...nope not even time couldexplain the pain that you musta felt, damn I know I musta up done some foolishsh*t cause ya bestie used to think I was cooler den Lil and dem but now she saythis n***as fulla sh*t and she ain't cool wit him

I hearthe voices in the back of mah mind screaming hollering damn I'm running outtatime I'm still reachin still dreamin to get outta this darkness I see butreally its now become part of me the darkness swallowed my sanity so now thisinsanely insane girl is lost with out a guide making no effort to hide thescars that were once wounds in her heart the pain and hurt that tore it aparther mind in an enclosed place so isolated not near Earth nor space just in thatplace where lost souls dwell deep down in the fiery walls of her own hell...

My poeticways bring me to the point at which I stand now. I'm proud of my language andeverything involved. Mi lengua es muy perfecto a mio criteria. Si no tegusta...that's just too bad. This is me...Esto es me, El Uno Y SolóFuerza. 

From the very start as a child, I wasalways taught to speak Standard English. My family spoke nothing but and myuptight private school accepted nothing but. I was never fully exposed to otherways of speaking except through television or books that I would explore. Theidea of Black Vernacular was absolutely mind boggling to me as I entered myfreshmen year at high school. The thought of people speaking English that wasnot standard upset me at first. I felt that every one should speak properEnglish because otherwise they did not sound educated. Though there were manyother variations of English present at school, Black Vernacular as well as theconcept of slang stood out the most to me because it is spoken so heavily andoften in our school.

Within my first week I heard some one saythe word ‘aint.’ It confused me to no end. I went home to my mom that dayconfused. I walked the front door and put my school bag on the couch as usual.I followed my everyday routine of emptying my lunch and taking out my homeworkbut my mom could tell something was on my mind. “Is there something wrong Max?”she said. “Mom, the people at school…I don’t know how to get along and talk tosome of them. They don’t talk properly. They say words like ‘aint’ and ‘jawn’.I don’t understand it. What does it even mean?” She looked at me for a fewseconds, clearly thinking out her answer in head before saying, “Not every onein this world talks like you do. That does not mean you are any better thanothers just because of the way you speak. It just is they way you were raised.You can’t criticize people for who they are and the way they speak oftenreflects that.” I didn’t say anything to that. I had nothing to say. I stilldidn’t fully understand it and so I took the time, finishing the dishes, tothink about what Standard English even was. I remember trying so hard to cometo an agreement in my head about speaking, about how others spoke in relationto the way I spoke. When people talked to me in ways that were not standard byany terms, it made me feel awkward. Going into a crowd that spoke differentlythen I, made me feel like they would not accept me for being different or forhaving such a different background. It made me feel like I didn’t even speaktheir language. I might have well spoken Spanish.

I wanted to be able to fit in with whoever I wanted and I often found myself changing the way I talked depending onthe way the people around me talked. If they spoke Standard English, I spokeStandard English. If they seemed to not care about proper grammar and useslang, I didn’t necessarily do the exact same, but I would care less aboutspeaking proper.  I never fullyrealized I did this until one day towards the middle of freshman year. We werein History class watching a documentary when a boy in my class said, “She don’tseem too happy.” Immediately I muttered, “Doesn’t.” He then just looked at mewith this stare as if they were saying “I really don’t care. That’s how Ispeak. Don’t bother trying to correct it because I won’t change. This is me.” Iturned my focus back towards the documentary and shrugged it off. At first Iwas thinking that they should have just said it right the first time and wecould have avoided that whole thing but I then realized that maybe I could dealwith English that was not standard. At first I made the decision only because Iknew that otherwise, I would be getting aggravated on an average basisconsidering some people I interact with on a daily basis speak in an English sodifferent from Standard, that I could barely comprehend them at times.

As time went by that year, I startedquestioning the idea of language. What does standard mean anyway? And why do wemake it so that people that speak Standard English in this society are the onesthat get by the easiest? Sure, yeah, it is amazingly helpful when it comes tocommunication. If there is one way to speak, then yes, confusion can be avoidedby teaching through Standard English. Standard English was a way ofcommunication through out areas in the world. The people that did thiscommunication were often the more educated wealthy people. It became the way toproperly speak English because the people in charge spoke it. By doing this itis helping communication, but putting others to a disadvantage. People who werenot raised speaking Standard English then have to strive harder just to get byas well as some one who was raised speaking it does. You are taking everysingle person who didn’t get the chance to learn Standard English and givingthem a smaller chance of success. It not only takes away opportunities but it takesaway what makes people them. If everyone were the same and spoke the same, theworld would be incredibly boring. By only accepting Standard English, societyis taking away peoples identities.

I used to hate when people would tell methat I spoke too proper. What did proper mean anyway? And so what if I spoke in‘proper’ English. One day, in middle school, I had gone to a basketball leagueoutside of my school for some extra training. The place I had to go to was notin the best of neighborhoods but it was supposed to be a great learning place.During lunch on a Saturday morning there, I was discussing what my future planson education and occupation was. I said, “I really would like to go to this newschool called Science Leadership Academy. I love the idea of getting to doproject based learning in high school. Plus I love that it is science orientedbecause I would really enjoy being a molecular engineer when I am older.” Thisone girl sitting at my table looked at me like I had just spoken Spanish toher. “Do you always speak like dat?” she had said to me. “What do you mean? Likewhat?” I remember responding. Then the other girl I had been sitting withchimed in, “So proper. Ya sound like a grown up.” I took it as a compliment atfirst because it made me feel adult and sophisticated. However, slowly I startedto dislike it very much. I could not stand being called a nerd or weirdobecause of the way I was raised to speak. I didn’t even think my English wasvery good and by no means ‘proper.’ If proper even exists anyway. I just wantedto be like everyone else around me. Even if that meant going away from what I wastaught as Standard English, and trying to adjust my ways of communicationdepending on whom my audience is. I found this quite helpful when meeting newpeople because it helped me relate or get along with all sorts of people. Onething that was always consistent for me though, was that around adults, I alwaysspoke Standard English because it helped me feel more adult.

I have to be honest and say my opinion onStandard English varies. I love the bonuses of it. Without worldwide or evenjust countrywide communication, our lives would be much less developed andsophisticated. However, we might also then have less lower class people thatonly are down towards the bottom because of their language barrier. I can’timagine going to school and not being taught so many of the differentgrammatical specifications. If we did not have Standard English, many peoplewould not be able to understand each other. With slang alone, different areashave different words. ‘Jawn’ is a popular word in Philadelphia but go to anywherea few states away and they will have no idea what you are saying. This type ofslang gives a sort of uniqueness but also creates a barrier. Not a huge one,but a barrier nonetheless.

I cannot say that I would like the worldmore if we all just spoke Standard English because I find the littledifferences in people according to their location interesting. The world needsto become more understanding of people who do not speak Standard English,especially in jobs that don’t require it. As well, better education all aroundand in all types of schools would eliminate a  lot of other ways of speaking from the start. The world isnot perfect and never will be. By creating Standard English we are helpingpeople and hurting them. All we can do is strive for the best and hope that wecan stay ourselves through out it. 

    What is language? Is it the very essences in which people communicate with one another or is it a term used to generalize the voice we have, the thing that separates continents, countries, cities, neighborhoods, and even people. 

    I think language is both of these things. The world is home to thousands of languages, these languages are what help people talk with each other and do simple things like asking how someone is doing today and what the weathers like out side. It’s also the thing that separates all of us, even if we’re from the same neighborhood or house. If everyone spoke the same language and in the same way, the world would be a boring place to be. Part of having so many languages in the world is to be able to share your language with people. Which in turn is sharing your culture. Although language is only a part of a culture it is one of the most important parts of culture. Language can tell where a person is from or where a culture originated.

    As a kid I was always told that I talk “white”. Being told this I, at first, didn’t know what this meant. But as the years went on I started to believe this and tried to change the way I talk by saying words like “dat”, “iz”, and “cuz”. But when I reached the age of 13 I saw that I did sound “white”. So I developed another code, one for home and one for school. But then I saw that my friends talk different then my school code and home code, and from that I developed another code for my friends. One day in school we had a program helping teens get jobs. In the program I was told that I would have to talk proper and correct English, so again I developed another code. So by the age of 14 I developed 4 codes each coming in good use at certain times in my life.

   When I’m home I talk like a responsible, respectful kid:
“Can you pass me the phone on your way to the kitchen? I gotta call ya crazy behind aunt, hahaha she is too crazy.” Says my mother as I start to get off the couch.
“Ok, but how is she anyway?” I say in a dull tired voice.
“Well how am I suppose ta know I haven’t talked to her in like 3 weeks.”
“Oh, ok sorry I forgot bout dat.”

    But when I’m with my friends I’m more of a loud craze kind of kid:
“YO, wat is dat?” Yells David form the left side of me as I walk up on the porch.
“Ya mom, hahaha. But no its just YA FACE hahaha.” Mushie says as David, Steffon and myself walk to the banister to lean against.
“So you goin to dat party on Washington lane, or ya mom got you in lock down?” I try to say without laughing knowing that he won’t be able to go.
“Naw, I gotta go to ma aunt weddin tomorrow. So she makin me come in at like 10:30 11 o’ clock.” Mushie says looking at the ground with a disappointed look on his face.

Yo voy a ser un estudiante organizado y excelente en la clases. Tengo que haer todo le tara, ser puntual, y tomar apuntes. Voy a usar iCal papra oganizar las tarea.

Tengo la profesora señorita G para la clase de español 2. Neciecito la carpeta, un lápiz, el computadora,  y cargador. Para tener éxito en la clase de español 2, voy a practicar español. Voy a hablar español por toda la clase.

 Tengo el profesor Kay para la clase de drama. Neciecito la guión todo los días en l clase. Para tener éxito en la clase de drama, voy a muy exagente en la clase. Voy a practicar guión todo los días.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Yo voy ser una estudiante prestar atencion, tomar apuntes.Tengo que
trabajar duro estar prepared y contribuir a las conversaciones en todas
mis clases.

Tengo la senor Kay para la clase de el drama.
Necesito traer la carpeta, y el libro. Voy a levantar la mano, estar
preparad contributir a las conversaciones en clase y trabajar duro.

Tengo
la senor Block para la clase de ingles. Necesito traer la carpeta, el
laptop, lapiz, y el libro. Voy a contributir a las conversaciones en la
clase y eschchar a los miembros de la clase.

Tengo la senorita
Martin para la clase de la salud. Necesito traer la carpeta, el
laptop,cargador, lapiz y el libro. Voy a eschuchar bien en clase, estar
preparad y entregarla tarea/los poyectos a tiempo.

This is my Project that I did after reading the book "night". It's a letter that I wrote from Elie point of view.

P.C.R.E :  Income from farms, expand income growth.Affected the most, the country? They can make a living with cents and there fortune will come soon. Shedoesn’t care about the 100,000 that made a stand for themselves.  Closing statement, there only sorry formaking sweatshop for the countries, to get kids off the street, rather sell your body for money or work foryour money.  Condition thesweatshop are we continue to pay and work.

Leeann Nguyen

March 19,2009

History Op-Ed

            “Pollutionis nothing but the resources we are not harvesting. We allow them to dispersebecause we've been ignorant of their value.” a quote by Richard BuckminsterFuller. Pollution, is a major point to why Mother Earth is dying, we the peopledon’t care and throw thing around the ground thinking that it doesn’t hurtanyone. BUT we’re wrong. .

A .pdf of my museum exhibit proposal.

The instructor said,

    Go home and write
    a page tonight.
    And let that page come out of you—
    Then, it will be true.

I wonder if it’s that simple?
Fourteen and a half years of age, naïve, and gullible.
The worst combination for a never-ending fairy tale/nightmare expedition to finding one’s true self.
Been through more bad than good.
Maybe nothing that terrible to make the same worn out, phony, unconvincing shape with my mouth and nod that I’m okay and so I pretend like it never happened.
And here I am, can’t take being hurt anymore, don’t want to keep suppressing my feelings to the point where I don’t even know how I feel anymore, so I lay here writing this page:

This year was an extremely beneficial year for me.  I came into this year with English andhistory skills and I had a pretty good idea what the classes would be like. Manwas I wrong, the classes were very different from what I expected. Right fromthe start Mr. Block stressed the idea of creativity and individuality. Thisyear was a year of self expression

"Difficult situations are a casualty of living; we just have to learn how to combat them appropriately." - (Language Autobiography) I think if I had to sum up everything that I learned in my English and History classes this year in one statement, that would be it.

“Deep Breaths”

I guess I’d never really consciously taken note of it before. It was just something that hovered in the back of my mind, wishing and waiting to be pulled to the front for examination. My dad and I get along well, and we have very similar interests, more than my mom and I, but there was always something off. I’ve always felt a little more comfortable speaking my mind around my mom, than around my dad.

         The first sentence of my very first journal entry was “ This year I want to enjoy myself at school.” A hope many shared and I am sure even more accomplished, but not truly the point if its’ being mentioned. The reason that it is at all relevant is because for the first time in recorded history there is evidence to show that I did enjoy myself. You see this evidence everywhere, in the papers I wrote, the worksheets I filled out, the comments I made, and the pictures I drew. It is hiding there beneath simple phrases and silly allusions, but most pronouncedly sitting there in the meaning of the words themselves.

THE WAY WE SPEAK

Ugh! The guy next to me keeps slouching over and slipping into my seat. Gosh, it’s a two-seater, for two people, ugh I hate taking the trolley, I swear. The buildings outside of the glass remind me of how uncertain my feelings are.  Before I can get a good look on one, it’s gone.  I wonder why that older woman is looking at that young couple like that.  My reflection in the window looks as if I am holding the weight of the world on my shoulders.  With the conversation that I had with my family last night still fresh in my mind, why would I have cared about how I looked?  I hope George won’t either.

June 10, 2009
Alex McGrorty
Iron Stream