Dumb Squirrel

“Yo Sash!”

That’s a typical conversation starter between my best friend Des and I. She had banged on my front door as usual, demanding that I sit outside in 20-degree weather and listen to how well her day went. I complied of course; she always had something interesting to talk about.

            “So we hit up downtown, job huntin’ and what not, and I saw these banging heels!” she stated excitingly.

            “Forreal? I bet they were like 4 inches high or something!” I replied mostly playfully, but seriously as well. Des was awesome at walking and running in heels.

            “Of course they were! Why would I go any lower?”

            “Des, you are insane! Like, I would totally fall after like, 1 step!” After I said that she burst into laughter even more. I cocked my head sideways in confusion. Surely what I just said wasn’t that funny. She glanced at the expression my face held and laughed even harder.

            “Des! What is so funny?!” She finally settled down, and gave me a reply.

            “Wow, even though you do it all the time, I just had to laugh this time. You just be switching from soundin’ real black, to soundin’ real white!” I gave a light laugh and replied,

            “I guess so.” Though in my head, I thought of all the times that I had received a similar comment, “Why do you sound so white?”

            I am a normal girl who grew up in West Philly. The confusing part about it, I look Asian, live in a black neighborhood, but mostly sound white. This often throws people off as soon as they look at me, but then hear me open my mouth. For as long as I can remember, my childhood friends had always made comments like, “You stay sounding white”, but people I meet for the first time are surprised when I tell them that I grew up in West Philly and have lived there for almost of all my life. They often ask me “How you grow up in West Philly, but talk so proper?” I couldn’t give them a good answer, and would reply,

“It’s just the way I speak”.

            One day, I was on Facebook, and my friend Quaron had sent me a message about one of his “Dumb Squirrel” moments in school.

             “Jeez Quaron, you’re SO STUPID!” I wrote to my friend. He replied 5 minutes later with something I had not expected at all.

“ I AM NOT DUMB! I’m so tired of you always calling somebody dumb, like you’re not all that! You think you better than everybody else just cuz you go to a better school and talk all proper! Well you not, and your’re conceited as hell! I mean, we grew up in the same place, and yet here you go thinkin’ you better than somebody! Why? What makes you better than us?!!”

When I read that, my breath was lodged in my throat, and air was desperately trying to enter my lungs; but I wouldn’t let it. I was too busy sitting there, eyes wide, and mouth agape, trying to fathom what I had just read. One of my best friends felt that I had the audacity to believe that was better than the rest of my friends. All because of the way that I spoke! Apparently, that language that you speak, or maybe just the way you speak that language, affects how you are viewed by society! It even affects how your friends view you!. I was trying to think of a good replied, though I was still baffled by this statement? Did I really make him feel like a dumb squirrel?! I had to explain to him that I- in no way- thought that I was better than any them. I told him that I have no reason to think that I’m better than anybody really. I also apologized. But what was I apologizing for? I was definitely not apologizing for the way I speak, but the fact that I made him feel that way. That day, I realized that the language that I spoke determined where I belonged.

 From experiences like these, I was able to analyze how much my language affects those around me. The fact that simple things like the words you use, and how you pronounce them can affect how people categorize you, makes me wonder why I try to fit in anyway. Regardless, if I carry the words I say and how I say them everywhere I go, someone will categorize me. My closest friends have shown that to me already. But they have also shown me that my voice is powerful, and my words have an effect on people, even if that affect is negative. That gives me the strength to continue to speak as I do, without the worry of judgment from others.

 According to James Baldwin, “…It reveals the private identity, and connects one with, or divorces one from the larger, public, or communal identity. ” Baldwin is saying that language can embrace one into a community, or push one away from a community if it’s not accepted. If a certain group wants to be seen a certain way that has to do with their language, you will be separated from that group if you don’t fit into their mold. I agree very much with the quote because I felt that I was being pushed away from the “community” better known as my friends when I was being singled out because of the way I speak our language. They could’ve completely “divorced” me from our circle of friends because I didn’t fit the mold of a teenager living in our neighborhood. Then again, I think that Baldwin is saying that language can be the “mold” for living in a place and looking a certain way. Because how you sound is one of the most immediate ways that a person can judge you, it makes sense that it could be a frame to judge someone by. If this is how Baldwin feels about language, I agree with him very much.

Language is a determinant of a person and their background, as well as a connector or separator of a person from a certain group. My friends prove this to be true. If they had let my language be the factor that divorces me from our clique that would have show how they want to be viewed as a community. But as it turns, out they don’t push me away. Instead, my friends more than accept me. If anything, my ways of speaking are starting to rub off on them! I realize the value of my voice even more, and I plan to continue to use it, no matter who categorizes me. This also shows me the role of language in the world. It can bring people together, or tear them apart.