To be the Same, or not to be.

Whether it’s in school, at home, or at soccer practice, every kid wants to fit in. The thought of knowing that you are different than everyone else, as a child, is hard. I found myself being that kid. Growing up in Mississippi, I didn’t sound like anyone because my parents were from Iran.  They taught me English at home to make sure I spoke English properly rather than having an accent. I didn’t mind it until people starting pointing it out beginning in grade school.  

“Okaay classs. We’re goin ta foe-cus on thuh Alphabet.” said Mrs. Scholtes. “Say Ayyyy. This is the letter Ayyy.”

“Ayyyyy” said everyone in the class except me.

“Nikki hun, darlin’ you neeeeed to participate. Ya hear?” 

“But that’s not how you say it. My mom said it’s Ay. Not ayyyyyy.” 

To this day, I still don’t know how I got the courage to confront my teacher. 

“Okaay, well f-ah-ine. Can you saaay thuh l-eh-tter “baeeee””

“Do you mean “bee”? As in bumblebee?” I was on a roll.

“Yes baee as in bayyycan. You know whut! I’m tai-erd uhv yur smart mouthin. This iz thuh waay ta say thuh alphabet. Go dowwn ta thuh office little ma’am.” 

As I walked to the principal’s office I was confused on what I did.  Was I being sent down because I spoke proper English and that wasn’t what she was teaching? Or because the teacher realized her student’s phonics was better than her own? My parents and I settled for both reasons, but we didn’t tell my principal that, because she spoke the same way as Ms. Scholtes did. That long, slow, southern accent bothered me not because it wasn’t proper but because I didn’t speak that way.  My parents aren’t from Mississippi so they didn’t grow up with that accent around them and neither did I. I already stood out because I didn’t look like everyone else. My proper tone of English made it worse, so I just decided to fake it. 

It took a few days for me to come up with my master plan. I had made a decision. Recess. My classmates were playing indians and cowboys so my little mind thought this was a perfect time to interrupt and let them know that I, Nikki Adeli, was an average Mississipian. 

“I love tah go huntin! D’yall like tah go too?” 

Why are they looking at me like that? They’re catching on. Oh no. Play it off Nikki. 

“I’m gon tah church this Sunday, y’all gon too? Oo! Then ahhhh-fter, I’m gon to my meemaw’s home to get me some collard greens. Y’all down?”

“You’re an odd one darlin.” said my teacher my table buddy.

I remember at the time that making friends wasn’t my forte.  It wasn’t me, I swear! It was because I didn’t have light brown hair and blue or hazel eyes. I had dark brown hair and dark brown eyes...not a very usual sight for a person living in Mississippi. 

In the fifth grade, we were studying how people look different based of where they come from and their heritage. She held up cards with people from 4 different countries. China, Africa, Saudi Arabia, and America. She held up each card and the final card was China. She explained to the class that they didn’t speak like we did here in America.  Later that day at recess, the lesson was still plastered in the minds of my table mates. 

“Nikki, iz you an y’alls family frum Chiiiiina? 

“No? Why would I be from Chiiiiiiiina Blake? 

“Well ya don’t soun’ lyke mah freends or mah family an’ Ms. Oswalt said that people frum Chiiiiina don’t soun’ lyke us.”

“I’m not from China, Blake. I was born in the same hospital as you were right here in Starkville. Just my parents are from Iran.”

“Iz dat een Chiiiiiina?”

I didn’t really care what Blake thought about me since he wasn’t anything but a table buddy to me. But it was the limited amount of friends I had that I wanted to fit in with that mattered most.  

Years went by and I stayed close to my friends. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe faking a little didn’t hurt, I mean look! Now I have friends. Friends that I could invite to birthdays and friends that wouldn’t belittle me because of the way I spoke. Or so I thought. 

I was ready to open presents at my 11th birthday party. I was psyched! All my friends were around and nothing could go wrong! I fit in. 

“Baba!” I said to my father.  “Can you bring me my presents?”

“What’s a baba Nikki? Haha, that’s so silly and weird,” said my friend Flannery.

“Oh yeah totally! Silly me! Daddddyyyy! Dad!”

My dad stared me down and laughed. I don’t know if it was my wide eyes that signaled for him to play along or my flushed cheeks that showed how embarrassed I was. Whatever it was, he played along. Until it was time to cut my cake. He personally brought out my cake, placed it in front of me, looked at me and said “here ya go darlin’” in the strongest country accent he could force out of his voice box. I smiled and listened to everyone sing “Happy Birthday” off key and blew out my candles. I slowly heard it creep out of the side of my ear. 

“Tavalod! Tavalod! Tavalodet mobarak!” screamed my family. 

They began to sing “Happy Birthday” in Farsi. My friends started whispering. My cheeks were red once again. But this time it wasn’t out of embarrassment. It was out of joy. In the story “Tongue-Tied” by Maxine Hing Kingstan, she mentioned in her story that “A telephone call makes my throat bleed and takes up that day’s courage.” When my grandparents from Iran call me, I’m always terrified to speak. Not that I’m not confident in the way I speak, it’s just that until the day of my birthday, I had placed this facade over my face that I would take off and put on whenever I felt like it.  At this point, I was confused to who I was. Had this mask become my identity? No. I wouldn’t let it become who I was. I would not let others’ opinions define who I was. 

From that day forward, I learned to embrace my inner awesomeness. This awesomeness of mine came from centuries of Ancient Persian history to the day I was born at the Oktibbeha County Hospital in Starkville, Mississippi. I was different, and this was something I never wanted to accept.  But what did it mean to be the same as everyone else? I don’t want a southern accent. Well besides for basic humor. I don’t want to be the same. I like the way my voice portrays who I am. It took me a long time and a move up north to realize this. In Philadelphia, no one pointed my out for being different. There was no different. There was no normal. Everyone varied. I no longer had to fake a voice to sit with table buddy at lunch. I no longer had to pretend that shooting animals was a hobby of mine. I could embrace who I really was and push my voice to new heights without having to worry about other people and what they would say about me.  I finally fit in.