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By:
Nathan Kamal
William Marsh
Joshua Martin-Corrales
Rafiq Robinson

  “May I the have the turkey club without bacon?”
“Sssr Hun. Would you like some wooder?”
“Yes please with lemon.”
I did not know it then, but the way I speak has a big impact on how the world views me. Some people might think I’m rich or something because I speak “proper”. Some people think I’m sucking up or trying to act superior.
“Why you talk that way? Are you White?” I usually ignore them because I don’t really talk all that differently then they do. In fact I talk the same way they do in a language called English. You would think people with an accent would have a hard time fitting in But for me its the opposite. My lack of accent is what makes me standout for better or worst. When in the “hood” some people think it’s uncool. When out in the street some people look at me like “ I didn't know black people could talk” I think I have always talked well, but never in a dry NPR kind of way. I have an accent apart from my “white” or Philly ones. It is my accent picked up from living with a crazy family, and hours of watching Star Trek.

When I was little I loved using big words because if you did people would listen. Strangers would upon meeting me exclaim how smart I was, telling my mom I should get tested as if she did not know me. My big vocab at a young age also got me into trouble. For example in kindergarten a fellow classmate was talking to me about animals.

“ My favorite animals are cats and dogs and fish and...”

I knew a lot on the subject and chimed in.

“ You know you’re a animal”

“No I’m not,” she said loudly

“ Yes you are, you’re a mammal”.

At this point she had enough of my blasphemous tongue, so she ran off to the teachers. “Khari called me a mammal” It took the teachers a while to calm the child. Then they want me to say sorry to her, for what I thought, but gave a half hearted one anyway. Now I know this is taking it a bit too far but people seem to be insulted with certain language when the meaning is unknown to them. It holds some weight over their heads. One must first take in account the place where people come from in order to communicate.

 

I used to feel that in order to be understood I had to change the way I talked depending on where I was. I didn’t want them to judge me by the way I spoke. So I try to sound less like me and more like the people I was trying to fit in with. This reminds me of a quote in James Baldwin If Black English Isn’t a Language, Then Tell Me What Is. He says, “What joins all languages, and all men, is the necessity to confront life”. This fear of being left out or being seen as an outsider brings to mind “the necessity to confront life”. For that is all a language is, a way to describe life. So that being said the language of others I used to fit in, was not reflecting my life. I want to not lie to people with my voice, I started to talk normally and use “big words”. The dreaded insults came back, for a little while anyway, but over time they got bored with the teasing and got used to my voice.

 

 

Looking back, it feels rather silly to try to sound like someone am not. However the reasoning behind the action was sound. With so many people in the world trying to fit into social boxes, it is hard to say true to yourself. I might have stopped trying to sound like other, but there is still pressure to be like them. So keeping in mind “the necessity to confront life” I must make sure I’m true to mine.  

 

                                                                 

 

Andy woke up to another rainy morning in Quillayute, Washington. He slipped on his jeans and stomped his feet into his rain boots. He drug himself over to the bathroom to brush his teeth.  Andy never brushed his hair. He thought it would make him look like he tried to too hard.   

“Andy you still aren’t ready?”, his mother hollered.  

He snapped back at her, “Chill out Mom. I’ll be down in a sec.”  

Andy trudged down the wooden steps of his back stair case, moaning and groaning as he stepped into the kitchen. 

“Don’t forget you have to be home right after school to help Grandpa with his storm door. I made waffles; they’re in the toaster,” his mom said without taking a breath. 

“That doesn’t mean you made them. It just means that you put them in the toaster.” 

“Either way, they’re toasting! Eat and leave for school. I’m going to work  now.” 

She gave him a quick peck on the head and rushed out of the door yelling, “I’ll be home before 7!” 

“BING!” The toaster screamed and the toast was in front of Andy instantly. He munched down on it in three quick bites and left for school. He walked to his girlfriend’s house so they could catch the school bus. Just like he did every morning. 

He walked up her front patio, knocked on the door, and waited for Clara to come out. 

She stepped out of her house saying, “Hey And-Man,” a pet name she had for him, “did you catch any Z’s?” 

“Barely. All I could hear was thunder.” 

“Me too! Luckily we had a hard volleyball practice so I fell asleep fast.”  

“I’m jealous. I will most definitely be sleeping in all my classes today,” Andy said has he reached his arm around Clara. 

During gym, Andy went to his locker and the locker door met his hand. Mark Efritt, Andy’s sworn enemy, began to walk down the aisle he was standing in. “What’s going on Handy Andy?!” 

“Seriously Mark, leave me alone. I’m not bothering you so stop trying to bother me.” 

“Oh but you are bothering me! Just seeing you here is bothering me.” Mark proceeded to grip Andy’s arm as if he were to yank him away from the locker. Andy pulled his arm away from Mark. 

“I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE ME ALONE!”

At that moment a chair flew across down the aisle of the lockers right towards Mark. Mark was able to catch himself in time in order to not be hit by the chair. He fell to the ground and scurried away. Andy didn’t even understand what was happening. He  had no idea where the chair came from. He knew no one else was in the locker room besides him and Mark at the time. 

“Did I do that?”, he thought to himself in astonishment. Andy decided that he needed to go home and get out of school so he could calm down. He grabbed his things and ran to the nurse’s office to fake sick in order to get home quick. 

Once Andy got home, he sent a quick text to Clara, “Come over after school. Not feeling well & left early.” Andy’s mind was racing though. How could a chair just take flight if no force had touched it? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Andy clicked on the television to try to relieve himself from his wandering mind. Of course, during the middle of the day, the only thing playing was old comic cartoons about super-heroes.  

Andy sat up in bed and looked around. His eyes stopped on his door. He focused on the closed door. Then suddenly, the door was open. Andy tried searching for another object to move. His eyes settled on his boot. Again, he began to focus. The boot flung across the room and hit the wall. He knew it. Andy knew he could move things with his mind. 

“How could this be? I don’t understand how something like this could happen. Should I tell anyone? Definitely not my mom, she won’t understand. Clara? She might get freaked out though!” Andy was pacing around his room trying to figure this out. He heard the front door creak open. From downstairs Clara called up to him. 

“Andy, I came right over after school to make sure you were all right.” 

“Yeah, I’m feeling better. You can come up.” 

Andy began to get really nervous. He didn’t know if he could exactly control it. Clara came up the steps and into his room. 

“Hey big man, what’s going on?” 

“Not really sure. I just felt nauseous and I couldn’t focus at all in class. I felt like I was gonna pass out.” 

“Were you able to get any sleep?”, Clara said as she walked over to the bed and sat down. 

“Not really, just watched some toons,” as Andy followed her lead. 

“Well why don’t you lay down now and try to get some rest. I have to get to volleyball practice soon.” 

Andy didn’t say anything to Clara but was trying to be very cautious about his actions and temper. A few weeks passed and everything was fine. 

Andy began to notice there was a new kid that had just moved into town. He seemed quiet and not very friendly. The next day, Andy saw him in the locker room getting ready for gym. Andy thought it would be nice of him to say hi and introduce himself. 

“Hey man, my name’s Andy. Welcome.”

The boy glared at Andy and finally just said, “Hey.”

Andy thought it was very strange how the boy reacted but didn’t pay any mind to it. He saw the boy more and more. He had no idea who he was. Andy had seen the boy again in the locker room and thought maybe he’s just shy. 

“Hey, I think we got off on the wrong foot. My name is...” 

“Andy, I know.” 

“Right, I guess I did tell you that last time. So, what’s yours?” 

“Hank.” 

“Where did you move from?” 

“Abroad.” 

“Oh, so over seas! That’s pretty cool.” 

Hank didn’t even look Andy’s way and left the locker room. Andy thought there was no hope in trying to get to see who this kid really was. He decided to put it behind him. 

A few months had passed and nothing seemed strange. Andy was very happy and surprisingly, his relationship had gotten better with his mom. He thought that maybe it would be okay if he told her about himself. 

That night at dinner Andy said to his mom, “Mom, I have something to tell you.” 

“Are you on drugs or something?” 

Andy gave a little chuckle and said, “No Mom, but you might think I am after I tell you this.” There was a long pause before Andy told her. “I can move things without touching them.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“If I focus on an object, I can move it.” 

“Ha-Ha-Ha, very funny Andy.” 

“I’m not kidding! Watch!” Andy immediately looked at his glass of water and began to focus on it. Within seconds, the glass slid slowly down the table to his mom. She was dumbfounded. She had no idea what to say. 

“Andy, don’t do that again. You’re freaking me out.” His mom got up from the table, put her dish in the sink, and walked into the living room to watch TV. Andy just got up and walked out the front door. He wanted to tell Clara what had happened.  

He walked up her front patio like usual and knocked on the door. Clara answered and let him inside. Andy stepped in quickly and they went into the basement and sat down.  

“So, what happened with your mom?”, Clara said quickly. 

“I told her something that I don’t think I should have.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I told her I can move things without touching them.” 

“I thought super heroes and like villains only did that stuff.” 

“Well, apparently I can too.” 

“I’m sorry, but that’s a little hard to believe.” 

Again, Andy preformed the same thing for Clara as he did with his mother. Clara herself couldn’t believe it either. “Andy, maybe your mom is right.” Andy simply got up, kissed Clara on the forehead and went home. Once he got home he went straight to his room and went to bed. 

Andy woke up with the sound of a knock at his bedroom door. He checked the clock quickly. The clock read four in the morning. Andy rolled over and pulled the covers up to his head. He then again heard a knock on his bedroom door. He  used his mind to open the door not expecting anything, but standing there outside of his bedroom was Hank. 

“HANK!? What are you doing in my house! Get out!” 

“Andy, you don’t understand what you’ve done. They’re coming for you. You need to leave now.” 

“What are you talking about ‘they’?” 

“The other talented ones.” 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about. 

“They are on their way! We must leave write a quick note to your mom. Leave anything precious to you here. And don’t bring your cellphone. I’ll break it. You need to make it seem like you ran away.”  

“Can I at least say goodbye to Clara?” 

“I’ll take you there for a few minutes. But you can’t wake her up.” 

Andy quickly grabbed a bag and threw in as many clothes as he could. He grabbed a pad a paper and jotted down a few lines: 

I decided I must take some time to figure some things out. Please don’t come looking for me. I’ll be home soon. I’ll be safe. I love you.  

Hank and Andy left the house and went to Clara’s. Clara was fast asleep. Nothing would wake her up. Andy wrote down another note to leave Clara: 

I love you more than anything. I need some time away from here. I’ll  come back soon. Please don’t worry. Don’t forget me. 

 

And with that, they were gone. The other talented ones were hunting for a person  that had the ability of mind control to add to their team. But this was no ordinary. Each member had a special power that all together, they would be able to bring pure destruction to whom ever they chose.  

Andy’s mom woke up the next morning and found Andy’s note. She did not make a big deal about is but simply tried to understand. She kept her hopes up and did not try to search for him. She stayed right where she was just incase Andy would need her. Clara for a long time was confused and didn’t understand what happened. She continued to hope that Andy would come back one day. 

11/21 - 12/2

Internet Sculpture

Best project of the year is this project. The project where we found a sculpture on the Internet and copied it. I found a dress made out of new paper. I got really excited, but I had to think how to make it. I took a cardboard box, and bent it so it can fit around my waist as a skirt. So then I grabbed a stack of new paper, and grabbed some glue and pencils. I stuck the pencil into the glue and smeared one side of the cardboard with glue like sheet rock. Then I ripped piece of newspaper up and crumbled in and stuck it on piece by piece. It took 3 hours to do this. Then when I was done with the glue and newspaper, I got the paint. On the web the dress wasn’t painted, so I added my own flare. I took purple and black paint and splattered each side, to add a retro look. I let it dry for a day, and then it was done. This project was interesting, because it’s different ways to interpret the skirt.

                                                     Chronic Rebellion

The air was crisp as Taylor stared at the envelope that was lying on his front step. Something about that letter intrigued him. Perhaps it was the fact that it was on the cement step rather then stuck in the crowed mailbox with the rest of the mail. Analyzing the letter, there were no postage marks or return address to be found anywhere. The only thing that the letter showed was mysterious lettering spelling out “Taylor Smith.” Something about this letter gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. But he knew that opening the letter was the only way to find out what was inside of it.

 

Taylor couldn’t take the pressure any longer but the intense urge was eating him alive. Sliding the door shut Taylor placed the letter down on the counter. The fact that he was skipping school for the second day didn’t even cross his mind. As he poured himself a bowl of cereal he heard the front door open.

He could hear the door’s lock having struggle will it was being fiercely pulled back and fourth before it opened.

“Taylor! Anyone home” Taylor’s eyes opened real big as he pour his milk. His dad’s voice made he jump as he scattered to close the milk. Throwing his bowl in the sink, with fast thinking he opened the back window from the kitchen and climbed out of it. Taylor’s dad entered the kitchen and found the back window opened. With an annoyed emotion on his father face he closed the window tightly. Squatting down beneath the sliding of the window Taylor felt the thump of the window being closed waiting for his dad to be away from the window so he could make a run for it. Before he could make a clear run for it, he waited for his dad to get into the car and pull out of the driveway until he was turned the corner and was completely out of sight. Taylor stood up and jumped over the back yard gate and onto the sidewalk. While Pulling out the crumpled up cigarette pack out of his rusty blue jeans he looked at the pack and began to light it. Placing the pack back in his pocket he found the note. Walking by the field he saw his 3 childhood friends Luke, Chris, and Steven.

     “Guys I was this close to being caught by my pops today”

“Good one bro, that’s all we need is for you to get caught” Chris said as he sat back in the dugout against the gate. Luke looked at Taylor and then down out his front pocket where the letter was hanging out.

“What’s this your little love letter”  Luke said as he grabbed it out of Taylors pocket before he could grab it.

“I don’t know what it is, should we open it?”

“What are you waiting for” Luke handed back Taylor the letter and everyone crowed Taylor to see what was inside of the envelope.  Ripping the envelope opened a tiny paper fell out of it and slowly floated down to the circled that was perfectly formed by their feet. Taylor picked it up quickly. This was it! This was the moment Taylor waited for all morning. Reading the letter outloud it said.

       Taylor, This letter is not to put you in any kind of danger at all. We would like to think of it as a gift or a responsibility Not only for the future and but the safety of others.

-       Unknown

Taylor stared at the letter.

“Someone’s just trying to mess with your head” Steven said as he took the letter out of his hand and reread it in a girly weak voice. Taylor grabbed the later out of his hand while the rest of them laughed.

“Enough guys! I’m not going to worry about it”

Taylor made his statement to the guys as a joke but he knew that it was becoming a seriously problem.

With a confused look on his face Taylors eyes rolled back into his head.

 “GUYS! I think Taylors going to pass out”

 

         The bright lights were all Taylor could see when he opened his eyes. The force of his hands felt tight and he felt like the pressure was unbearable to left. “Why am I here” Taylor thought to himself.”

“Who am I” “Where am I” Taylor had no idea where he was or even who he was but all he wanted to figure out was how he got there. Walking up on a what appeared to be a surgery table wasn’t what Taylor experienced ever in his life.

He was in a different room, one he never saw before. Where was here? And why was he there. Did this have to do anything with the note?  The force of his arms started to tighten up. Cringing to get away he knew it wasn’t possible to move.

Once upon a time, in a far away land there was a place. A place that only a select few knew about and only a select few could join. But no this was not just any ordinary place, no this was a place full of workers... alien workers. You wouldn’t imagine how many of them walk among us... the “normals” We try time and time again to make things equal but it never will be equal. One day I was curious... a little too curious and when all was quiet and it was dark I snuck in. All of the aliens were gone and probably taking off their faces... I break open a window and climb through trying to make as less noise as possible. It was dark and it was cold I guess they like this sort of thing. I walk around looking, hoping maybe to find some type of evidence to take back and show everyone I’m not as crazy as I may seem and that I’m actually telling the truth. As I’m walking through all I see are desks, cubicles and papers. It looks so normal but I know it’s a disguise I just know it. As I walk around I kick a box and a light turns on so I duck but not just any light... A flash light. A voice yells out “Hello! Who’s there? Come out.” I crawl, crawl as fast as I can but the light flashes on me and I know I’m doomed... *2 days earlier* “John stop with the nonsense ok! I’m sick of it.” Says my wife in a hushed angry tone. “I’m serious, baby if you just give me a chance to prove to you...” and she cuts me off “No John I said that’s enough! I’m sick of it. Everyday it’s something new and you come home late with a new excuse. I’m fed up” And she takes a long pause and begins again with her head hanging down “If things don’t change I’m gone.” The look in her eyes was intense and I knew she wasn’t kidding I knew things have gotten real, real soon. I made my way to the park to cool off and give Sarah some time to cool off as well. *The thoughts he’s currently thinking while walking around.* “How can I prove to everyone I’m not crazy and I actually am telling the truth? How oh how?” “I know just what to do I’ll go sneak in take a few pictures gather up some information and bring it back to everyone and show them I’m telling the truth.” I didn’t know what else to do, there was no other choice but that. I planned everything out once I got home, I could tell Sarah was still mad so I stayed out her path. I worked on my plan all day and all night. *The next morning* I finally went to sleep at about 3:45 in the morning and just woke back up at 2 in the afternoon. “So all you want to do it sleep huh?” says my wife as she walks in folding clothes. “Don’t start with me I’ve had a long night.” I respond then pause. “Why don’t you ever support me?” I get no response and she walks out. I know that today is the big day so I prepare myself. I walk past this place plenty of times plotting, planning. I know this is a big step. Later that night I pack my things kiss my wife goodbye. I make my way down and I break open a window and climb through trying to make as less noise as possible. It was dark and it was cold I guess they like this sort of thing. I walk around looking, hoping maybe to find some type of evidence to take back and show everyone I’m not as crazy as I may seem and that I’m actually telling the truth. As I’m walking through all I see are desks, cubicles and papers. It looks so normal but I know it’s a disguise I just know it. As I walk around I kick a box and a light turns on so I duck but not just any light... A flash light. A voice yells out “Hello! Who’s there? Come out.” I crawl, crawl as fast as I can but the light flashes on me and I know I’m doomed... The officer kicks the box I was hiding next to and yells “What are you doing here?” I’m frozen with fear. He picks me up by my collar and the last thing I remember is a blow to the face with his flashlight. When I wake back up I am tied to a chair surrounded by them…. The aliens. I’m dizzy and ask “Why am I here” and I plead “I’m sorry I’m sorry! I was just curious.” They respond and say “Don’t talk just listen. Now that you’re here and you have seen us there is no turning back from now on. You must now become one of us and never speak of this. You will work for us and live for us, you got yourself in this mess now you can’t get out of it.” They put a mask over my face and I was out like a light. Everything after that was a blur. When I woke up I was in a cubicle and everyone around me looked normal I thought it was a dream until I tried to leave and their was an invisible shield… I’m trapped.

 

​

“Behold, one of the Seven Wonders of the World!”

James whispered this simple, yet nostalgic thought to himself as he gazed at the towering Pyramids of Giza. The marvels of engineering glistened in the soothing sunlight that projected enormous shadows off in the distant desert. He was basking in excitement that could potentially rival that of a young teen at a Justin Bieber concert. Contrary to everyone around him, he lived an extremely dreary life as a second grade math teacher in the small town of Warrington, Kentucky. Faced with this stark reality, James decided to finally pursue his dream of visiting the Egyptian pyramids. From a very young age, he shared a distinct interest in ancient Egyptian mythology, culture and history after his mother began to read him stories about mummies. As he got older, he sought out more advanced information on the topic and soon fell in love with the engineering capabilities of the ancient Egyptians.

James always knew that he wanted to visit the place he pictured in his mind so many times. This drove him on a five year saving campaign to raise enough money to pay for his trip. This process was hampered when the State of Kentucky slashed his salary by 25% and he still had to take care for his mom. After each paycheck, James barely had enough money left over to pay for his trip. However, he made it work through sacrifice, dedication, and prayer.

As he walked up to the base of the Pyramid of Khufu, the largest of the three pyramids, he stated, “I am living my dream right here, right now. I am finally here at last!” As he made his way toward the pyramid to get a better look, the idea of climbing the largest pyramid popped into his head. There was an internal battle as he decided if he was going to make this idea come to fruition. Before he reached the security fence surrounding the pyramid, James had already made up his mind. “Yeah, I am going to do it. I have to make the most of this trip. I am coming back after dark.”

He came back after dark when all the security guards had left and hopped over the security fence under the watchful light of the full moon. As he neared the top of the pyramid, James saw a small golden eagle protruding from one of the stones. “What is this doing here?” he exclaimed, “I guess this is my lucky day.” He could not believe something this valuable was left lying around of this pyramid that is frequented by some many scientists and researchers. As James got closer to the eagle to pick it up, he soon realized that this was no ordinary piece of gold.

James suddenly lost total control of his body and stood motionless in the same spot on the pyramid for about two minutes. After this initial period of time, his body began to slowly jerk forward with his left arm outstretched, trying to grab the golden eagle. He tried to suppress these movements but his resistance was futile. When he finally grabbed hold of the golden eagle, he held it up in the air and turned his head towards the moon.

The next thing James remembered was waking up in a well-lit room surrounded by individuals peering down at his face. As he slowly opened his eyes, he realized that none of the faces were familiar and he sprang out of his bed, grabbed a small Swiss knife and threatened anyone who dared approach him. “Who the hell are you people? Where am I? What am I doing here? Is this even real?” James was so confused since it seems like it was only seconds ago that he was in Egypt with no control over his body while clenching a golden eagle. “How did I get here? Was it that eagle? Was it some kind of ancient magical instrument? ” James definitely suspected time travel and the golden eagle since he picked it up against his will and that was his last complete last memory. These series of thoughts were interrupted by a muscular, middle –aged man who stated, “Are you drunk or crazy or something. Please put the knife down.” James immediately complied because he was only making a fool of himself and he needed the help of these people to figure out what is going on.

“Excuse me, if you don’t mind me asking! Do you happen to know today’s date? ” asked James tentatively. The same man that urged him to put down the knife replied, “March 11, 3110.” This proved what James had thought all along since the date he visited the pyramid was July 1, 2010. He was a time traveler and the power of the golden eagle was the source of the power. “Where is my golden eagle? Please locate my golden eagle for me?” screamed James frantically. Without the eagle he could not go home to his original time period and if the eagles was not with him in the facility, it must be on the where he found it on the Pyramid of Khufu. James knew that if he was to return home, he will have to visit this pyramid again so that he could get access to the eagle one more time.

I soon realized that I was living in an underground military facility commanded by General Wallenberg of Fourth Stryker Battalion. In the year 3085, a type of humanoid species known as Ewigs invaded Earth with the hopes of establishing a new colony. Although the humans fought bravely, they were not match for the advanced weaponry and intellect of the Ewigs. This was a small band of soldiers that survived the initial war and now waged a guerilla war against the occupying aliens.

James explained to General Wallenberg that he wanted to journey to the Pyramids of Egypt but he did not tell him a specific reason. The general while scratching his beard replied.  “A dangerous trip like that is virtually impossible given the air dominance that the Ewigs possess. We would not make it ten blocks from this base before we would be shot down. I am sorry but I do no think that we have the necessary equipment or the resources to carry out such a mission.”

James’s heart quivered as he heard this news since he did not intend on living in this time period. His real life was back in his original time period. James knew that he had to keep his resolve strong and find a way to rectify the problem. After minutes of sobbing softly at the dinner table, James responded to the general’s comments stating, “Instead of trying to fly to Egypt in a human airplane, why don’t we just hack into the computer system of one of the enemy’s airplane and guide it to a safe location using remote control. This way, they won’t suspect one of their own jets.”

Over the course of the next six months, James along with other military scouts studied the flight paths of the jets. They recorded the acceleration, displacement and velocity of the particular jets that they could hack so that they would know exactly when to spring the trap. The main battle jet (MBJ) of the Ewig Airforce could accelerate from rest to a speed of 150 m/s in 5 seconds. James then found the acceleration of the jet, which was a whopping 30m/s/s and the distance the object traveled during this time is 375m. After the initial 375m of the jet’s flight path, the jet then slows down for 10 seconds and then moves at a constant velocity of 80m/s for the rest of the patrol. James knew that the perfect time to attack the jet was while it was moving at a constant velocity.

Armed with this key information, James and a team of two others soldiers settled into their positions in skyscrapers along the flight path of the jet. The jet approached right on schedule and was scanning the buildings and roadways for the signs of any humans. As the jet passed by James’s position, he shot the jet with a bullet that contained malware that bypassed the security firewall. He quickly gained control of the vehicle through remote control and guided it to a secure section of the city where the driver was taken prisoner and James was praised as a hero. James could now fly to Egypt in the captured vehicle without being fearful of being shot down.

The next day, James said his final goodbyes to the people who had cared for him and assisted him in achieving his goal. “I was a stranger to all of you but still treated me as one of your own. You treated me like a brother. I admire your undying loyalty and support for me in my quest to return how. I marvel at your values, brotherhood and intelligence. Again, I thank you all and I will never forget your kindness.” As James turned around to shake General Wallenberg’s hand, a tear glistened in his eyes. When he finally climbed into the cockpit of jet, he broke down crying because he knew that he would never see these people ever again.

As he flew towards Egypt, James knew that nothing was guaranteed. If the Golden Eagle was not on the pyramid, this means that he would be stuck in this world forever. Even if the eagle was there, there is no assurance that it takes him back home to his correct time period. However, James yearned for home, especially his elderly mother. He wanted to go back to his job in his small southern town. James realized that although his life can seem uninteresting to the outside world, he is happy with the decisions he made. During the ten-hour flight, James grew more sophisticated with a greater appreciation for life, the world and the role he plays in it.  As James landed in front of the pyramid of Khufu, the environment looked unchanged. He dashed out of the jet and ran towards the pyramid and began climbing up toward the spot where he first encountered the Golden Eagle. James constantly mumbled:

“Please be there, God please let it be there.”

 

Not Alone

 

 Smoke rose to the sky, leaving the impression that there will never be sunlight again. The smoke was so thick that it felt as though it was strangling me, almost wringing the air out of my body. The loud piercing sound of alarms wailed, off in the distance. I gazed over the land that I once called my home. My home was alien to me, unknown, foreign, unfamiliar.

I was rather frantic at first, in denial most likely; I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

I sat on the steps of a demolished building. The only building that I could still recognize; the only building that wasn’t turned to ruble. I pulled my shirt over my mouth so I could catch my breath and breathe air that was perhaps less toxic. I scanned the streets to see if there was anything that would help me figure out what happened. I started to question why I was still here. I have no clue what happened. The last thing I remembered was going to bed.

There was a slight breeze, the sound of grasshoppers outside my window. The peaceful calming whisper of the words, “I love you,” in my ears. It was the last words I had heard from my wife. The last person I had seen.

I woke to this, a desolate, barren, destroyed city, with no sign of life. At that moment, I realized something that made my heart drop. How did I get in the city? My house is nowhere near the city. “What’s happening!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, wanting anybody, anything, to hear me. There was nothing but the cracking of the fire that surrounded me and the slight breeze that fueled it.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep on the hard steps. It took a while, but sleep came. It was unpleasant. I had a dream, no a nightmare. Some beast snatched my wife up and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was restrained to my bed by something. I woke to the same thing I fell asleep to, a destroyed city.

I got up from the steps of the building and walked. I walked until my feet hurt. Everything looked the same, some structures still stood tall with only the frame of the buildings left. Everything else had been turned to ruble.

I neared my house. When I came up to the end of the block, I saw something off in the distance. I was again in total shock. Both fear and excitement rushed through my body. My eyes widened, I felt like my body couldn’t move; I was stationary. My house was there. The entire structure was in tact. It was as if nothing had touched it. All of the houses around it were completely destroyed, burning; nothing bush ashes blowing in the wind making it appear like there was black snow.

My head was spinning. Should I enter? I questioned myself. This overwhelming fear was pulsing through my body. Without my command I start to move towards my house. I don’t want to move, but perhaps I did want to at the same time. As much as I told my body not to move I still continued forward. I came to the door. I felt like I was going to drop over, pass out, because my heart was beating so fast. It was beating fear through my body with each beat.

I reached the door; hand reached out. I twisted the handle of the door, which was ice cold. I pushed the door open and stood in the doorway. Confused on what to do now I stood there. Everything was exactly where it should be. Everything was fine.

I dropped to my knees. Confusion at this point was more overwhelming then my fear. I thought maybe if I just sat here that something would happen. Darkness approached and as did the cold of the night. However, I still sat in the same spot. Hunger set in, along with thirst.

I stood back up on my feet and decided I needed to walk in. I took a step inside. I could smell the usual smell of cinnamon from the candles. “Karen,” I whispered. No response. “Karen,” I said in a normal tone. Still there was no response. “Karen,” I said once more even louder. There was no response once more and a tear began to form. “Karen!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I kept screaming her name. I kept hoping that my wife would hear. “Karen!”

It was silent. There was no answer. I stood in the middle of the living room. Looking around as if she was maybe hiding from me. Like this was some sick game of hide and seek. I didn’t want to play. I wanted to see my wife again; I wanted to pretend like everything I saw outside wasn’t real. I wanted to pretend everything went back to the way it was. In a way I wanted my house to be destroyed.

I looked over at a picture on the fireplace of my wife and I. We were on our honeymoon. I walked over to it and picked it up. Wishing that we were back on our honeymoon.

I picked my head up as I heard a sound behind me. I turned and as quickly as I turned I dropped to the floor once more. Stood before me was my wife. Alive, normal, healthy, beautiful, my wife, my wife was standing in front of me. My head was spinning. I got up and ran to her, wrapped my arms around her. I didn’t want to let go. “I love you,” the same peaceful words whispered into my ears. “I love you too.” I was so happy. As I talked to her about my day she just listened with a smile on her face. A smile that alone could light up the smoke filled sky. As much as I just wanted to sit there and lay with her the entire night I really wanted to get some sleep. As I started up the stairs Karen urged me to stay down here, but I insisted. I walked into my room.

Words can’t express how I felt in this moment. The overwhelming feelings that rushed back, the fear. I was so afraid. I was so afraid and so alone. My wife was lying there on my bed. There was so much blood that it seemed as though someone took a bucket of paint and poured it on her. Her body was mangled, extremities twisted in ways they shouldn’t be.  A creaking of the door behind me caught my attention and after seeing my wife’s twisted and mangled, I thought my fear couldn’t reach any higher levels, but it did. As I turned I saw my wife. What I thought was my wife. Standing in the door way. “I love you,” she whispered. With those words her head quirked and her body started to convulse. I wanted to aid her because she was my wife, she wasn’t but she was. I watched as she laid there squirming on the ground.

I walked over her body to get out of the room but didn’t take my eyes off of her. I started down the steps and the convulsing stopped. I wasn’t going to wait and see what happened. I was getting out.

I ran out the door. Ran down the street. Ran as far as I could. I ran until my feet hurt again. Then I ran some more. I was reaching the city; going back to the only place that still somehow made sense to me. I reached the building I sat at earlier. I tied getting a grasp on what was going on. Nothing made sense. It was over for me. I was going to kill myself. I was alone. There was nothing left for me, I didn’t understand what had happened here and I didn’t want to live anymore.

I walked into the building since it was still somewhat in tact. I took the stairs to the top floor. I couldn’t stop thinking about my wife the entire time. How my wife’s twisted body was just left there. How that person looked exactly like my wife, smelt like her too. Everything about her was the same. I walked to the edge where I could make clear that I would hit the ground and meet my fate. I closed my eyes and smiled. Knowing I would be with my wife soon. I felt warm. I could almost feel my wife with me. Her arms around me, whispering into my ears, “I love you.” The last words I shall hear.

I opened my eyes, to hear the words “I love you,” once again. I turn to find my wife standing there. “No, no it can’t be. You are not my wife! You do not love me! You are an imposter!” I grab a large piece of concrete that was once part of the wall, I ran at her and bashed her head. Over and over again I smashed the rock into her skull. Even after I knew she was dead I kept hitting her. There was blood everywhere, but she was dead for sure this time. “I love you,” those words came from elsewhere, from the door. My wife stood there saying those words. I looked down under me in disbelief as I had just bashed her head in. She was still under me, but in front of me at the same time. I’d had enough I ran to the edge and jumped. I was free, and I wouldn’t be alone anymore. 

 

I gave birth to the existence - No, Nascent of Quill meets Papyrus Breathing alliterations into fragments of personifications Literary tools are my children Illustrating vibrations of ink bleeding through the quilts The existence was too constitutional More than a conspiracy My creations sparked legacies of literature Now, through my kin, I speak the voices of the chapels Into gospel songs and hymns Verses and bridges crossed over - Now in juxtaposition to religion Genesis was Genocide The world began with a blanket of blood My womb had wounds - I forced a C- section So humans see the spectrums of the rainbow (The stitches of my vasectomy) Mother earth is tucked below my bosoms My warm, salty tears are drops rain But my smile… Oh my smile, Is the radiant rays of the sun Book One: Genocide I'se only as bright as day lets me be My chillun will roams on this here belly I wuz impregnated through the Anahata chakra Beat-box'in square locks off's the guard off’s ma-heart These here bonds made bones of de babe I'se not a being of's a human But the beings of a matter I wuz pregnant fo' seven days The big-bang theory wuz ma pregnancy I'se grew eyes wide like the twinkles yaw see in de sky The moon be my lustin lips Always shin' Immaculate masterpiece, De way I licks ma-lipsssss That's hows I made de moon shines Mother Nature is da motha of ma-nature My brown-honey skin was the surface made of dirt my kin learns to walk on My chillun, please, lean on me But don'ts breaks me Into wats ya wants me to be I be that - That Morning sunrise and sunset I'se brought ya into dis world And I'lse take ya out These here stretch marks ares the Separation of da continents I feels all the stuff that happens Sees it with my own eyes and I'se never forgets breathing life Eva' since I'se a little girl Playin double dutch in space With my brotha, Venus & my sista, Jupiter Dere be 8 of us And we all gathas round the milky way Count the stars Steals they shine and Puts dem in our eyes We saved the stars fo' good times We don't lets 'em burns out Muh hands be gettin' shaky And I don't knows if ma-back Can support all these chillun Give'in births to more chillun I'se gettin' tired, Gotsa let my voice save sum Sum up of ma-last words Ma-last words are found Where aint's nobody lookins fo' it …

My mother (guardian spirit) was always a pleasure to be around. Every sunrise, which to our surprise, weren’t that bright, created a balance in our atmosphere. Stars and the cosmos constantly surrounded us. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were in an abyss of blackness. And sometimes, if we were lucky, we got hints of the milky way without getting sucked in. Every morning, our guardian spirits would remind us of our legacy.        In a firm tone, she said to me, “Mother Earth, you are to create the people. You must complete this task before your chakras are too open to birth them. If you fail to create and carve these beings, you will cease to exist.”        I whined about it. Far too young to understand how the world would evolve. “But, Mighty Spirit, I want not to! Who shall deliver this world?” I said, in a low, confused tone. _____________________________________________        I never imagined being the mother of such a universe. My pregnancy was all the talk among my family. They couldn’t believe how big I’d gotten to be, nor the fact that I would continue to stick around. I hold the earth in the palm of my hands. Sometimes, I like to dance on the surface. As long as it remains in constant rotation, they’ll never know.        Sometimes I sing to my baby Earth, making the birds hum, or adding a bit more sunshine from the sun to their days. They created this thing called “generations”, and I’ve seen all of them hatch into disasters – and some of them turned out to be magical.        The funny thing is, I hear people talk to me. They think I’m not listening. They pray to “God” yet haven’t realized, I am Him of all things. Since the moment I set land to a prosperous planet. ____________________________________________ The last I spoke to Pluto, my eldest brother, he told me of how he saw the future, and my people would no longer call him a planet. He revealed all of his life, and last left me with these succulent words, “The world can be only what you desire it to spin as. Take the shine from the moon as your lips, steal the glow of the stars for a pitch. You can achieve it all with the universes as your pallet.”   That night, I cried candy-coated raindrops. My brother practically raised all eight of us, and I knew this would be the last we’d ever see him. But how can I blame a God if I am Him? Final Thoughts I never really understood where I came from. My existence has no roots as some would like to think. No expiration or creation date. All I do is the task I was told. Unlike humans, I have no soul. My memory is the entities that I’ve created. My words are never ending, because no one can hear them. You can only feel the way…   My hands scrape along lonely paths of dirt The horizon I’ve created with my fingertips Connecting the dots that some call stars And when I play ping pong with them, Shooting stars sometimes hit the target Humans will never realize, death is a cauldron Full of angels and devils, they both have wings Hell on Earth is when I let freedom ring. _____________________________________________

The war had ended over a year ago. Radio signals about a month ago. Minutes before the first impending explosion, Robert Oppenheimer appeared on the television. Standing at the podium in a suit with his porkpie hat, he cared a grim filled look on his face. He looked at the camera before looking back at the top of the podium, where his speech was. Taking of his hat, he began to read his speech.
 "Hello, America, Russia, and the rest of the World-"

 He stopped himself, then began to speak again, with a penitence look on his face.

  "When me and the team at Los Alamos labs created the first atomic bomb, we created a peacemaker and the destroyer of worlds. When we watched the test of the very atomic bomb, we knew that we created a power that shouldn't be used in anyway, but we knew it would be used, but we hoped not to a magnitude like this. To America, Russia, and the rest of the World, I'm truly sorry for the creation of our demise."
All radios and televisions went to static afterwards. Screaming, gun fire and utter turmoil was all that could be heard through the thick, concealed ceiling of the shelter. Sitting back in the seat at my single-seater dinner table, Leer looked at the glass of water that was in front of him. Waiting for the slightest signs of disturbance in the water's flow, signaling the beginning to the end.
The glass fell over, with all of the water spilling out to the right side. The books began to fall off of their shelves, covering the floor in an assortment of titles and pages. The shelves began to rattle, shaking violently, with the glassware in the shelves beginning to hit the ground below; The wire hung lights shaking back and forth, to the breaking point.  Leer sat there in his seat, away from the razed environment that sat around him. The shaking, the swinging, and the shattering began to cease. Everything layer motionless, with not a sound being made or a movement. It was like time had stopped. Droplets of water began to hit the table, which was the only standing object in the room, next to the seated chair. The only sound was that of the chair running over the floor, creating a hissing screech. The though that he could be the only living creature for hundreds of miles, or possible the only one left in the world. His mind was running into all sorts of places, and he knew allowing it to continue would lead to regrettable results. He put his head down on the floor, looked at his watch and closed his eyes.
   That was over a year ago.  Leer has stayed in this unit since the bomb droppings, not having set foot out since days before the occurrence.  The thought of an outside world without life was terrifying to Leer, what could be even worse, there could be outside life, who reacted to him in a negative way. The food and water levels in the shelter are imminent to run out soon, leaving Leer with two options, dying of starvation in this shell, or exploring the outside world in hopes of survival. While one option holds promised death, the other one lays way for an unforeseeable future, where the unknown is. Sitting at his dinner table with his hands to his head, Leer looks at his watch with, then back into the distance, back at his watch, then back into the distance of his base, this place that was his home for so long, but it wasn’t his home. His home, or rather where his home once had sat, laid near the grounds of this base. What lay left of it he asked himself? Did anything within his home survive the explosion? He knew that none of these questions would be answered, unless he got out of his seat and went above ground.

  He removed his hands from his head, placing them on the table in front of him. He began to lift himself up, rising from his chair. He walked over to the kitchen cabinet that was filled with chipped and broken dishes. Feeling around the back of the cabinet, he begins to pull out a rucksack that’s covered in fragments of plate and dust. Leer puts the bag on the counter top underneath the cabinet, going through the sack. Within, there’s a 32 oz bottle of water, a first aid kit, a rain jacket, and a thin knife.

  Closing the bag, Leer puts his shoulders through the shoulder straps and begins walking towards the exit. Turning the vault like exit counter-clockwise to open it, he stopped and dropped to the floor. What could happen if he stepped outside? Would he die of radiation poisoning? Would it be a field of raze? What if the bombs never went off, and the noises he heard a year ago were from something else? He couldn’t concentrate, or bring himself to open the door. The thought made him sick to the stomach, but he knew it had to be done. Without opening the door, he would never know what awaited him on the other side. He got on his feet, grabbed the vault knob with both hands, and tired as hard as he could, while pushing forward. The door opened, and he fell through, landing on something that has been unseen, but not forgotten - the outside world. Putting his hands on the ground to get up, he felt a grainy material, like sand. Leer got to his feet, taking in deep breaths, clenching his eyes closed. The air was different than what that of the underground, it felt un-recycled, like what was below.

  No longer being able to take being without visions of what the new world looks like, Leer opened his eyes wide. Before him was what was the neighborhood he had once called his community. All that stood before were the remains of buildings that had once stood. Once fully bloomed pine streets were blow into charcoal sticks rising from the ground. The surface of it all was covered in all sorts of debris, which would rise into the air when a wind came by and picked it up.

  Starring out into the distance of it all, Leer just stayed standing there, motionless, barely breathing. The wind hitting his face, scattering the remnants of what’s left of the place he once called. A feeling of abandonment came over him, which was physically unseeable, but leaving him a mental wreckage. He wanted to turn back around, to enter his shelter and die there, but he was curious as to what this new world was like. Beginning to take a few steps forward, he was about to find out exactly what this transformed land held. The remnants of the buildings that once stood were charred pieces of metal now. Pieces that once created the foundations for modern architecture were now broken frames. Art and life was scorched to nothing. Stopping now, he looked down at the ground, where outlines of a doormat were thinly visible. Looking even closer, you could see the outlines of a few letters that had once been a apart of the mat. Leer got down on his knees to examine the letters even closer. He started to look at the letters closer and closer. He saw a “W”, followed by an “E”.

“We?” Leer said to himself.

But there was more than that. He started to see another letter, a “L”, then a “C”.

“Welc?”

More letters began to become visible, with an “O” coming next, followed by a “m” and “e.”

“Welcome.” 

https://www.dropbox.com/home#:::92583230

            All throughout my life people have told me that I’m very well spoken. I take it as a compliment. Even though most of the people telling me that are friends of my parents, who say stuff like,

“Oh you’ve grown so much since the last time I’ve seen you.”

Or,

“Oh, you’ve gotten so much taller since last time.”

I think of myself as being pretty impressionable and easily influenced. If I see someone that I look up to doing something, I tend to mimic their actions because I look up to them and want to do things similarly to them. I think that both what I’ve been told and what I’ve assumed go hand in hand for me. I think it is because I tend to spend a lot of time around people who have wide vocabularies and are very articulate. According to my mom I’ve been that way from a very young age.

            I heard the phone ringing. I was only four years old and I loved answering the phone.

“Who could it be?” I thought to myself. “Is it for me? Is it about me?”

I picked up the phone.

“Hello.”

“Hello, am I speaking with um Karen?” the man behind the phone asked.

“No, this is her son, I’ll put her on.” “MOMMMM! Someone is on the phone calling for you.”

“Okay, thank you, Isaac.”

I walk into the other room to hand my mom the phone.  My mom put the phone to her ear.

“Hello… No thank you, bye!” said my mom as she violently hung up the phone.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Oh it was just some annoying person trying to sell me something.”

“Oh okay.”

I kept wondering why my mom would be angry with someone for calling and trying to sell her something? It didn’t seem so horrible to me.

“Why were you so angry with the person calling?” I asked.

“I’m on a list called the “Do not call list” and I get really annoyed when those people continue to call me when I’m on a list that states I don’t want to hear from them.”

 Finding out that my mom didn’t like when people called our phone trying to sell something to her gave me something new to look out for while being at home.

            A few days later I was sitting at home one night with my mom. The phone rang. I jumped up to go answer it.

            “Hello.”

            “Hi, is this Karen?”

             “No, it’s her son.”

            “Oh okay my name is…”  

            “Are you her friend or are you just trying to sell her something?” I asked.

I heard laughter come from the other end of the line.

            “No, no, no I’m her friend. It’s her friend Susan.”

            “Oh, okay. She’s here. I’ll go get her.”

I handed my mom the phone. I listened to what she was saying just in case the caller had tricked me.

            “Hello… Oh hi Susan.” My mom said.

All of a sudden she started to laugh.

            “He really said that? No, no, no. He is only four years old.”

A few minutes later my mom got off the phone with her friend.

            “Isaac…”

            I interrupted her mid sentence.

            “Who was that mommy? What were you…?”

            My mom interrupted me.

            “She is a new friend of mine.”

            “Oh okay. What were you laughing at?”

            “Isaac, she thought you were a teenager because of the way you answered the phone.”

            How did I sound like a teenager? I thought to my self. Is that supposed to be a good thing or… I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was my voice deeper than the average four year old? Did I have a wide vocabulary? I had no idea what could have led my mom’s friend to jump to that conclusion, but I guess I took it as a compliment.

             “Why did she think I sounded like a teenager?”

            “I don’t know but I heard you ask if she was either my friend or trying to sell me something so I guess it might’ve been the manner in which you talked to her.”            

How could asking such a simple sounding question make people think I’m more grown up than I actually am? On the outside I felt overjoyed and excited but on the inside I wasn’t sure how to feel.  It surprised the heck out of me that someone just, would assume that I was a teenager all because of a few things that I said.

            Before that, I never really had thought about how people’s ways of speaking can tell other people a story about them and their identity. James Baldwin who wrote the essay If Black English Isn’t a Language, Then Tell Me, What Is? Wrote,

             “Language, incontestably, reveals, the speaker. Language also, far more dubiously, is meant to define the other- and, in this case, the other is refusing to be defined by a language that has never been able to recognize him.”

            This quote is relevant to my story because it says that language can reveal a lot about a speaker.  Since the person had not ever met me or heard me speak, she couldn’t have known how old I was. Yet she thought I was much older. This occurrence really made me think about how powerful language can be. I guess now that I am sixteen years and in fact a teenager; maybe my language on the phone makes people assume that I am twenty-six. I’d love to find out how I can use it to my advantage, but I have no idea how that could occur. 

                                                    Introduction

​In Mr. Block's english class we had to write a language autobiography. In a language autobiography, the author talks about different aspects of language in their lives or family's lives. They also talk about the struggles language brings and the hardships or joy it can bring. Language is a powerful tool. Behind every person's language or dialect is a story. With that said I hope you take the time to listen to mine.

My language autobiography is about the term code switching, what it means and how often we subliminally code switch. My process was pretty sketchy for a various reasons. I felt like i didn't have a unique story because i was born and raised in America and I speak standard english fluently. Therefore, I had trouble finding an initial concept to write about. By the end i think i did pretty well. I did well with my conclusion and explaining moments in time vividly.  

The Autobiography "Code Switching"

I remember like it was yesterday. Picking up my cousin from his rural home in Delaware. I remember seeing fields of grass, single homes and cul-de-sacs. “Call Eric and tell him were outside!” said my mom. I picked up my phone and called “We’re outside bro.”

My cousin walks outside with his bags ready to go. “Yo Eric!” I yelled “ Did you hear about that new jawn by Young Savage?” “What’s a jawn bro you must have forgotten I’m from Delaware we talk nothing like you guys do” said Eric.

            We made our way to the family reunion in Cape Cod. On our way there we spent a lot of time talking about the mannerisms or “Philadelphians” as he would say. The crazy part is that his whole family is from Philadelphia but he just has been away to long.

 “Ok, as you know some of my cousins drawl heavy” I said not thinking about my dialect. “Drawl? Come on man didn’t we just go over this.” Eric said jokingly “I can tell what you mean by the context of what you say but I don’t fully understand.”  We just sat back and laughed it off. But in the back of my mind it made me think deeper. I never noticed how many “characters” can be played by one person.

The correct term is code switching. As the ride got longer I thought to myself. I would never talk to any of my teachers, principals or bosses using slang. So why do I use that dialect with others? Is it to fit in? Is it to impress? I couldn’t think of the exact reason but I just knew it was something I should look further into.

We arrived at the hotel ready to check in. “Time to wake up guys were here!” My mom yelled. On our way upstairs to check out our room we see my cousin Dior. “Follow me all of the cousins have our own room!” she yelled. We ran up ready for the fun that awaited us.

As I got to the top of the stairs I saw my grandmother with a few bags. With the sweetest voice I asked, “Hey, do you need any help with those bags grandmom?” “No, I’m okay honey. How is school?” she asked. “It’s not good but I’ll make it better when I’m ready.” I responded. “ You have always been that way and need to change boy. Well now isn’t the time to be worrying about it so go have fun with your cousins.” She said and walked away.

I guess looking back at the whole situation it made me realize the answer to all my questions about “code switching.” It is a form of identity and who you are or at least who you make yourself out to be. By the way you speak can often tell where you’re from, the people you hang around and want to be with. We often switch to a more proper dialect when talking to authorities to show that we are proud to be who we are, have a great education and are ready for the challenges ahead of us. I even went deeper thinking about different people in my life. A coach gets a point across by yelling and being assertive. I’m sure he or she wouldn’t be like that with his or her significant other. Simply because there is a place and time for everything. Code switching is more than just the words you say its how you say it and how you carry yourself overall. It’s more than language it’s the lifestyle you choose to portray to the people around you in order to be accepted. 

Aaron VanBuren                   1/13/12

The history of the language in the Present

“Quan, Come here”

“Here I come, Popup”

“Pick that up”

“Okay, wait what is this?”

What I saw was a book with the cover reading “The Brooks Family Heritage”. I started to flip through the book looking for pictures, as a little kid would do. I saw my relatives dressed in business suits and nice clothes. I came to the thought that my relatives weren’t slaves, so I asked and found out that my family were free Africans when they came to America. I started to wonder what did they do when they came to America and how did they get free? My grandfather and his sisters and brothers all had nice houses and were wealth, when my grandfather got sick I came over his house all the time to help out and I learned a lot of how to build and fix a house, learned how cook and also how to flirt with girls.

 

A couple years earlier when my grandmother alive, my mom, dad, sister and I visited her and my great-grandmother in Virginia.  It was like we were going through a jungle going to see my family in Heathsville. We came to a road named Brooks and I asked “Mommy is that street named after Grandfather’s family?”

“She said yes and she said do you see that old house right there?”

“Yes”

“Well that house belongs to our family”

“Really”

“We ring the doorbell”

“Who is it?”

“Hey Mama Daye, Its Tannie and the family”

“Hey baby’s come on in”

“Mama Daye what is that smell?

“Its fish, eggs, pork chops”

 “Mhmmm…”

“Mama Daye where did you learn how to cook like that?”

“There is a long line of skills passed through our family and cooking is one.”

Thinking back to the book I found back in Philadelphia at my Grandfather’s house, I thought this was different because my Great Grandfather on my mother’s side was Native America and Irish. My Great Grandmother are African American and Italian. The thought of my family never being slaves on my mother side was shocking because I thought everyone was slaves, Not being slaves, my family had opportunities to do more as free Africans who adapted into African Americans. One thing that came from not being slaves was education that led to wealth with in my family. From the wealth my family has or had I was taught how to invest, how to be a salesman and how to build a house and how to reconstruct a house.

 

Visiting my father’s side of the family and knowing where they are from, they are from an area where slavery was high in numbers. I was curious what roots ran through my father’s side and I found out that there is some Polish but mostly African American descent. I know I have similarities as my dad but not a lot. He is a hard worker and he can fix anything given to him. I think that’s where the roots of slavery fall into play.

 

I have seen how being a different descent or race can cause problems. People look at me differently because of my skin color, which is black. Although, within my bloodline I have Native American, Polish, Italian, Irish and African American mixed to form who I am today. “It goes without saying, then, that language is also a political instrument, means, and proof of power. It is the most vivid and crucial key to identify: It reveals the private identity, and connects one with, or divorces one from, the large, public, or communal identity.” My language is set up from my ancestors who went through hard times and made the best of them. My history defines my language. When I think about how differently I get treated I think about how worst some else has it and deal with the situation at hand. If my history is speaking then it is speaking through experience that will help form the next generation of my family and prepared them for all the drama and life loving experiences.

 

My history defines my language because over the years my language of being simple and needy has evolved into me being a definition of my heritage and the future legacy of the Brooks and VanBuren Family.  The roots of my Native American, Polish, Italian, Irish and African American ancestors show through the way I learn about new things and or just learning new things about my family and how I teach people about who I am as a person and how my history defines my language. Overall the language of my ancestors is my history of my language, which my language is define by my history in the present and past.

Do you change the way you speak, depending on who you’re talking to? Do you Code Switch?

             No, but I’ve had plenty of confrontation over the subject of code switching in my life anyways. I’ve noticed my dad does, for example when he’s at work, or when he’s with his friends. But even then, he talks differently with people he has recently become friends with, then when he’s with people he grew up with. It’s like a different side of him when he’s with people he’s always known them. It’s always natural, but it seems more fluid or…just normal, when he talks with them. Like with people he grew up with it’ll be more of a “yo, whats good” while with friends he recently acquired, it’s more of a “Hey man, what’s up?”

 

            Me , myself, I don’t do it as often or as severely as he does.  I’ve had people ask me why I talk “white”, or why I talk that way. When peopleusually ask me this, it’s generally not in a kind or happy tone, and it usually leads up to, the ever so wonderful. “So you think your better than me or what?” My favorite question…ever. I’ve lost friends over the subject of my speech. It’s like people think I’m just being rude, like I’m talking this way because I put myself above them or something.

 

           I live in Germantown, on the rougher side and I didn’t really have any friends that lived near me until I came to Sla. I’ve just never….felt like I fit in with the kids around there. I did used to have one friend around there, and I really liked her...but her friends didn’t like me. They’d question why I was with her, and why she even liked me…

 “What you mean why? I hang out wit who ever I want..”

“ Well you can’t jus leave us for…her.”

“Im not leavin yall, I’m just talkin to her calm down..”

“Why?? She think she better than all of us anyway”

 

           At this point I wanted to speak up….but I’ve never been very confident, or one to speak up when I’m nervous or shy….but I wanted to tell them I wasn’t being ignorant. That I wasn’t trying to disrespect them by talking the way I do…That it was just the way I talk, and that isn’t something I could change, even if I wanted to. She didn’t stop hanging out with me though, not until she moved one day. She was having a sleep over at her new house, and I really wanted to go, I begged my mom and dad. They’d met her, she’d gone places with us, but they said no…because they had never actually met her parents…After that we stopped talking…and I lost the one friend I had, who had lived near me.

 

          I went to summer camp at a church, behind my house, one year. The kids there were loud...and all seemed to know each other, and when I don’t 

know  anyone I stay to myself. We had an introduction circle, and the only person who spoke in the same “accent” as me was the camp counselor, and she was white. I felt awkward and out of place, not just because I was shy, also because these weren’t the people I generally found myself with. Some people didn’t talk to me because of the way I talked. So I never really had that many friends there, even the ones I did have, wouldn’t talk to me now if they saw me on the street. Some forgot my name, others just don’t care that much.

 

          I went to a private school most of my life, and as you progressed into higher grades, you could find less and less diversity in the student population. In about 7^th grade I was officially the only person who wasn’t white. There was a Mexican boy named Raul, who lived in Germantown too, and he always told me how I didn’t belong there…because I’m not black. He wasn’t the first to say that, and he surely wasn’t the last. When he said it, Ireally felt offended that he would take me away from my race like that. Simply because of the way I speak. I guess I got used to being told I’m not black though. I have friends who tell me it now, and I most likely will in the future, that’s not really something I can help though. They don’t mean it in a mean way. They just say it, like they’ll call me an “Oreo”, “White girl”, “ you’re a white girl, you just have black skin.”. These aren’t usually said to be mean, it’s just the way they see me I guess.