Yasmeen Brownlee's Language Autobiography

 Autobiography of my life

Well in my family I don’t have any other languages that I speak at home. I may hear an Islamic greeting from some of my relatives though I did really understand until now what it had meant. Because of my limited array of languages that I have spoken in my life, I will settled on moments of uncertainty of a language such as Spanish from a Spanish speaking country. Including some of my experiences in Italy and France. I grew up in life learning to speak English I didn’t really acquire much of a noticeable language change until the 2-4 grade I don’t quite remember what grade but there was a Spanish course at my elementary school that started early and ended early. All I really remember is watching muzzy without subtitles and being on the carpet singing and dancing along to interactive Spanish music. I also remember sitting in rows and columns facing the teacher at all times and the hand signals to go to the bathroom. That was what my Spanish was while I was younger. I feel as though when I was younger my teacher should have taken the advantage of teaching us more advanced Spanish because it would be easier for us to learn. Watching muzzy without the provided information of what was said was visual representation of Spanish in action, even though she used it to teach us.  It didn’t help because we ignore what’s being said and is not in the language that you fluently speak or even understand, because of that to some it became a silent cartoon, with self-righteous humor. When I was in 7^th grade about to be in eighth grade. I took a Chinese class that I wasn’t very fond of near the end of the class. One of the things was that it was a classroom full of fifth graders and I was the oldest. My best friend was in the program but she was learning a different language. I learned a limited amount Chinese though most of the time I was at an art class for senior citizens. Which was amusing but we can get into that another time. All my life I have lived with people only spoke English now that I think about it I learned some Swahili when I was in pre-school though I don’t currently remember any of it. Through out my life I have many if not all Muslim relatives the greeting is As-Salamu Alaykum, and the response would be Alaykum As-Salam. I never really understood the actually meaning of the word I just remember it being either hello, or how are you? the response being hi, fine thank you. But I didn’t find out until recently that it had the same meaning of what I thought but it translated into something completely different. I was going to learn how to speak and write in Arabic but no one ever got around to it. 

The nerve wrecking decision is going to happen as soon as I step off of this bus. That’s fine I don't have to step off right? Wrong, 

I’m biting my nails a shivering with the nervous anticipation for the worst. I'd get pair with someone I didn't know well. It seemed everyone one was following the same code walk slowly to the area of the meeting and the crowd of native families one of which for be your temporary parents. I was hoping that I got paired with two of my best friends on the trip Katie Kozak and Zoe Stiles. Little did I know I wouldn't get exactly what I wanted, but isn't that what we find out about everyday of our lives? I took the opportunity of the awkward silence to scope out the people that could be my future foster family. My eyes were caught on the woman holding a dog.  I secretly wished that I went with them. The image of the lady who assigned the kids to there families is now blurry and completely obscured from my memory. I don't even remember put a person to the voice that called out the names of the families and students. We were each handed pamphlets of our families though I didn't know which person belonged to each name I anticipated watch the other get picked first so that I could see who they went with. Kerry, kale, Chelsea. A Wave of comfort washed over me but didn't linger as I felt the cold tremor and flutter of butterflies as I shivered at the sound of my name. My name I was called second shock hit me but not for long as I heard one of my best friends name Zoe stiles. Her name warmed the frozen shock but it didn't go away. Mariana Stuve another warm sensation, I knew them both, and closely at that. The name of our father I don't remember what it was but I remember what he looked like a short man with grey hair with a really dark tan? A t-shirt and khaki's. I was disappointment that I didn't get the family with the dog, yet the anticipation overrode that sense.

“Lets go to the point of the island,” I said to my cousins while in North Carolina. “Okay” said my cousins Sam, Max, and Jake. We were really excited to go to the point, we had only been there once and it was really fun. They are all my cousins, and mean the world to me. My cousins are some of the most important people in my life; we influence each other so much. We love spending time together, and do it as much as possible. We started making our way to the point. We walked along the beach thinking how long it would take to get there. The beach had many shells on it, and the water was amazing. The water was so warm and calm that it was like we were in Florida. After the mile long walk to the point we got in the water.  I noticed another section of the beach that we had to swim to. “Lets go over there, the water is pretty shallow here” I said. We all walked through the surprisingly shallow water to the other section. As I look back at it now, we could walk through this water because it was low tide. We knew that we might spend a while there, and by the time we got back low tide could have gone away, and high tide or somewhere in between high and low tide could have came through.

As soon as we got there, Jake said “whoa! There’s an island across there, let’s go.” I noticed that the water in-between the island and us had a very strong current. I told my cousins, but they said we could do it anyway. The current pulled us so strongly that a bird on shore looked like it was on a treadmill. We had gotten pulled about 75 feet down from where we expected to end up because we couldn’t stand on some parts of the swim. While we were there we hung out and talked for a while. We laid down in the shallow water because it was so warm, and just talked about school and how our lives were.  Sam and Jake live in Florida, and we don’t get to spend a lot of time just talking. We always have to do something, and don’t just get time to talk about what’s going on. This was special because we almost never get to do it; there is always an agenda.

After about 45 minutes Jake and I decided to leave. We made it past the water with the strong current, and onto the other part of the beach that we had almost been able to walk to. It had gotten much windier since we started to walk to the point. The water that we could walk in before had turned to a churning jumble of strong waves. As we tried to get across we got hit over and over by the waves. We realized that we couldn’t move because of the current the wind caused. We had to go back to the extended part of the beach, and walk around on the pavement. The pavement was extremely hot, and we didn’t have any shoes on. Every step hurt, because it was burning hot and the little pieces of it made cuts on our feet as we walked. We finally found a place from the burning hot gravel onto the beach again. The sand felt very cool and relieving against our feet. 

At this point I realized that we should have understood that this would happen. We had seen the wind picking up earlier, and could have left then without having to struggle through the water and walk on burning hot gravel. If we had been responsible we would have done that, and made it back safely without anyone worrying, or any important people in our lives getting in possible danger. We walked for about 15 minutes before we started to realize how tired we were. We were dehydrated, exhausted, and starving. The only water around us was the beach, which we could not drink because of the salt. We continued to walk at a much slower pace because of our state. Finally we got to the beach in front of our house. 

The only problem was, when we got there we saw my parents talking to the beach patrol. Because we had been gone for so long my parents had asked the beach patrol to help them find us. Sam and Max had not left yet, so we didn’t know if they were okay. The beach patrol said that in this kind of weather, at this time of day, they had probably drowned. If we had communicated with my parents, saying “we will be back in 2 hours”, or said anything about when we would have been back it would have turned out much better. Without us saying when we would be back, they probably thought it was going to be about an hour like most of the other times we went to the point. We waited outside on the beach for them for about 20 minutes before heading back inside. For about 30 minutes we waited, becoming increasingly more upset by the minute. By minute 20 Jake and I had almost started crying because he thought he lost his brother and cousin, and I thought that I lost 2 of my cousins. This would have been the worst days of our lives by far; one of our cousins that was gone was the oldest cousin. All the other cousins looked up to him, we did whatever he told us. To loose someone that important to you is one of the worst things that I can imagine happening to a person. We need people in our life who influence us, and are always there for us. For me it is my cousins, but for others it is different. Finally, after those 30 dreadful minutes were up, we saw them. Coming up from the beach, having no idea why we were so happy to see them. 

As we begun to get out of the car I looked at the surrounding area. It didn’t look like anything special. It just looked like another Hospital. Large windows, multiple floors and it’s name of the side.  Nothing stood out, besides the name, “Nazareth Hospital.”  My Dad cracked a joke.

“Tell them were looking for Jesus.”

I chuckled.

      My Grandmother was in the hospital 3 months prior to now due to a urine block. This time she was in the hospital for a broken shoulder. As we walked into the building, I got a whiff of that hospital smell. That dank, old wood, and medicine smell. The interior of the hospital was a combination of Wood and Marble.  The Marble was white with speckles of black and it covered the floor. The wood covered the walls and it had a 70s retro feel to it.  

           As we navigated our way to her room we found out she was sharing a room with someone else. The room was dark with just some sunlight coming it.  Their family was in the room as well.  We moved to the far right of the room where my grandmother was. She was happy to see us and had a plate of untouched food next to her that was from earlier this afternoon. She doesn’t eat often. The room was white with medical equipment surrounding the beds each patient was laying on and a curtain dividing the room into two parts.  We talked about how we were and how she felt. Understanding her was hard. She suffered a stroke 9 years ago, which paralyzed the left side of her body. When she spoke it was a soft mumble and Apraxia of speech due to her stroke. I just sat and smiled and shook my head up and down as if I knew what she was saying and that I agreed.

       My mom gave her a drink of water, several minutes later my grandmother got sick, which resulted in me almost getting sick. I felt noxious and wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. For the rest of our visit I spent most of my time waiting in the bathroom.

            Time flew by and within 10 minutes we had to leave. The nurse came in to check her out and replace her uneaten lunch with fresh food.  As we step outside of the room, my eyes had to readjust to the light from the hallways. I begun to hear, “beep, beep, beep” over and over again due to the various heart rate monitors dispersed throughout the floor we were on.  We pressed the elevator button and waited for it to come to our floor. When it arrived and opened up, it had a metal interior and smelled like the hospital entrance.

              When we finally arrived to our floor, I attempted to get out as quickly as I could. I don’t necessarily have a problem with hospitals, but I get sick around old people who are hospitalized. I navigated my way through the hospital as quickly as I could, till I was right outside of the hospital. I stood there breathing in and out air, till my parents came. We then walked over to the parking lot where the car was. The sickening feeling went away and I was ready to get out of there.  We got into the car and begun to pull out of the parking lot. That was the last time I had to visit Nazareth.

              She’s out of the hospital now and facing 2 options. Staying at home with her husband or going to a retirement home. She can’t make a decision, on one hand she could be in a safe environment, but she doesn’t want to live her life knowing that she is incapable of taking care of herself. Her husband has already been taking care of her for the past 10 years and so has my Aunt. Her only independence is being capable of living at home and not in a retirement home.

               Her fear is being institutionalized and feeling that she can’t do anything for herself. She wants to feel independent and capable of making decisions for herself. The problem is, she hasn’t made decisions for herself in 10 years, since her stroke, it left her incapable of taking care of herself.

              She made a decision. She decided she’ll live at a retirement home or how it was refereed as, “assisted living.” It’s a large step for someone of her age, her liberation of independence and her own private home, but from it comes good. My Aunt and her husband won’t have to sacrifice their lives to take care of her any longer. From this, they gained some independence that they didn’t have for years.  It’s like America, actually. They liberated their independence from Britain and gained their own.

            I think she should do it. After so many years of taking care of herself, then having family take care of her, it’s the best option for her. While, she may not like it at first, she’ll grow to like it. She’ll almost everything will be the same. She’ll have someone taking care of her and a relative visiting her. It won’t be different at all from what she’s been doing for the past 10 years, except she’ll live there.  It’s a step in the right direction for everyone.

Sammy. Zeisloft

12. 13. 10

Iron stream

            Everyone has a different way of speaking. Whether it’s the way that they pronounce words, a certain rhythm in which they speak, or the amount of slang terms they put into one sentence. Each person creates in their mind their own individual sort of linguistics; and from one persons mind, to the ears of another, through a call to your friend, or an email to a pen pal across the world; language spreads like wild fire from one friend to another or from one man, unto an entire nation. Although it goes without saying that even in a world of such high population and different ethnic groups, language is probably the most diverse thing that can both define a person and set them apart from a group of people. Language can also bring people together…or people can come together and create their own language.

            My friends and I have developed our own language over the years, a code per say, which any outsider attempting to listen into our conversation would be baffled by. We speak in foreign tongues I suppose but nothing like a dialect you would learn about in an English class or read about in a textbook. We speak in codes of serious tones, which throw off the passer bys as our lungs boil up with a comical explosion, which soon erupts through our lips as outbursts of laughter. We speak of funny or outrageous things in more quiet, serious, monotone voices, which then spark the reaction of laughter to those around us. I guess you could say that by our lack of expression or any obvious intentions to appear as comical stand bys, we’ve already planned out the reaction of our crowd, the ones that stand around us. It may seem like we aren’t trying to be funny, but we know that we can count on your laughter as the fuel for our next sentence that we spit from top of our minds, off the top of our heads.

            Amanda sat slouching in an upward position against the table in the café. She had an expression on her face that screamed more negative drama. I quickly signed in with my school I.D and went to see what was wrong. She saw me approaching and got a slight shift in her facial expression, but she was a terrible actress, because I saw right through her sad attempt to paste a smile on top of her tear stained face. I put my schoolbag down on the floor and immediately gave her a hug. “What’s wrong baybay?” I asked in a light tone. “Nothing” she said in a groan. She pulled away from the hug, I cupped her face in my hands “You a terrible liar dumby, I’ll ask again, what’s wrong?” Dumby was a name we would call each other, which later defined itself as a term of friendship or endearment. “Nothing stupid, you so dumb I was only lookin sad to get a hug from your pretty face”. I stared at her for a minute, and she stared right back with those big brown puppy dog eyes. She was beginning to lighten up and then we both burst into laughter.

There was something about our secret little language that always made one another feel better some how, like we felt understood or maybe it was just the fact that we had each other to laugh with when times like these got us down, but either way, our little system we had, was fail proof. “ I love you dumb dumb” I said to her and I wrapped my arms around her like a blanket of comfort, because although I had gotten a smile from her, I knew her problems weren’t solved. “ I love you too baby” she said in her normal calm tone. We sat there in our warm embrace as she told me of the things she was going though, like stupid arguments with her boyfriend and other teen queen dramatics that everyone had gone through, was going through or would eventually have to face in the mere future. When the bell finally rang and the school officer yelled that it was time for first period, we picked up our bags and went to our first classes. Our conversation hadn't been over yet but I guess you could say that we momentarily paused it due to the inconvenience of our separate classes. We went our different ways but our special little language seemed to keep us close no matter the distance.

People everyday stray from what we may call “proper English” whether they mean to or not. For some reason we feel that saying things in our own individual tongues will make our voices more different or heard; and it does, to certain people on the outside looking in. But to those who speak your tongues, it seems like nothing out of the ordinary, or possibly, it makes you feel all the more extraordinary knowing that you and a group of people share something that others may not know or understand. Language is not defined by the accent you have or the way you roll your tongue on certain letters, its something deeper and more complex, its about being able to speak differently to the people around you, and have them completely understand what you mean. 

Language Autobiography

            I was born in Philadelphia.  I was raised right in the center of the city, only a few blocks away from downtown, and right around the corner from all the museums.  I have gone to three different schools, all located in the city and within walking distances from my house.  It’s a city I feel comfortable in.  I am a true native Philadelphian.  But I do not speak like most other Philadelphians.  In my family, I was taught to speak our most proper English, with our best grammar.  I don’t speak in slang, and I try to pronounce my words.  To my family and me, I sound perfectly normal.  To my family in Scotland, I sound very American.  But to my friends in Philadelphia, sometimes I sound British.  I grew up with a Philadelphian-scotch accent, always begin too British or too American for either sides of my friends and family.

            I am not sure if it comes out when I am excited, angry, or what; but on rare occasions it can be very noticeable.  On one occasion, it was so obvious that my friend began to yell at me.  “Why are you talking like that?” my friend exclaimed at me.  “What are yeh talkin’ about?  I’m talkin’ normal.” I questioned her in confusion.  “You are talking with a British accent!  Why are you talking that way?” she said frustrated.  At this point I had become increasingly puzzled.  I’ve heard people say my dad talked with a Scottish accent, and I’ve heard my sister talk with a really lousy Scottish accent, but never me talk with a Scottish accent.  “I think yeh’ve gone mad” I told her doubtingly.  “Why are you talking like you are British?” she asked my impatiently.  “I’m speakin’ the same way I always talk.  This is shtupid.”  I replied, trying to listen closely to my own voice.  As I said stupid, I began to hear it.  It was as if I was mimicking my Scottish cousin, if she had a more Americanized accent.  I had no idea where it came from or why.  I began to get worked up about something and it just slipped out.  The more I got “my knickers in a twist” over it, the stronger it became, and I had not the slightest clue why.

            On rare occasions, you could easily tell that my dad was from Scotland, and if you had a good ear, which part.  The r’s are more pronounced, the words are spoken faster, and words like you and speaking and said like yeh and speakin’.  This could have been the source of my selective accent.  Even though I was raised in a community where American was the accent, my dad had a greater influence on my speech.  It is often said that kids learn the most from their parent’s behaviour and language.  When my dad was in a familiar environment he resorted back to his natural language.  I suspect this the reason why I occasionally spoke with a different accent. 

            Although I speak with a slight Scottish accent on some occasions, my more dominant accent is no dubitably American.  Every year, my family and I take a plane all the way to Scotland.  In Scotland we see my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandmother, and friends; all of them of finding me sounding too American.  “You should come stay with us for a year.  Get a real authentic Scottish accent!” My auntie would exclaim to my sister and I.  “I wish!” we would both wishfully reply.  “You could pass off as one of the girls in the village with your appearance, all you would have to do is get rid of that accent.  If you lived here you could get a strong quite fast.” My grandma would tell me every time I bumped into her in the hallway.  I am never sure whether she is genuine or just wants us to move so she could be closer to us.  My family in Scotland, I couldn’t sound any more American, yet my friends at home criticize me for sounding a bit British.

            For the most part, having a American-scotch accent has not been a bother.  Most people that I converse with do not even notice the Scottish part of my speech.  On those rare occasions that it becomes noticeable, most people shrug it off as if I was speaking the same way as them.  There are very few occasions where people find my accent fictitious.  My friend confronting me on the way I speak was an example of how she thought that I was choosing to speak that way.  Which is not the cause of accents.  A person and their environment determine accents, not whether they decide to be British for a day and then American the next.

            While most of the time I get off as just sounding American, there are those rare occasions where I am both American and British sounding.  Due to my family, my background, and surroundings, I have adapted my own variations of both accents.  My accent has taught me that people do not choose the way they speak, it is something that happens due to their environments. 

Everyone gets a thrill out of something, for some its running, for others its school, for me it’s doing things I’m not supposed too. Ever since I was in kinder garden I had a soft spot for being bad, for getting into as much trouble as I possibly could. I liked the feeling of being the most bad, I changed my language with each bad girl move I made having everyone gossip about how “out of control” I was. I was the first too kiss, the first to smoke, and the first to get arrested.  

It was Memorial Day weekend, my last few weeks at Germantown Friends School, the long weekend was perfect, I had a week of exams coming up and I just wanted a break. On Saturday afternoon my mom and I decided to go to the mall.  She went with her friend from out of the country, so while my mom was showing her all the stores that I hated, I asked to go to another store, and walk around for a little, she agreed and we made our separate ways. Leaving my mom was the biggest mistake of my life, I had a problem, I was a kleptomaniac, I couldn’t walk into a store without stealing something, I got away with jewelry, makeup and even shoes. The first store I went into was Saks 5^th avenue, I took a look around found some things I liked, and snatched them. The adrenaline I had when walking out a store without the alarm going off, made me feel like the greatest person alive. The next store on my hit list was Neiman Marcus, little did I know it would be the last of my shop lifting days. I was feeling lucky and went straight to the shoe department. I found the pair I wanted I slipped them on my feet and walked out the store, no alarm no nothing, until out of no where two men and one woman ran at me, they took me into the back of the mall. I didn’t know what was going to happen

            “I swear I didn’t mean to take them, I swear” I said behind all the tears

“Please whatever you do don’t arrest me, I’ll never do it again” I screamed behind tears as I dug my nails as hard into my skin as I possibly could, thinking it would take the pain away, at that moment I wished I could have taken it all back, and just be with my mom. I knew she was worrying they took my phone from me, they took everything.

“Stop crying, it’s not worth anything, you’re not getting out of this” the tall man looked mad. I wanted to change his mind so bad, just let me free. He looked me in the eye, and let out a sly smile, not in a mean way just in a “I feel bad for her” kind of way.  I felt alone, it was honestly the first time I felt as though no one was there for me, my father didn’t know what was happening and neither did my mother, nor did my friends, only I did and the scary men that watched me.

“You’ll be in the cell for six to eight hours” The cop had a rather horse voice, it didn’t make me feel comfortable, but then again I had no merit to feel comfortable I didn’t deserve any comfort, I was going to jail not candy land.  In the back of the cop car I tried to slide the handcuffs off my arm but it didn’t work. When I got to the jail cell they put me in a room, one wooden bench and a bottle of water… nothing else.

“PLEASE LET ME GO PLEASE”

“Shut up, stop crying” the cops laughed at me, as if it were some sort of joke, as if I were a clown or something

“It’s your own fault you’re in here”

I couldn’t speak , my voice was clogged my head was throbbing considering I had been crying for 4 straight hours, it was too much I couldn’t handle it.  All I wanted was my mom, I wanted her hugs and her love, I couldn’t wait for it, I wanted my cell phone I wanted a large piece of greasy pizza, I wanted to be with my friends laughing talking in my most annoying Miley Cyrus voice.  But I was in jail that’s where I was, I was stuck no way of getting out, at least not for another 5 hours.

“All I want is my mommy that’s all I want” I kept repeating to myself quietly, I didn’t want to look crazy by talking to myself but I couldn’t help it the words just kept spitting out, I could barley understand what I was saying to myself behind all the tears.

“Taylor, your mothers here, you’re free too go” The cop didn’t have any emotion in his voice, this was the scariest moment for me, having to see my mother, when she saw me she ran up and hugged me, she didn’t look angry or mad she looked sad, I had broken her heart. In the car it was quiet, I tried to let out a laugh but it didn’t work.

“I’m really hungry can we go to McDonalds” I said, I couldn’t cry anymore my voice was just sad, empty to say the least.

“No, I have to drive you too your father immediately” My mother said, her voice sounded as if she was about to cry.

“I tried to hide it from him, but there was no way I could” She said to me after a long awkward silence. That night my dad was staying at the Ronald McDonald house, doing an overnight volunteer shift.  When I got there my dad came out to let us in.

“Did they put you in handcuffs” The first thing he said to me, I looked at him solemnly and nodded my head yes, his voice wasn’t angry either much like my mothers he sounded really sad. He hugged me tight, and sent me up to his room, he brought me cake and cereal and put the t.v on and told me to wait there. While in there I checked my phone, I had about 30 missed calls. Both my parents made me promise not tell a soul, it was something they wanted kept as a deep secret.

This changed me forever, it changed the way I acted and who I was, which resulted in a change of language, the way I spoke and acted like the nothing ever mattered changed, I started too care, I dropped the bad girl language and moved on too a more mature settled language, never would I want to relive 

English Essay ( Languages by Keiasha Lumpkins)

When you are from where I am from, you have a choice to be with a certain group of kids. Sometimes when you aren’t in that group, you tend to catch on regardless. I never understood this “belonging to a certain group”. With me, I don’t consider myself belonging to a certain group. I just think that I am automatically put in that group because of where I am from and what I am attached to.

A lot of times when I am with my friends, there are things that they expect you to do and not to do. One time my friends and I were hanging out in from of my house. We all were laughing and joking around. Something I said shocked my friend. We were sitting in front of my house, he said, “Yo its cold outside, I be freezing my but off out here like WTF!” Then added on, “I know it really is cold out here.” After I said that all my friends laughed. They said that I sound like a “white girl”. I didn’t take offense when he said that, but when I think about it, how can you sound like a “white girl”.  I was wondering how is that possible to sound like someone I’m not. I didn’t think anything of it. A lot of times when I talk to my friends I say words and phrases that they aren’t used to me saying. They always say that I talk like this because I go to a school where you have to talk a certain way. It always amuses me when my friends make fun of the way I talk. Yes, sometimes I would use the slang that my friends use, but it comes natural at times when I talk differently around them. When you are expected to talk a certain way you or do certain things other people get surprised when it turns out different. They catch the right instead of the wrong way to speak. Only time this is opposite is when I am at home and my mom hears me speaking like the way I would talk to my friend.

It’s opposite when you’re home. My mom just got me these new boots. “These jawns is nice mom”. My mom looked at me and said, “jawn? You are not outside with one of your friends you don’t talk like that in my house.” After the fact I was thinking that how what I said was wrong? Then when I thought about it my mom was right. We shouldn’t talk like that to adults because when you get out in the real world, talking like that cant gets you a job. Its as if parents, or older people in general held high standards then younger people. Older people tend to not like it when younger people talk in slang or from where I am from “ghetto.” Just like when Maxime Hong Kingston said, “her mom didn’t like it that she sounded right, and said all the words right. It seems like a lot of times our parents don’t want us to speak if they don’t speak that way. These two scenes are connected because there is a lot of irony here. When you speak proper with your friends, its as though you are speaking wrong. A lot of times when I speak with my friends I don’t talk the way I would with my as I do my mom. When I talk to my mom pronounce all my words. When you are with your friends and you say proper things, its as though I said something wrong. It gets really confusing at times.

            These two scenes connect because a lot of times you have to remember when and how you talk to your friends. The same thing goes for adults/parents. The world of language is different through people eyes. Some people don’t realize language but when you think about it, language is notice everyday, when you don’t notice.

Deciphering fact from fiction is one thing that kids don't or maybe won't fully understand; then trying to figure out the reasoning behind the moral that your parents teach you is another. Growing up, your parents or guardians instilled certain lessons of language or morals in your mind, but what happens when their plans seem to back fire and you follow another instinct; rebellion. What happens when you defy the morals and language that you were taught to think was correct? Well, I'll tell you because I can describe it to you first hand from the eyes of my own to the minds and thought of my parents in shock. 

So it was about a few months ago, six months ago. One of my best friends is a vegetarian. See at first I found this to be a real stupid, I always judged him because he was a vegetarian, I even forgot a lot of times. I was not a real considerate person towards his beliefs and how he felt about his choice to not eat meat. Till one day he when he came to me and asked me about something we’ve talked about before. 

 “Me, A vegetarian?” I had said with a astonished gasp 

“Yeah you, I bet you wouldn’t even last one day or even one hour in my shoes.” He said in his provocation voice

So once I got off the phone I took a few minutes to think to myself. ‘Since I’m a vegetarian mines well tell my family’ I said to myself. That night I went to the dinner table with more on my plate then an actual plate would be able to hold. My family dinner starts off like it usually does everybody gathers at the table and then they say their grace and we all eat. When I had got to the eating part my family had noticed that I did not take any of the roast beef that my dad had made, this made them curious. 

“You forgot something”, my dad said 

“No I didn’t, I need to talk to you guys.” I said as if the whole world was looking straight at me in a shirt that said I’m different

“Go ahead, we’re listening” My mom says in an accepting and considerate way

“So I’ve done some long and hard thinking, and I believe I’m ready to say that I want to be a vegetarian. Yeah I know it’s a big change, but I’m ready for the challenge.” I said this with power, pride, and confidence. 

My family stopped, not any type of stop but one of those what just happened stop. The moment of silence was so essential that the whole world had gotten silent. Vegetarian what? Every ones faces replied in their silence. Everyone just stared then they continued to eat. They were silent as a library. After a few minutes I had got the idea, so I put my utensils down on my plate and I stepped away from the table. I’m your typical teenager, something bad happens I leave and totally flip out to someone who understood me but doesn’t like or can’t talk. So I went upstairs and told my dog what just happened and went through everything that was bothering me at the time and moment. Pacing back and forth in my room burning holes into my ‘emotions and feelings’ so that I could calm down. After about twenty to thirty minutes my dad called me from upstairs. This made me more nervous then how I felt before I told them. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach and a little man did this hopping thing in there too. I felt as sick as a dog who just ate chocolate. As I walked down the steps I felt like I was falling into a deep dark hole, at one point I felt like I was walking into the deepest darkest depths of hell. So my whole family was downstairs in the living. They all sat next to each other, I felt like an intervention was about to take place. 

“What made you want to be a vegetarian?” My dad asked so quickly

“I actually been thinking about it for awhile and it seems like a smart choice to me. “ I replied

“Hmm,” He says with a eerie look “ are you sure your ready for such a change in diet like this?”

“Yes, as ready as ill ever be. I’m prepared to take the challenge that will change my life style.” I replied

“Well we all support you with whatever choice you made.” My mom had said to make me feel better.

So then I exited the living room to return to my comfy bed. That night was the first night of me being a vegetarian. 

Vegetarian was a foreign word in my family. It was things we saw on television, things we heard other people talk about and be, but never we. I was alienated from my family the moment I uttered the word vegetarian from my mouth. Alienated but accepted I continue to live my life and as I will continue as a vegetarian. 

Through many years intellectually you’ll notice your parents becoming more and more intact that you are not trying to disappoint them, but every structure they taught you would be more stretched out to help them understand and comprehend life as it is and the children.  I didn’t disappoint my parents but I gave them a little mental shock by telling them that I was a vegetarian.  Another example oh parents raising their children to comprehend that some things are not acceptable for times and or places. Steve Lundeberg Lundy: Acceptable language?

Some years back, I was driving with my niece from Australia, her husband Simon and another niece when I had to stop abruptly when the car in front of us did the same.

“S—,” I exclaimed, then, remembering the young women in the car, quickly said, “I mean shoot.”

“S—’s acceptable,” Simon said matter-of-factly.

In this scene the guy is talking and someone halts on his or her breaks really fast.  When this happens the man goes to curse, but he doesn’t. He did not do this because his parents had taught him not to. In many cases people would not care but he did. He was raised to learn that you are suppose to be your full blown gentleman when your around a lady. If he was around all of his friends I wonder if that would be the same. I don’t think so I think he would’ve talked around them however he felt like. 

When a parent had taught you to speak and learn a way that child tries and tries to fulfill their parents orders, but when its time to grow up and make your own choices then it’s time to defy the morals and language that you were taught to think was correct. 

Daniel Wirt 

Iron stream 

Talking to people in a manor, in which everyone can understand you, has become increasingly difficult. Now a day, we have all this new technology such as the iPod, the laptops, and the cool new phones. All of which have forms of communicating involved with them. These forms of communication all involve using language and through this communication people have found ways to dim down the amount of writing they have to do. Possibly it is because people are too lazy. There are things that are now shortened like laugh out loud= lol and k/kk= okay. These are just two of perhaps thousands of ways that people abbreviate things. 

More recently I have been noticing this becoming more evident in people’s language. People are using this to talk rather then the standard and ‘correct’ English. Why might this be? Possibly it is because people are so used to shortening words when they are using these technological devices. It has become second hand for people to write lol, kk, and ard. This is limiting the speech horizon for many people. It can be used as an advantage in some cases because other people may not be aware or this newly developed writing/speaking style but it can also be a disadvantage because it gets engraved into your head that this is correct and that this is proper. 

“Your so funny, lol,” I feel as though this is accepted today where we live, but out in another state or even another city that is right around the corner from ours may be thinking what does that mean. Now with the popularity of that word I feel as though it has spread throughout our country and most people that use these technologies are susceptible to this new form of talking. 

“Oh hey girl, how you doing?” the women said with  a look of shock on her face as if she hadn’t seen the women in a long time. 

“Oh i’m ight, how bout chou?,” The girl responded with the same amount of excitement. They both hugged and did some sort of hand shake. 

“oh girl I’m good, yo dat foul on the field was so funny like real rap yo,” 

“I know right lol,” the girl laughed in a chuckle that filled the environment with disapproval at the fact that she had just insulted the man. 

Now in this conversation that I over heard on the train there are two females interacting in a conversation after a football game. The words that they used are simply chopped up and revised English words. Making up these new words is like creating a new language that on you and the other person understand. In fact I am sure there are words that are used within one community that wont be understood to a community that is right around the corner. 

I feel as though this form of talking has taken over the people in my life. Why, just today my mom sent me a text saying “K,” not “okay.” It has become such a normal thing these days that people don’t really think twice about the way they are talking.

Speaking in a certain dialect also gives a bit of personality to you. It describes you, and it defines you. However, now that all of these technologies have introduced a whole new way of talking is it possible that we loose a bit of the things that define us? Everyone has a language identity. One that makes them, them.  For people to talk by using words that are cut down and slimmed it is perceived as an informal way of talking and it takes away from someone’s creativity. If you were to walk into a job interview and talk in such a manor then they would probably not hire you. Speaking in that manor makes you seem less intelligent and less ‘you’ but why? Is it because of whom the languages were made by? It could very well be that reason, or maybe it is the fact that it just sounds informal. I suppose we can’t know for certain but what is evident through this is that this language, ‘slang,’ is not a very good thing to get a habit on speaking like. 

“Yo I don’t fuck with no green vegetables besides green beans dog. Except for maybe some of dem hoagies and shit,” He said with a chuckle.

His friends replied with a laugh and were thoroughly okay with the way he was talking 

Now this was a person that was talking to his friends on the train. This doesn’t see like something you would want to be saying if you were in the middle of a job interview. There is an improper use of grammar and pronunciation. Thus telling the hirer that this job applicant has very little ability with talking. Jobs don’t want that form of English. Also this can be mistaken to some people because this kid has given the word “fuck” a new use.