Principal: “Good morning! Welcome to the school and the new grade. I hope you like it.”

Students: “Good morning!”

Principal: “How are you today?”

Students: “Good. You?”

Principal: “I am good, thank you. How was your summer?”

Students: “It was nice.”

After that, the principal then proceeded to read out each student’s name and told them which room to go to and which teacher to follow. Then I couldn't understand what she was saying because of the lack of power in my English. A quote that reminds me of that moment is by Rita Mae Brown, “Language exerts hidden power, like the moon on the tides”. The language the principle was speaking I knew had power, which made everyone respond. I also had trouble understanding the accent because from where I came from was Bangladesh and there, English is spoken in a different way. English was used because different languages were used for communication. So I ended up going to the wrong room and making a fool of my self. This made me realize the power of knowing a language.  

In Bangladesh things were spoken differently and in America things were too. A Bengali and English accent are different from each other by the sound. For a Bengali accent it sounds like the letters are softer and fast spoken than those in English. For a English accent it sounds more rougher and slow spoken. English is also spoken through vowels but in Bengali there’s no structure of sound, it just flows out. When I first came to America speaking for me was hard and it was really embarrassing because everyone knew and could speak English, but I couldn't. Quoting from The Warrior Woman, to me it seemed like almost “a telephone call made my throat bleed and took up that day’s courage,” and I felt sad sometimes about it.

ESOL teacher: “Can you ask me what time is is?”

Me: “What time is it?”

ESOL teacher: “Okay now can you read me the time?”

Me: “Its uhh four thirty-six?”

ESOL teacher: “No four thirty-nine.”

Me: “ohhh.”

Soon my ESOL teacher helped me understand English better. Quoting from The Warrior Woman, “I cut it so that you would not be tongue tied. Your tongue would be able to move in any language,” she was that. She taught me how to pronounce words and what they meant. She also helped me with my handwriting and spelling, even to this very day I can’t explain myself clear but I know the basic things to help me explain because of her. To me language is power of myself and how I express me. When speaking English I always try my best to communicate what I want to say and how I say it. When I say English language I say with power because I want others to understand me and I then feel better about my language and accent. My accent may not be very fluent like an Americans talking but I know my speech is fine because I’m embracing me and my culture, from Bangladesh.

Language is a common communication amongst others that can identify things. Things like who you are, where you come from and how you describe them and we say those thing by power which is how our words come out. There are definitions for how our words come out. One is called pialet, that mean what you say and how you say it and how a person say is by their accent. Another definition of a way of how language is said is called slang. That mean new fashionable words and phrases people use because its simple and fun to understand. Another thing is that some people may not understand you even though if your speaking the same language because in different area they have different name calling for things. For example, in Philadelphia people say hoagies which to other people are “sub sandwiches”.

Apart from being a means of communication, language is also used to gain political power. Quoting from the essay If Black English Isn't a Language, Then Tell Me, What is? By James Baldwin”- “It goes without saying , then, that language is also a political instrument, means, and proof of power”. To me it means that language isn't just used for communication but also by power. For let us instance consider two people contesting for election, and one of them knows the local language. It will be easier for the person who knows the local language to gain people’s votes and support. It will also be easier for him to help people and retain his position of power. Language also gives you the power to communicate with people who speak the same language, without letting other people know what you talking about.

¨LJ we are leaving soon for the airport now.  Your plane leaves in two and a half hours.¨ My Mom yells.

I finish packing my bag and head downstairs.

¨I am going to miss you while you're gone.¨

¨Mom, you don’t have to worry ‘bout nothing.  I’m call you when I get on the plane and when I get off.

She smiles.

I am heading to Arizona.  I signed up for an advance hitting and fielding camp at Arizona State University.  Arizona State is one of the top baseball schools in the country.  If I could impress them in a two day camp, it could help me get recruited to play for them in college.  While I am there I am going to stay with my Aunt Jenn and her husband and 4 children.  They are on my Mom’s side of the family.  After the camp was over I would get on a plane to Boston, to spend time with my dad and his side of the family.  We leave for the airport 10 minutes later.  As we get to the airport me and my Mom say our final goodbyes.

¨Call me as soon as you can.  You hear me?¨

¨Yes Mom, as soon as I board the plane and land, call you.¨

¨See you in August.¨

My Mom hugs me.  I get to the gate.  It is my first time traveling by myself.  I get scared.  I realized that this will help me in the long run.  I quickly get over my fear.  Next thing I know I am on the plane taking off, heading west.

It is important for me to say that my Mom is adopted.  She was adopted into a white family in the early 1970’s.  This means all of her family is white.  When I am with them there is a different language I use.  This happens by accident.  I grew up in a liberal, urban scene, while my family is more conservative and lives either in a suburban area or out in the country.  When I am with my Mom and sister, the urban part of me talks. The ¨Black English¨ like James Baldwin once said.  When I am with my Grandma or Aunt, I start to talk more proper.  This happens by accident.  Since I am not of the same race, I try to make language as a way to be the same as them, since in my eyes we are not.  We speak the same language, but it is so different at the same time.

¨Welcome to Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport.  We know you have a lot of options when flying, but US Airways would like to thank you for choosing us.  We hope we will see you soon.¨  The flight attendant said on the loudspeaker of the plane.  I call my Mom.

¨Yeah Mom, I’m ‘bout get off this plane.¨

¨How was the flight?¨

¨It was ard.¨

¨Ok, well call me when you find your Uncle Drew.  He got a new car, so make sure it is him before you get into the car.¨

¨Ok, I will call you when I see him.¨

I get my bags and walk out of the plane.  I put on my headphones.  Jay-Z is playing in my ears.  

¨I probably owe it to you all, proud to be locked by the force, Trying to hustle some things, that go with the Porsche.¨

I see my Uncle Drew in his new car.  He helps puts my bags in the trunk.  I get into the car and I hear a Christian gospel song.  

¨I’m so grateful for all you have done in my life.  I give my life to you.¨

I turn my music off really quick.  My uncle gets in the car and we have small talk.

¨It’s great to see you buddy, how was your flight over here?¨ He said with a smile on his face.

¨It was great, Uncle Drew.  There were no problems at all on the plane ride here.¨

¨You ready for the baseball camp on Saturday?¨

¨Yeah I really can’t wait, I have been waiting the whole summer for this moment and now it is here.

¨Well your cousins are up and waiting for you at the house.¨

We get to the house and all four of my cousins are happy to see me.  My youngest cousin, Quincy takes me to see all of her new Legos.

¨See this one.  It’s really pretty.  This is my favorite Lego because it’s pink.¨ Quincy said with a smile on her face.

¨Yeah you're right it is very pretty, my favorite part is that it is pink.¨ I said back to her.

We look and play with Legos for a couple of minutes, then it is time for her to go to bed.  I decide that I should go to bed too.  The camp doesn’t start tomorrow but I should get some rest anyway.   I text my mom and tell her that I got in safely and that I would talk to her in the morning.

On Sunday, the camp ended.  When I talked to the coaches after it ended, they said I did good and they hope to see me again.  I get in the car.  My friend texted me.

¨How did the camp go?¨

¨I fried at the man bro.  Coaches said I did good.  They hope to see me again.¨

¨Ayye I see you bro. You going to go to another camp?¨

¨Idk, maybe they have a camp in September, but that is even more money and school has started.

¨Ard I will ttyl.¨

¨Peace¨

My Uncle asked me the same question.

¨It was really good.  The coaches helped me a lot, especially when it came to hitting.  I’m glad that I came out here for the camp.¨

We head back home and I pack up.  I am heading to Boston for the rest of the summer.  I get my bags and I get back into the car.  My cousin Aiden and Holden tag along for the ride to the airport.  We talk about school and sports.  As we get to the airport we say our goodbyes.  I head to the gate.  I like spending time with my family, even if I think I have to change a little for them.

A long road stretch out ahead like a never ending run on a treadmill. Nothing is better than a road trip from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, all the way to North Platte, Nebraska, to see my aunt and her family again after 10 years. On top of that was getting to meet my cousin Jenny for the very first time. My sister Mey and I had talked to my aunt’s family countless of times over the phone and had never noticed the differences between our speech, until we had finally met.

The difference is subtle, subtle yet sharp like the sound of a pin drop. It all started from the conversation between Mey and Jenny.

“Mey, do you want a lillipop?”

“Huh, what’s a lillipop Jenny?¨

“You never had a lillipop?”

Out of all the confusion, we finally realized a lillipop is actually what we call a lollipop. Jenny grew up in North Platte, but had moved back and forth from Lincoln, she had said that most people call that type of candy a lillipop and does not hear much of the term lollipop. I come to realize that it’s not much of the full sentence that has an accent you’ll notice, but it’s the way specific words are said that makes it different.

One day my aunt called out to the little ones and I,

“Kiddos, come down it’s dessert time!” We came down to make ourselves an ice-cream sundae, and I had asked my aunt,

“Auntie can you pass me the caramel?”

Aunt and Jenny laughed, because they don’t hear it often the way I say caramel as “car-ra-mel, while they said it like “carmal.” My aunt told me this part of North Platte she’s in everyone knows everybody or knows how everyone talk, and they would know that I am not from around there right when I open my mouth. I felt as if I was a foreigner who was pronouncing things wrong. I started to feel uncomfortable with meeting my aunt’s friends or to talk to people in the neighborhood. I was a afraid to sound like a walking alien. The hardest part was being approached by nebraskan in that area, since everyone seems to love starting conversations with anyone.

Words are pronounced in many different ways throughout the U.S and some places do share similarities, yet certain places can automatically tell you’re not from that are. People of certain areas are so used to hearing what they normally hear or considers the normal. Just like in Philly with food, if you don’t use hoagie and use sub, they can identify you right there and then that you are not a Philadelphian.

Sometimes it’s the accent that can let people point out what region or place you’re from, it can just be simple by the use of a word that’s uncommon in a certain area. One day I walked into my aunt’s donut shop for breakfast. We told our aunt and uncle that Jenny and us are on a trip to Snake River Fall.

My aunt asked, “Ling, you sure you wanna go like that, where’s your tennis kiddo?

“Huh? I never brought any tennis equipment to Nebraska. auntie.”

“You don’t know what a tennis is kiddo?”

I was very confused until I finally realized she was talking about sneakers. Then on the way to Snake River Fall, we got lost, getting stuck in the middle of no where, which was surrounded by tall fields of grass. Finally saw a ranch when to ask  for which route as in “root” to take, end up realizing they call it a “rut” instead.

It’s the few words that my family and I would say to sound so foreign in that area. I started to notice how different my family and I were. As soon as we ask for directions or when I had spoke, they can tell and guess what part of the U.S we were most likely from. I knew just by the look of their faces, some even started a conversation which ended up asking or guessing what state we were from. I did not mind it at first, but the longer I stayed, the less I wanted to talk, because I got tired of hearing the differences that made me felt like the way I speak was the wrong way my whole life.  When to me, it sounds like they were the funny one. Also how they move their mouth in order to pronounce certain words, I tried myself and it felt very strange, trying to get the word out like how they did.

My mom probably had a harder time than my sister and I did  when it come to speaking without people going,

“Huh, repeat that again?”

She has an accent from her motherland combine with how english is in Philly sounded. We never thought how few words said can make you stand out so much.

A quote from the article “The Woman Warrior” by Maxine Hong Kingstan was, “It was when I found out I had to talk that school became a misery, that the silence became a misery.” It somewhat relate to how I was feeling. Even though it’s a different situation, I found myself double checking what I was going to say to make sure it was one of those words that’s pronounced differently. It’s not bad that they know we’re from somewhere else, it’s the fact that we constantly have to repeat ourselves because of a few words, or how we tend to drop the ending of the words.  

I personally like the experience in the beginning, finding it interesting how only a few states away, a word can be pronounce so different and dominant in an area. As days went on, it got less funny and interesting, but more of an annoyance like a non stop bee buzz.

“Hi. My name is Michaela. I’m thirteen years old, and I’m from Philly,” I said to the group of girls around me. It was a standard summer camp icebreaker. We came from all over the country to spend a week here in Newport, singing. Since we were spending the week together, we were all introducing ourselves, telling each other our names and homes.

“Have you always lived in Philly?” one of the girls asked.

“Yeah. Born ‘n raised,” I responded with a shrug.

“Huh. You don’t sound like you’re from Philly,” she said in an off-hand manner.

I just gave her a tight smile and shrugged, not letting her see how annoyed I was.

“You don’t sound like you’re from Philly.” I can’t tell you the number of times people have told me that. And whenever I ask them where I think I am from, their response is almost always: “I don’t know, just not Philly.” Has anyone told you that don’t sound like you’re from the place you call home? It hurts. The worst part is when they want you to prove it. The number of times I’ve taken the ‘water test’, as I’ve dubbed it, is horrible. Someone will ask me to say the word ‘water’. They expect me to say something along the lines of “wooda”, since they think that’s what everyone from Philly says. They’re almost disappointed when I say “wadar”. Often I’ll just smile, and explain that the “Philly” accent that they are expecting is a South Philly accent. And, yes, there are people who say “wooda”, but the majority of the people I know don’t say it like that.

A lot of people would say that I should be happy that I don’t sound like I’m from Philly. That way, it’ll be easier for me to get a job down the road. The thing is, I do sound like I’m from Philly. I slur my words and elongate the ‘s’, sometimes even adding an ‘h’, like almost everyone else from Philly. People just associate a “Philly” accent with the voice of Sylvester Stallone. And I’m not the only one who has to deal with this issue. This is a problem people all over the world face. We assume all people from a certain area speak like the people in movies. We think everybody from Boston says “Pak the ca,” (Park the car) or the that everybody down south speaks slowly and almost slurs a little. And nobody is immune to it.

A great example of this would be the time I met one of my closest friends, who lives right outside of Boston. Alyssa acts like your typical Bostonian (she loves the Red Sox, can’t wake up without a cup of coffee from Dunkin’, and can be a bit abrasive at times), but she doesn’t sound like one. Or, at least, she doesn’t have the accent most people associate with people from Boston. The first time we met, we both immediately started judging each other’s accents. She had said I didn’t sound like I was from Philly, and I snarkily replied, “Yeah, well, you don’t exactly have a Boston accent, either.” And before you judge, I am completely aware of the hypocrite I was being in that moment. But that’s just something humans do. We judge people on what they sound like, and try to figure out their story from the moment they open their mouths. Another great example of this lies in The Hunger Games series. In every book, Katniss talks about how strangely people from the Capitol speak. She even goes so far as to mock them, even after she has met several people from there, and knows they aren’t all that bad. Their accent is vastly different from hers, so her instinct is to distance herself from it and make fun of it. We do the same. I still have the impression that all people from Boston say “Pak the ca”, even though I know people from that area who don’t.

And, like I said before, those thoughts hurt. The place you call home is a key part of your identity. It’s one of the first things you tell people when you meet them. So, when people tell you that you don’t sound like you are from the place you call home, it’s almost like they are ripping away a piece of your identity. However, what’s worse, is when people tell you that you’re accent is undesirable. When people make fun of your accent, they make fun of the place you call home. They aren’t taking away a piece of your identity, they are telling you that an important piece of you is undesirable, that you should hide it. At least when people take away a piece of your identity, other’s can replace it. But some wounds aren’t so easily fixed, especially when they are supported by popular culture.

Gloria Anzaldua addresses this issue in her essay How To Tame a Wild Tongue. She says, “Because we internalize how our own language has been used against us by the dominant culture, we use our language differences against each other.” She was talking about actual languages, but this quote can be related to accents as well. An example of this would be what Alyssa and I did. She told me I didn’t sound like I was from Philly, so, I retaliated. Neither of us has the “standard” accent of our homes. So, we used those differences against each other, which starts a chain reaction. Once we feel inferior, we want to make others feel inferior, at least on a subconscious level. We deem any and all accents that differ from our own inferior, creating the urge to reach “the voice from nowhere”. Sometimes, we even denounce people with our own accent, because we think that it is shameful. Yet, if we do eventually get to “the voice from nowhere” , aren’t we just putting ourselves back at square one? If we have “the voice from nowhere”, people will still tell us that we don’t sound like we are from our homes.

I have no interest in this topic seeing as I have no accent, I’ve never been against other people’s accents, and never been affected by a family member/ friends accent. I’ve always heard strong accents, and maybe I have judged or poked fun, but they’ve never really affected me personally. But, this is not just about accents it’s really just about your speech in general, so I guess I will talk about what i’ve noticed with my voice, particularly how I talk to people depending on who they are. Even though I have a defining personality that stays with me everywhere sometimes I change a little depending on the person I’m with.

I walk to the cafeteria filled with loud noises, and rushing feet,. I come to the table closest to the lunch line where I find my friend Amanda eating what the school district calls “food”. I set my backpack down on the table, rush to put my frozen chicken masala in the microwave and find a seat next to her.

“Hey.”

“Hi” Amanda says.

“How has your day been going”?” I say somewhat sarcastically.  

She takes a deep breath and starts shaking her head.

“Oh god, I just can’t anymore with these teachers. They’re drawin’. I mean Mr. Abbott has a test and a benchmark due in the same week. And guess what! I have to do this asshole’s homework too! We laugh. “I just can’t anymore.’

“Well I’ve got two fuckin’ benchmarks due in the same week. Mr. Chase has one due this Wednesday, and Mrs. Jeffreys is due this Friday. Thank god she changed the date or it would’ve been due on Thursday, I would’ve been fucked!” I say in one breath.

We laugh again, and attempt to eat our lunch in this chaotic cafeteria. Eric walks over to our table and stares and Amanda’s lunch.

“Hey” We say.

“That shit looks like cat food. That’s disgusting.” He says pointing at it, laughter.

“More like cat vomit. “ I say. More laughter.

“No it looks like sweat. Like fucking sweat!” He says. Even more laughter.

“I don’t even know if I want to eat it anymore.” Amanda says.

“ I wouldn’t.” I say. Eric nods his head in agreement. Amanda throws out her food looking hungry and tired.

“Can I have some of your’s?” She says eyeing my food. I give into her puppy eyes and let her have some of my chicken masala.

When i’m with my friends I obviously talk how ever I want to. I curse, talk trash, and am overall incredibly vulgar. And so are my friends. It’s not a bad thing, everyone does it, but you only do it in front of the appropriate people. If I were to talk this way in front of an adult, I probably wouldn’t get a positive response. And, in my case wouldn’t, which is why I talk much differently with adults, particularly my dad.

I sit down at the kitchen table, waiting for my food to be served. My dad scoops up some mac and cheese into my bowl. After giving himself a serving he sits down. We start eating, at first in silence with jazz in the background, and then  my dad starts to talk.

“How was your day at school today?” He asks. He asks this a lot. I guess all parents do.

“Good.” I say.

“Well what did you do?” He asks.

“Nothing much.” I answer. “Just went to classes, talked to friends and stuff.”

“Oh. Well what do you have for homework?” He says.

“I have this history project…” I say.

“About what?” He says.

“Um, well it’s like this project where you have like a fake wikipedia page, and the topic is religion, and everyone does something different on religion. I'm doing art and religion.” I say.

“That sounds cool.” He says.

“Yeah the religion’s I’m doing are Islam and buddhism so I have to do some research on that…” And that’s when a billion other questions come in, and his knowledge on art, religion, buddhism, islam, and pretty much everything else that has ever existed. He also asks me if he can see some photos of this religious art that I have found. I of course have none, so I have to look up some google images.Then after realizing I already finished my meal I clear my plate and ask to be excused.

“Thanks for the dinner dad. It was really good.” I say.

“Your welcome. Make sure to show me those pictures!” He says.

“I will.” I say.

My voice changes when I talk to certain people. I am louder, more vulgar, and more revealing with my friends, while I don’t really know what to say with my dad or most adults in general. I don’t feel like I have to act a certain way in front them, or I have to say certain things to please them. There is no pressure, no worry with them, and I can say mostly what I want. I don’t know if this how your life works, maybe you feel the opposite way, or at least have more freedom to speak towards your parents/ adults. But, I think one thing we can all agree on is we don’t talk or act exactly the same with everyone.

“A, B, C, D, E…” “Uno, Dos, Tres, Cuatro, Cinco…” Is basically how I started speaking Spanish back in kindergarten. When I was 5, I was enrolled in Independence Charter School, where you can start taking many classes at a young age in English or Spanish. See Both my parents were born in Nicaragua, my mother’s parents are from Pennsylvania so when she was a baby they returned to New York State. My father on the other hand, lived in Nicaragua until he was a grown man. My dad since he grew up in a more open cultured place, he learned many languages like English, Spanish and a few other native languages. My mother only knows English. So my parents wanted Luke and I to have a bilingual way of learning. We continued through kindergarten with the baby steps. “A,B,C,D,E...” “Uno, Dos, Tres, Cuatro, Cinco…”

Luke and I started learning a second language at the young age of 5, my older brother was not put in the Spanish classes. My mother learned that it would be very hard for him, as learning a language comes easier as a child. I started really learning my Spanish because every class was taken in Spanish. I had “matemáticas” y “ciencias.” The teachers spoke to us in Spanish. “Aaron; nos vamos a la escuela, va a llover.” I understood them. Even when I never speak or practice Spanish outside of when I “need” to. We were told we could only speak Spanish in class as well. We were given “pases” for one time you can speak English every class. If you exceeded them the teacher would make you stay after to speak Spanish with them. “Me voy a verte durante su almuerzo.” “Si maestro.” Is what I would reply. They would push you early to ensure you learn and sustain skills in English and Spanish.

I learned Spanish but never got one of those “expected” accents. You hear the Spanish accents on TV. They like to make sure to show of their rolling R’s when unnecessary. People might say “Oh yeah, well you don’t sound like you’re Spanish.” Well then how do I know if you speak “English.” Stereotyping is a problem for Spanish speakers and many languages around the world suffer as they are supposed to fit the description of the languages “native speaker.” I am Latino and White but I look and you could say “sound” white. Many like me have had issues with stereotypes, with the American gringo look. I believe it’s because our physical look are viewed as people who can’t speak Spanish the “right” way. I am happy that I have this second language skill no matter what others think of what Spanish really is.

A struggle I have had was transitioning from learning from Spanish to English. Up until middle school every class I had was in Spanish, even music. We ended that in 6th grade. It was hard to learn the terms in math go from “pulgada to inch.” I would get things wrong on tests because of myself not knowing these words. I felt like Richard Rodriguez in math class, he said “ I remember to start with that day in Sacramento- a California now nearly thirty years past- when I entered a classroom able to understand some fifty stray words in English.” That might be a bit of an exaggeration as well as the second half only relating to myself. I felt I had to learn math twice all the time, the way I knew it and the way it was expected to be done. This was a burden on me but I overcame it. I overcame my transition from Spanish learning to English with practice, learning new things in classes in another way. I was happy that I learned my classes in Spanish as well, otherwise I could have lost my Spanish forever.

At SLA, I have gained a different way of learning Spanish, where working together rather than yourself is how we learn. I thought I should’ve started in a higher Spanish, but in Spanish 2 as a freshman with Don Marcos we often worked together to learn and show our projects to improve our Spanish. But at ICS it was more individualized and I’d say competitive. What I learned in Spanish 2, I learned in 5th grade at ICS. At ICS we had books to read constantly, long tests, projects and papers due often. ICS had a much larger commitment to Spanish, where I’d take the class seven times a week. The differences are astronomic between how I’ve been learning Spanish, and how I was originally taught. I can’t imagine not having taken Spanish classes in my life, they have been enriching to my speech in situations and how I look at cultures.

Mom: “Aaron Come help me out, I’m talking to one of my students and I can’t understand him, can you help?

Aaron: “Alright, cool.”

Student: “Que fue la tarea de la noche pasada?

Aaron: “Mom, what was the homework from the other night?

Mom: “The homework was to read the text then write a connection to yourself, and the world with the reading.”

Aaron: “La tarea fue a leer y después escribir conexiones de su mismo y el mundo del libro.”

Student: “Gracias, Ms. Sharer.”

Aaron: “Mom he said thanks.”

Mom: “Aaron yeah I know that one.”

(Mom types in de nada)

Mom: “Thanks.”

Learning Spanish hasn't just helped me but others around me. My mother does not speak much Spanish, she knows what would be called “un poquito.” She currently works at the school district building but previously worked at Furness High School. Furness housed many immigrant students from around the world. A chunk of them from Latin America. She would try to help them out of class by trying to talk in Spanish with them online. She had a hard time so when I was available, she’d ask for my help. I would be a translator for her so her students could learn and improve in class. Helping my mother goes a long way as it helps the student for the long run. My mother thanks me every time  help her out and using a skill of mine for the good of others is a great way a second language helps in the real world.

“Say it again!”

“ Wanzie”, my mom said.

“I thought it was onesie.” I said laughing.

“That’s what I said, wanzie.”

Another round of laughter came from my sister and I. My mom was thinking of gifts for her friends baby shower and the idea of a “wanzie” came up. We had never heard my mom say that word before. We thought my mom talked without an accent. All my life I thought my mom sounded like any other American, but friends and strangers would ask where my mom was from.  The rest of her family had strong accents that even made it hard for me to understand sometimes. I could never understand how she sounded different. Until that day.

My mom is Guyanese. She was born and raised in Guyana with all of her family. At the age of sixteen, she and my grandmother came to America. In high school, people couldn’t understand what she said. They made mean jokes and stereotypes about where she was from. In college, my mom wanted to go  into Communications. She wanted to be “the next Oprah”, but she knew she had to lose the accent. She didn’t end up being the next Oprah but she did get a job at our church being the Events Coordinator. This job meant she would always be on the phone and communicating with people. Her new voice was beautiful. So beautiful that she became the voice on the answering machine. But why was it good enough there but not good enough in college?

When I was younger, I never noticed my mom had an accent. People say I have lived with her so long that I wouldn’t notice. I thought my mom was like every other American mom, except for the fact that she made curry and other Guyanese foods. Whenever people asked where she was from I thought it was her appearance. Maybe Guyanese people looked differently that other Americans? But then they would say to her “Oh your accent gave it away.” “What accent,” I would think, “ she didn’t have an accent.” Sometimes, after I would hear my grandma or someone with a strong Guyanese accent speak, I would ask my mom to talk with her accent. I would say she’s “americanized” and tell her she’s lost her Guyanese roots, all jokingly of course. All along not knowing she never lost it.

My mother’s side of the family has always been strict on speaking properly. My grandmother doesn’t accept slang or incorrect pronunciation of words. “Mac and cheese” is changed to “macaroni and cheese” and “You went over her house? Like flew over it?” is asked if  “went over her house” isn’t  changed to “went to her house”. Proper speaking is a must. New slang words are the types of things she gets mad at us for saying. Because I am black, people will automatically think I speak improperly. My mom installs in my sister and I that our language is everything. People will judge you by how you speak and she doesn’t want that to happen. “Open your mouth and pronunciate,” is a line I hear a lot,”you want people to understand you.” She learned that the hard way.

In class, we read a passage by James Baldwin. In the passage, a quote stuck out to me and I felt that it would fit perfectly into my essay. The quote says “It goes without saying, then, that language is also a political instrument, means, and proof of power.” This quote relates to me because I think if my mom didn’t have an accent then she would have had a better chance at achieving her goal. I’m not saying that that is the only reason because their are many other factors, but I believe that it would have helped dramatically. If my mom didn’t have her accent, she would have had a better shot at having a job in the area she went to school for. A better job would result to a higher salary. Her accent determines what types of jobs she will get. Just like in the passage, “means” are a result of her language. She could be the smartest person in the world, but her language will counteract that. Society wants us to speak a certain way and if we don’t we are looked down upon and not given the same opportunities as everybody else.

I have had experiences where I have been told I talk “white”. This means that I speak like a “white person” would talk. I don’t think I talk like I’m “white”. I believe I talk properly when I’m around certain people. I speak differently when I’m around professionals because I know that the way I speak will determine how they view me. The way they view me determines if I get the job or the opportunity I want. My skin color already creates stereotypes so my language has to change that.  My mom tells me to always speak properly because she knows how important it is. She doesn’t want me to have limited opportunities because of the way I speak.

“Stop it!” I yelled as my voice was starting to hurt more than my head. My sister laughed and pointed, self satisfied, while my mom cupped her hand over her mouth in a failed attempt to conceal her laughter.

“I’m being serious, stop it, right now!!” In rage, I screamed again in my highest, whiniest voice. Another burst of laughter erupted, and tears streamed down my face.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry, Its just difficult to take you seriously sometimes when you are screaming in such a high voice,”  My mom laughed and I backed away.

“ I can’t control my voice!” I yelled in a final attempt, and stormed out of the living room.

Though I don’t anymore, when I was young, I had a very high pitched voice. I was always aware of this when I was little, and more often that not, my voice didn’t matter too much for me. As a little girl, having a voice like mine, along with being shorter than average, was considered cute to my peers. I learned this quickly, and I tried to use it to my advantage.

In kindergarten, pretzel day was the highlight of our school week. On thursdays, our teacher would send us downstairs to a makeshift pretzel stand that the 5th graders ran. Everyone was ecstatic and we would run down to get the first spot in line. Pretzels were only fifty cents, but I was a forgetful kid. I would always try to remember to ask my parents for pretzel money, but I rarely did. When my friends had no money to spare, I was forced to go up to the counter empty handed. I looked up at the big fifth grader and explained in my cutest voice.

“Pleeeeeese?” I asked sweetly. I remember the girl giving me the pretzel, pulling me to the side and saying:

“Don’t tell anyone, okay?” she smiled as she handed me a warm pretzel. I nodded happily and ran back upstairs. I tried using these techniques on my parents, and they began to pay off. I was manipulative and I knew it.

As I got older, my voice began to change. At age eight I still had a high voice, but it had gotten  lower. However, I still wasn’t growing taller and I was easily mistakable for somebody much younger. My so called “techniques” didn’t seem to work on my parents anymore. From years of learning to beg things from my parents or teachers, I seemed to shift into a higher octave when I was pleading. My parents recognized this, and refused to give me what I wanted when I asked for things in that tone. My parents worked with me to stop using that tone, and they would try to alert me when I was doing it. My dad would note my deviousness by saying:

“Zoe you are using your little voice” As an eight year old, this made me angry. Many times I shifted into this voice unintentionally, and I believed I could not control it. When my parents told me otherwise, I would get angry and try to explain to them that it was simply the way I spoke. Ultimately, my high voice became even more common, now happening when I was begging and upset.

By age ten, my high voice had become a part of who I was. My best friends even began to recognize when I went higher. In my family my voice was still present. At that time, our house only had one desktop computer that my older sister and I would share. When we didn’t want to play the same games together, the computer was the center of many of our arguments. One spring morning, we both wanted to get on at the same time, but neither of us was willing to sacrifice for the other. I tried to get her off of the computer chair, but I finally gave up after the realization that getting her off of the chair was nearly impossible. I stormed out of the room and told my sister that she had thirty minutes to play on the computer by herself. I waited patiently and watched the clock as I sat angrily in my room. After the time was up, I ran downstairs and into the computer room to find the door shut. I pushed on the door and felt a weight against the other side.

“Brigit, I know that you are pushing against the door, let me in!” I yelled through the small crack at the bottom of the door.

“No!! I never agreed to your rules!” my sister screamed back. I pushed on the door against my sisters weight. Each time I felt the door open just slightly, and then shut once more. I gave one final push and felt a release. As I gave the hardest push of all, my sister let go of the door and I tumbled face first into the computer room. I sat for a moment, too stunned to get up. I soon rose and began to cry for help. My mom rushed into the room and gave me ice for my head. My mom carefully asked us both what happened. When my sister explained that I had tried to kick her out of the computer room, I was furious. I yelled at her to stop talking, but she continued. I was angry, and nobody could take me seriously.

“I’m being serious, stop it, right now!!” In rage, I screamed again in my highest, whiniest voice. Another burst of laughter erupted, and tears streamed down my face.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry, Its just difficult to take you seriously sometimes when you are screaming in your little voice,”  My mom laughed and I backed away.

“ I can’t control my voice!” I yelled in a final attempt, and stormed out of the living room.

I ran back into my bedroom and slammed my door. A few minutes later I heard a knock. My mom came in and apologized for laughing at me. She said that she knew I couldn’t control my voice, and in fact that wasn’t what they were laughing at at all. My mom was just laughing about how I was overreacting about the computer and my sister agreed. She said that she couldn’t care less what I sounded like, but when I act immature it is hard for her to take me seriously. I thought about what they said and I apologized to them both for acting immature.

Soon after, I outgrew my high voice. After that argument with my mom, I started to notice when I changed my voice. Age has helped me realized how silly my arguments with my sister were. I know now that using my high voice turned into a subconscious way for my brain to get what I wanted, but it did the opposite as I grew up. Though I sometimes still worry about I sound like, I now try to be as candid as possible with my voice. When speaking about language, Mike Rose says in his essay, I just wanna be average: “It is a powerful and effective defence- it neutralizes the insult and the frustration of being a vocational kid, and when preferred, it drives teachers up the wall, a delightful secondary effect. But like on strong magic, it comes at a price.” Oddly enough,  I think that having my high voice taught me that there is always a bad side to the good. The price I thought I was paying ended up being the thing that finally made me realize and grow out of the voice I was using. As clever as I thought I was tricking the 5th graders out of pretzels, that bad habit stuck with me, and has made me who I am today.