¨Yo bro what you doing.¨

He replied with ¨Bout to go get something to eat.¨

“Tell me how this jawn came up to me today and whisper in my ear. Like she weird forreal like who does that.¨

He says ¨Was she cute. Did she have cake ?¨

I reply with ¨She was okay. She had a little something. Nothing that noticeable but she had something.¨

As my brother and I enter the car on our way to school. I say ¨ Son papi¨ to my dad which is asking for his blessing.

He replies with ¨Dios te bendiga¨ which means “god bless you.”

My brother does the same. As my dad starts the car I turn up the radio. Switching the radio station to 96.5. We start on our way to school. My Dad starts talking about His teenage years. He starts talking about how it was hard for him to learn English and how his accent makes it hard for people to understand.While listening to him I realize that I talk differently depending on my surrounding. Like around my brother and friends I talk less educated and more slang. While around my parents I talk Spanish as well as English on their level of understanding. I also notice I try to talk more standard English in school .Its like I’m a totally different person when I’m in school than when I’m at home. As we arrive to school , My brother and I sign in and walk to a table.

Kareem says “Yo wassup.”

I reply with “sup”

As I walk up to class. I get ready to talk or try to talk standard English to my teacher.

I say “Hello Miss Pavohmov¨

She replies with “Hey Arsenio.”

I asks her “ So how has your day been.”

She replies with “Its been great how about yours.”

I reply with “My day has been good thanks for asking.”

I walk over to my seat and start getting my book out. Is not written in standard English but written in slang like how I speak at home and around friends. Anyways while reading the book I realize that people from the same city speak differently and dress different. An example is myself I’m from North Philadelphia and I say certain things differently compared to someone from South Philadelphia. Miss Pavohmov told us to put our books away and to talk about our books in our groups. I’m the first one to talk in my table about my book while everyone in my group are too shy to go first. I start talking about the main character and the problems he is facing. Once I finish they start talking about their books. Then the class really starts on its lesson.

The school day is finally over and I can go home. I wait for my brother down in the cafe. Once he gets there we leave through the front door.

“So how was your day bro?”

He replies with“It was alright.”

I ask “ have any home work?”

He says “ I have a little bit not that much how bout you?”

I say “ Nothing much just read.”

We arrive at the trolley stop. We both don't speak on the ride to the train station. My brother gives me the look. I nod my head left to right because this is not our stop. Then I rise 1 finger to indicate one more stop. He nods up and down to say okay. Once we get to the train station we walk to the Dirty Broad street line. Once we get there we wait for the train to come which usually doesn't take that long. The train comes and my brother and I enter the train and sit down not talking the whole way there. Once out stop is near I gave him the look then nod up and down indicating that the next stop is our. So we get off the train and wait for the bus to come. I do the same once we are in the bus. We are finally home where I’m free to speak slang English and not get judge by society. Once I’m home I realize that I do a lot of code switching in my daily life.  

I was reading this article called How to Tame a Wild Tongue by Glona Anzaldua.  She starts talking about how she codes switch in her daily life and says, “I may switch back and forth from English to Spanish in the same sentence or in the same word.” When I read that I  understood what she meant. She says she switches from English to Spanish in the same sentence ,I do that that a lot when speaking to my parents. An example is “Mami hoy en escuela nosotros tenemos un project but I don't really understand can you see if you can help me.” I  said mom today we were in school and we have a project but I don't really understand it can you see if you understand it. I don't only do this from English to Spanish I also do it with proper English to slang English. An example is “ Yo bro may I use your pencil.” which rarely happens but does sometimes. The switching from Spanish to English is what I call the language Spanglish. Which is just using Spanish and English in the same sentence.

Anyways enough talking about English. So let me give you some background history. Both of my parents are from the Dominican Republic that's were I get my Spanish accent from. Which I just noticed recently that I had. I also notice that I try to hide my Spanish accent when speaking English or trying to speak standard English. I take pride in my Spanish heritage unlike others who hate it. I take pride in it because that is what makes me unique from everyone else. Then again it leaves me in a disadvantage because some people might not take me as seriously because of my accent.

The reason why I code switch is because I feel comfortable doing it and it makes. When I don't talk on the train and just give out signals to my brother. Or when I speak Spanglish to my mom is because I feel comfortable with doing it. Not because I have to or because I’m force to. I do it because it is a easier way of communicating with my family and friends. I think everyone should code switch if it helps them get their idea across. I think code switching could be good and bad depending on how you are using it. You can use it to communicate to your peers easily or use it to talk trash about someone it all depends on the type of person you are.

“Chiara, bia enja.” [Chiara, come here.] said my father.

“Baba, metoonim berim bozi conim?” [Dad, can we go play?]

“Yek lahzeh lotfan.”[One second, please]

“Boshe Baba.”[Okay dad.]

I walked over to my dad, waiting for him to be done sweeping the floor. I wanted to go play with the soccer ball. It was Sunday, this meant I’d only have an hour before I had to leave for Farsi school. I really liked it there. The only bad part was the drive over. It took an hour! I always got antsy in the car.

We arrived at the doorstep of the school. The dark wooden doors were tall and heavy. I placed my hands on the doors, and pushed. I could never open the door, my dad always had to help me. As I walked in I could smell the rice. They always cooked food for the parents. They would sit down around the sofre, a table on the floor. A table cloth is placed on the floor, everyone sits around it and eats there. It is a traditional Iranian way of eating with friends and family. I saw my teacher waiting by the door to the class, I ran over, excited for the day’s lesson.

“Carfsh unja bezar.” [Put your shoes over there] my teacher says pointing to the shoe closet.

“ Salam, shoma chetur hastin?” [Hello, how are you?] I said.

“Khoob, va shoma?” [Good, and you?]

“Khoob”[Good]  I said as a smile crossed my face. I ran into the classroom, excited for today’s class. This time in my life reminded me a lot of a story I read called The Woman Warrior. In the story the author states “There we chanted together, voices rising and falling, loud and soft, some boys shouting, everybody reading together, reciting together and not alone with one voice.” She attended a school that taught her, her native language.

My sister was in the class with the older kids. I could not wait to go to that class. They got to learn how to read and write Farsi! The letters are so different, easily mistaken for Arabic. I love the Farsi language, it is like a skipping rock. You throw the rock and it hits the waters surface, flying. You keep looking at it until it stops.

I never got to take that class, though. The school moved even farther away, I was no longer able to attend. I had not completed the speaking part of school. I spent less hours speaking Farsi. My father was at work most of the day. I spoke Farsi less and less. This took a detrimental turn in my life.

I was about five years old when I stopped attending Farsi school. I was just beginning to get into real elementary school. I still attended Italian school every Saturday. Two languages swirled around the house. Italian was spoken to my mom but when my dad arrived home from work we all spoke Farsi to each other. As the years went on, English became the prominent language. Three children in one house who used to speak comfortably in the Italian and Farsi language soon began speaking more fluently in English. My brother, sister and I began to speak to each other in English, a decision that would impact us harshly.

“Posso andare fuori con amici stasera, Mama?” [Can I go out with some friends tonight, Mom?] asked my sister, Darya.

“Si a che hora?” [Yes, at what time?]

“Non lo so, come le quattro? [I’m not sure, like four?]

“Okay, fa mi quidere a Baba.” [Okay, let me ask Dad.]

“Grazie.” [Thank you.]

Most of our conversations now consist of three languages. My mom speaks Italian to us, and Farsi to my father. My dad speaks Farsi to all of us. Meanwhile we speak all three, English being the one we use most. I am able to communicate with my Italian side of the family through messages and phone calls. But because I never learned to read and write in Farsi, I am not able to communicate with my Iranian family members over social media. They live miles away on a different continent, a different time zone. A completely different land. I am only able to speak to them over phone, video chat, or when I see them in person.

I wish so much to read and write in Farsi. To speak to my family whenever I want, not having to wait for a phone call or a visit that happens once every two years. My mother leaves notes written in Italian on the kitchen table, telling us what to cook or when she will be back. She texts my sister and I in Italian. We write to our cousins in Italy through Whatsapp. My father never got the luxury to do that. He was never able to teach his children everything about his language, something that created who he was.

Over the years we have tried to learn how to read Farsi and we have made little accomplishments. A couple years back, we began to conduct our own little Farsi class at home. My mom and dad pulled out old books that teach children how to read Farsi. This was the beginning of our language homeschooling. I can now read Farsi when written in the English alphabet. However I do not do this with the grace I wish I had. I still stumble over words and hesitate when reading it.

No longer do we have our little Farsi school at home. But the classes that I have had made a huge impact on me. I found myself through my mother tongues. Although I am most comfortable in the English language, I do not consider it to be the thing that has shaped me into the person I am today. All the discipline I was taught, came from Farsi. Each language has had a factor in creating who I am today. Farsi shaped the way I speak. Not only the way I speak to family, but friends and elders. People have different dialects and we can argue that, that is what defines a person but I believe it is what shapes a person.

Language has the power to create us into influential beings. The power I possess by knowing how to speak three languages is enormous. It will allow me to get far in my life, it has given me the power to communicate with relatives and understand multiple cultures. I have been blessed with the ability to fit into a culture so beautiful and creative. Language has given me the power to find myself, to know who I want to be, to know how to be. Farsi has taught me that every human can possess elegance, language has the power that allows you to hold true to yourself and your morals.

“Okay guys, I need three people to help shlep food from my car.” My mom asks my brother’s soccer team.

They look at each other, confused.

“She needs you to carry some stuff over to the field,” I clarify.

“Oohh.” One says.

Shlep - (sh-LEP): Verb

Definition: to carry, lug.

Growing up in a Jewish family taught me a lot. It taught me about holidays, it taught me about traditions, and of course, it taught me another language. Now, I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that I learned Hebrew at Sunday School like every other Jewish kid. But, that’s where you are wrong. I did not learn Hebrew; and to this day, I do not know Hebrew. Instead, I learned Yinglish. “Yinglish” is the super original name that people use for the combination of Yiddish and English. People who speak it seamlessly can flow from English to Yiddish as if it were one language. If you don’t understand them, you better figure it out quickly.

“I hear you got a new puppy!” My mother’s friend says.

“We did!”

“Do you have a picture of her?”

“Of course! One second.” I show her a picture on my phone.

“Oh my gosh! Look at that face! Such a shayna punim!”

Shayna Punim - (SHEY-nuh puh-NIM): Noun

Definition: Pretty, sweet face.

Yiddish is the hybrid language between Hebrew and German. (In case you were wondering, that makes Yinglish a combination of German, Hebrew, and English.) It was spoken by Ashkenazi Jews all over the world. Ashkenazi Jews lived in Central or Eastern Europe. In the 19th century, my great great grandparents lived in eastern Europe, more specifically, Lithuania. Yiddish was their language. Yiddish was the common language of Jews in Eastern Europe at that time. The history of Yiddish in my family begins with my great great grandparents.

“Ugh, I have soooo much homework, it’s unbearable.” I whine.

“Stop kvetching about it, and just get it done.” My mom replies. “There is no use in talking about it.”

Kvetch - (k-FET-ch): Verb

Definition: to complain, to whine.

My great grandma, my great great grandparents’ daughter, was born in the US, and was educated in English despite her parents’ heritage. Since her parents did not know much English, they spoke Yiddish in their home. However, she had to know how to speak English to communicate with people outside of her family. While raising children, my great grandmother used Yiddish to speak to her husband so that her daughters (including my grandmother) wouldn’t understand. She forbid her daughters from learning Yiddish because she wanted them to be more American. That very quickly shaved down the Yiddish vocabulary that was passed on in my family.

“I really don’t want to go to this barbeque.” I told my Mom.

“We will only be there for a little bit. We can eat a little, schmooze a little, and then we can go.”

“Okay, but you always talk to people for FOREVER.”

“I’ll keep it short.” She promised.

Schmooze - (sh-MOOZ): Verb

Definition: to chat, talk.

My grandmother used Yiddish, but certainly not as much as her grandparents did. Since her mother did not let her learn Yiddish, she only picked up a few phrases here and there. She used these phrases while speaking to her Jewish friends or her family. She said them around the house, casually, as if you could hear them in any house on the block. The truth is, you probably could hear them in most houses on her block because she lived in a Jewish neighborhood. Yiddish has this funny way of connecting Jewish people. It is kind of like a secret language that everyone has the opportunity and resources to learn; but only the people who don’t have the choice of learning it, know it. As a writing piece by Bell Hooks says, “words impose themselves, take root in our memory against our will.” I will never be able to forget the Yiddish words that have taken root in my brain. They are a part of me.

“What happened to my coat?” Our family friend asks, confused.

“I hung it up on the coat rack. Is that okay? I can get it for you if you want.” I reply, concerned that I did the wrong thing.

“Oh, what a mensch! Thank you sweetheart.”

Mensch - (MEN-ch): Noun

Definition: a person of integrity, honor, or responsibility.

The Yiddish vocabulary quickly dwindled as it was passed down through generations in my family. But, I have tried my hardest to make sure it is still a prominent part of my life. My mom learned all the Yiddish she knows from her mom, and a little bit from her grandfather. The little Yiddish that I use, I learned from my mom. I have also picked up phrases and words just by being a part of a Jewish community. Sunday school and camp are two places that I have learned some Yiddish. However, it is hard to be a Jewish teen in the modern world, and not know some Yiddish. You might be surprised how much movies, that have a character that is a stereotypical  Jewish grandmother or a Jewish New York native, can teach you about your own culture. Most people do not realize how much you can learn from stereotypes in a movie. I feel a deeper connection to the Yiddish language because it ties me to my history. It is my job to rebuild the Yiddish vocabulary in my family and my community.

“How are you today?” I ask the airline flight attendant. I see his yamaka, he sees my Star of David necklace. We have a common bond.

“I’m good. Long flight. How are you bubala?” He knows I will understand.

“I’m alright I guess. A little restless,” I admit.

Bubala - (BUH-buh-luh): Noun

Definition: (term of endearment) sweetie, darling. Traditionally used by grandmothers, refering to children.

Over time, the Yiddish language, used by my great great grandparents, became sentences. Those sentences became phrases, and those phrases became words. And eventually those words were etched into my brain. It was as if each of my ancestors shaped the vocabulary that came before them, to make it fit their life. Now it is my turn to change the Yiddish language so that it fits with my life. All of my ancestors have passed down a set of words that has now become a part of me. I grew up with those words. I identify with them. I understand them. I appreciate them. I have shaped the words, just as they have shaped me.

That’s the whole megillah, folks.

Megillah - (ma-GIL-uh): Noun

Definition: a long, detailed story.

“This is beautiful,” my grandmother breathed. She stood in the front room with her arms around her children and her makeup immaculate. “And the kitchen installation is included?”

“Yes, of course,” said the real estate agent, but there was no happiness in her voice. She was white, and she eyed my grandmother’s Mexican family distastefully, all the way from their tea stained skin to their big brown eyes to their Spanish speaking tongues. My grandmother has always had a strong accent.

“How much?” she asked. There was a short pause.

“I don’t believe it’s in your price range,” said the agent.

“Excuse me?”

“I have some less expensive housing options I can offer you … ”

~

Ten years later, my grandmother leaned forward on her couch in California. Her big family of aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers, nieces, and nephews were all gathered around, me included. It was last summer, and she was telling us one of her favorite stories from when she tried to buy a house down the hill.

“And what happened next?” I asked.

“Well, I told her exactly where she could put her less expensive housing options -- ”

“Grandma!”

“What? She was racist! She thought we were poor because we were Mexican! When she found out the house we were considering moving out of, she got all green. Because this is a nice house! We paid a lot for this house!”

I looked up at the ceiling, at the huge windows. It certainly was a nice house, a real gem of prime real estate. My mother had told me before that it could be worth millions.

My grandmother continued. “I let her know that we wouldn’t be needing her anymore, we were gonna stay where we were.”

The whole family laughed and twittered among each other, their voices canceling out hard r’s, tough j’s and double l’s, creating a magical cacophony of sounds I’ve always loved to be in the middle of. But my family has been stereotyped because of the way they sound throughout their lives.

Humans as a species prefer to simplify. We are programmed to organize our knowledge by creating their own representations of the reality that we are perceiving, displaying its most fundamental elements instead of minute details or objective characteristics. In this way, these basic principles of the world around us become our basis for opinions, emotion control, and social cognition. Our thoughts and actions are governed by these preconceived notions, and it can take a lot to overcome them. One type of fundament is that of stereotypes.

Elliot Aronson, an American psychologist, said, “stereotypes are used to attribute the identical features to each member of a certain group without taking the existing differences among the members into consideration.” They show the viewpoint from a specific group of people, and sometimes, when exposed relentlessly for long periods of time to these opinions, humans may adopt them as their own. They are internalized during socialization. Some influential sources are parents, friends, siblings, teachers, and media. Stereotypes do not present the full picture; instead, they put forth a warped, incomplete, subjective and often false image. They are usually negative, and usually based on a traditional mindset. It is most common that arguments defying stereotypes are treated as exceptions rather than counterexamples.

Language has always been one of the most popular stereotype creators, a deciding factor about one’s place on the power hierarchy. As soon as someone opens their mouth, a million assumptions are made about their background, their history, their lifestyle, their names, their friends, their family, their culture, their choices. All from a couple of words.

Here is an example from The Woman Warrior by Maxine Hong Kingstan. In this particular story, a mother is going to a very far extent in order for her daughter to be able to speak. Here, she is explaining to her daughter why she did it. “I cut [your tongue] so that you would not be tongue-tied. Your tongue would be able to move in any language. You’ll be able to speak languages that are completely different from one another. You’ll be able to pronounce anything.” Families take ridiculous measures to make sure that their children are prepared for a world ruled by the so-called, “standard English”. It teeters on the edge of insanity, but is not seen as unrealistic. As you can see, my grandmother faced the discrimination based on speech and race. In that moment, her power had been taken away from her and she had been assumed to be everything that she was not.

It is worth noting that race is a big factor in the stereotyping of language. Many people have preconceptions about how one may speak depending on their race, and if that person’s speech turns out to fit that stereotype, they may assume that all of their preconceived notions are correct and discriminate against them all the more.

Here is another example from Kingstan’s text. In this scene, Kingstan remembers drawing pictures of all black when she could not speak English in school, and her concerned teacher gave them to her parents. “My parents took the pictures home. I spread them out (so black and full of possibilities) and pretended the curtains were swinging open.”

The concept of language being a performance fascinates me. I don’t have an accent of language barrier myself, but it’s interesting to consider the dynamics of learning a new language and always having it feel strange in your mouth, as if you’re putting on a show for someone else that you can’t quite understand the point of. Especially if learning that language was not one of your original intentions, and it was for the sole purpose of communication.

“E-nun-ci-ate your words and stop muttering!” My father says slowly to me as if I’m too slow and that is the only way to insure I understand english.

“I am enunciating. I’m trying my best.”

“Well obviously you're not, in the event that I’m still repeating myself. You need to speak more clearly and pronounce your words right.”

He does this every time I speak. He mocks how I mutter words or pronounce them the way he wants to hear them. On any occasion when I talk around him, it turns into an english lesson and he begins to turn into a strict teacher gradually getting angry with me when I don’t do exactly what he says. It’s not my fault that my tongue doesn’t make the same shape that his does. I only mutter for the reason that I no longer feel my words are important in light of the fact that what I say is never heard, only how I say it. He limits my power making me no longer want to communicate through speech, leaving me with the other ways to communicate that might not seem fit.

***

“Say ‘chips’.” My mother says as she watches the road, giggling to herself.

“Ships.” I say, knowing what comes next.

“No it’s ‘chips’, I swear you do it on purpose.” She is now laughing so much I see a tear running down her cheek.

I used to get my “sh” sound and my “ch” sound confused. I could never tell the difference;  I thought it was the same sound, spelled two different ways. I never understood why she laughed at the way I said certain words. Eventually I broke out of saying the sounds the way I did. I cannot tell the difference to this day. I only know I changed because my mom stopped laughing at me. Either way, I still feel that her laughter took power away from me just because the fact that I misunderstood the english language.

When I am at home, language used to be an area of conflict for me. My father tends to use the way I speak against me and took it as a way to make his way of speaking the superior intelligence. My mother used to do the same but unconsciously, she would use it to get a quick laugh and make her own way of speech seem superior.

***

“I don't know.’ That's my response to what feels like millions of questions he throws in my head. I can feel all the stress, the anxiety, the blood boiling. His stern voice begins to rumble in my ears-”

“What? In your fears? Speak louder. We need you to be clear, so we know you will  be clear when you go on stage.” Imani mocks the words out my mouth as I practice my poem for PYPM Slam League.

I know Imani is right and just trying to help. Also she is only making fun of the how I say things just in order to show me how people hear it and to lighten up the situation, because preparing for PYPM Slam is stressful without having to worry about your speech.

My friends at school tends to make fun of the way I say things but they use it to help me with my communications. They ask what it is I’m saying and tell me what they hear, then give suggestions along the lines of slowing down my sentences.