Samantha Beattie

Copper Stream

C Band

CHARACTERS:

Samantha Beattie

Copper Stream

C Band

CHARACTERS:

SamanthaBeattie

CopperStream

CBand

                                    AutobiographyOf A Broken Tongue

It’s hard to say what my main language is. I speak inso many different ways. What I speak now is different then what I spoke when Iwas a child. How I speak with my friends is different from how I speak withfamily. What I speak with people I hardly know differs from family and friends.When I pray to God, I know for sure I speak much different than I do withanyone else. And lets not forget the way I talk when I’m with my boyfriend. Ialso speak a complete different way when I’m around him. I guess I’m torn apartwith people.

 I guessI let people influence the way I say what I say, and what it is that I say. Butno one can take away from one language. The language my heart speaks. I guessit wouldn’t qualify as a language to both, but to me it is. It is what stuckwith me since I was little. It is what plays in my mind no matter what fallsfrom my mouth. Its not always stuck inside of me.

I guess you’d say it shows a little bit when Ifinally become close with people… or at least when I feel as if I am. The onlyplace it doesn’t show is home. Home is all-together a different language. Athome, its not that I don’t want to share who I am with them, it’s just whatwould happen if I did. With friends, my tongue is free, but at home is whereit’s stuck inside of me.  Maybeexplaining would help.

Ever since I was little, I have grown up in a housewhere everything is overshadowed by religion. I have always been forbidden tocurse and using certain inappropriate words was unacceptable. I had also beenin catholic school at the time, which was just as strict as home life. I hadn’treally noticed the oppressed language inside of me, until we had moved to thehouse that I am at now. I became open to new words, new languages, and newpeople.

I started learning little Spanish words that I usedwith the Spanish kids in class, I started cursing with people who seemed freespirited, which didn’t turn out so well. I had gotten so used to being freeoutside of the gates of my house… that I almost slipped within the walls of myhome. I remember it so clearly. We had a puppy and since my mom didn’t want itgetting upstairs and making messes, we put up a baby gate preventing him fromgetting up the stairs… and causing an annoyance when I had to make it to myroom. “I’m going upstairs, momma.” I said in a calm, innocent voice, which Iwas used to switching to while I was around her.

“’Kay baby, love you.” She’d say, with her accentthat always seemed to drag out sounds in words that weren’t normally meant tobe emphasized. I went to walk up the steps, when I had to climb over the babygate.

“Ugh! This gate is f*ckin annoyin’”. I froze, almostparalyzed with fear, hoping she hadn’t heard me as I slowly started to go upthe stairs.

“What did you just say?” The “T” seemed to be sodistinguished from the rest of the sentence. She always seemed as if she wantedthe “T’s” to be heard, but I knew she didn’t really love “T” THAT much. I frozeand thought of what to say when I finally came up with an excuse.

“I said fudgin’, mom. I know better than to curse.”My voice seemed to crackle, but she didn’t noticed.

“Good. I don’t wanna catch you cursing or I’m goingto wash your mouth out with soap.” It wasn’t proper the way she said it, yeteverything was always being said. Every vowel, consonant… just every letterseemed to be included as she spoke. I guess years of standard English inCatholic school kept her speaking the way she did. I agreed with her as I mademy way upstairs with a sigh of relief, yet I still felt fearful.

I didn’t know what was happening to me. I knew whatlanguage to keep within the home and what to keep outside. Why was I slipping?Then I noticed, the proper words and the innocent language wasn’t me. What funwas it to speak as if I was a mindless robot?

Yet, there was nothing I could do. Using the languagethat helped me express everything much better was also the type of thing mymother would never approve of. I hated the fact that I was going against mymother’s wishes whenever she wasn’t around, but at the same time… that languagewas mine. It was free, full of change, and what helped me to expresseverything. Why should I stop all together the thing that made me feel less ofa robot?

But this wasn’t the only part of my language I seemedto change when I was out of the house. I also picked up on words thatsubstituted for things. My friends and I called them insiders (little thingsthat only we would understand). My tongue seemed to be growing wild. Not onlywas I speaking proper with family and all together weird with my friends, butthe internet seemed to be a totally different language, too.

I chopped everything, used slang, different symbolsto show didn’t words, and even used dots for pauses. I seemed to speak a lotshorter online then in person. I was slowly loosing myself with every new placemy tongue found refuge. It was like my tongue was adapting to everything aroundit.  “tee tee why el” I would sayfor talk to you later online, but in person it would be “bye loser” or “peaceit” depending on moods. My tongue just wouldn’t stop.

Then, when I finally hit the stage of falling forboys, it was if I was on another terrain. I couldn’t speak proper, because I’dseem preppy. I couldn’t speak the silly i/m way, because I’d seem like a child.I couldn’t speak the way I did with my friends around them, because I’d seemlike a dork. Silly phrases I used with friends was too embarrassing to speakwith boyfriends.

It was like my wild tongue was tied down in twoplaces-family and boys. My tongue just couldn’t win.

Proper with family. Silly with friends. Hesitant andshortened online. Nice, slang-free, with adults I hadn’t known. I couldn’thandle it. It was all smushing together until I finally grew silent.

Nothing I said would show the real me, so why speakat all? Then I realized something. Why suppress myself all together because ofthe way I was torn? My tongue went from wild to not even there, but which wasreally the way for me?

I guess, after writng this autobiography and afterall the years that my wild tongue grew and then vanished and opened up again, Irealize that the real language that came from me was not the i/m speak, theSpanish with my Spanish friends, the properness with my family, the sillynesswith friends, the shyness with adults, or the special way I spoke with whomeverI was going with at the time, but the language that I spoke with my heart.

I showed myself differently in every place, becausein every place there was a different emotion that showed up within me. Adifferently feel. A different mood. I wasn’t suppressing myself at all. I wasshowing different parts of me that grew with certain people. My wild tongueremains wild and untamed. Maybe one day I will put all the different sidestogether, but until then, I will keep the different sides that make me and Iwon’t silence myself anymore, because my wild tongue should be free. I guess inall the madness at the end of this paper is basically saying this:

All the types I speak are all me, just show me indifferent ways. It’s like when you look at a painting through a feminist lensethen you see it in a Marxist lense. Its always going to be the same language,but it will always come off in a different way with the same meaning it wasmeant for. 

Thesound of “Between the Lions” could be heard throughout the living room, as mysister, a little under 2, my live-in cousin, who was around 5, and me, around 6,were blankly staring at the TV new at the blaring images of monkeys doing weirddances and loins singing and showing off books. What nonsense was this? It was maybe 11 or 12 in the afternoon, Ialways like that time of day. One, because it was time for lunch and two, thosecrappy shows like “Barney” or "Teletubes" weren’t on. Yet as thethree of us sat in front of the TV in a row from tallest to shortest, thenewest member of our group was in a tiny crib over in front of the abandonedfireplace resting his head.

            Inever understood babies, all they ever did was poop and sleep, I neverunderstood what made them so adorable. But when the one in the crib was born, Icouldn’t help but have the newest reason of why they were so spectacular. Hewas small and fragile, like the slightest touch could break him. He alwayssmelt like powder and some other weird baby smell I couldn’t describe. But everytime I was near him I couldn’t help but smile.

            Hewas just the perfect little creature, of course that’s all I ever called him “MyCreature” I never said it to the adults’ faces but that’s all I he was, “MyCreature” So as he slept, the three of us continued to engulf ourselves withdancing monkeys and talking animals. But soon as we were disrupted, a smallsound from the corner of the room called out and we all turned. “My Creature”was moving and tossing and turning, His hands were moving and he was eyes wereblinking on and off.

            AllI did was watch him laid there and cry; TV was the last thing on my mind as Iwatched him make silly gurgle noises and cry. But just when we were about toignore him, the loudest scream went off into the air scaring my sister, cousinand I off of the ground we ran over to the crib and watched the baby cry. Notknowing what to do, my cousin and my sister started making stupid faces to get “MyCreature” to stop crying. But nothing work, they even started to imitate thestupid characters we saw on TV. But when I finally had enough I simply walkedaway from the two and went upstairs. The hallway was dark, like it was all thetime at that hour. I turned right and knocked on the door, when a strongLiberian accent called.

“Come.”

            Icreaked the door opened and slipped through as a blast of peppermint and Vicksrushed into my nose. My grandmother was moving things around in her room,grandpa was probably down in the basement doing laundry and my other grandmawas probably in the kitchen. Usually they would be up here in the room talkingfor hours on end. But right now I was only looking for this grandma right here.She had her lapa wrapped around her head and another was wrappedaround her waist like a skirt. She looked up at me and I tried to remember whatI was going to say. I opened my mouth but something different came out.

“Na, nephew a vov,”

            Mygrandma looked at me and her eyes were opened wider than anything else I coulddescribe. A small smile grew longer on her face and she started to dance andcheer. She was cheering so fast I couldn’t understand everything she wassaying. Oh shit, what did I just say?I watched my grandma dance out of the room and into the living to see my cousinand sister still trying to quiet the baby down. Grandma scooped the baby up inher arms and threw him onto her back, she slipped the lapa from under the baby and tied in quickly around her and thebaby’s back. She then stood straight and walked into the kitchen with the babytied on her back. Soon, my sister, my cousin and I, were back in front of theTV watching brain-numbing shows.

            Nightfall,appeared quickly and I was cuddle up in my bed when, I had a sudden urge to see“My Creature” I crept out of my packed room and tip toed into the hallway werethe TV’s light could easily be seen in my parents’ room. I opened the door andsaw my parents sleeping deeply. The TV was loud but not loud enough to wakethem. I tip toed over to the crib and saw “My Creature” playing with his feet.I walked over to him and glared.

“You’rea strange little creature aren’t you? You sleep in the middle of the day, keeppeople up at night, cry at random times and you smell terrible a lot. But I’myour big sister so I have to do certain things for you. Even if that meansspeaking the weird sounds all the adults speak. I’m only doing it cause you’rehere now, but don’t expect any special treatment, I didn’t do everything forthe little girl baby either. So stop causing trouble ok?”

            Ipoked my finger through the crib’s bars and put my finger into his hands as hegripped it up. I shook it up and down and pulled it out. I didn’t feel likegetting out after that and just watched TV the rest of the night next to thenoisy creature’s crib.  I snuck theremote from under my parents and changed the channel to some late nightcartoons. I was giggling and laughly softly at the show until a little soundwent off. I turned over and saw a big smile on “My Creature’s” face. But Iwasn’t smiling at all.

“I’mgetting rid of you as soon as possible,” I whispered to myself.

            Butsoon, a quick memory came back to me, I was saying the exact same thing to mylittle sister. Giving me the conclusion that I was stuck with these littlemonsters I called brother and sister.

Language;La Lengua.

My language,your language.

Mi lenguaes diferente a tú lengua.

            Mylanguage consists of different elements, whether it is two different languages[Spanish and English], two different dialects [Hispanic dialect when speaking Spanish],using two different types vernacular [street vernacular versus my ownpersonal], or even switching codes. I lived in very different and diverseplaces in my life such as a suburb in Virginia where it was extremely quiet, tothe sound filled streets of West Philadelphia. I remember when I was younger wefrequently moved around. Since I had spent half my summers down South I soundeddifferent from my brother and sister. My brother and sister would call me namesbecause I talked so proper. They would say to me, “Chelsea whatchu doin'?"I would reply, "Nothing sitting here watching television." They wouldlaugh at the way I said it and I couldn't understand why. I thought I soundednormal. From then on I started to learn my way of fitting in speaking slang andlearning swear words even some Español solo mal palabras. I learned andemulated what I could to stay under the radar of bullies and haters alike. Iremember once I got angry with this some boy that played too much and Iremember saying, "What the hell is wrong with you puto! Que pasatú mente?" Over the course of my years in school I had become a mereproduct of my environment. In order to survive socially in school I had toadapt and in order to adapt I had to be around the things [i.e. people] in myenvironment. Throughout my elementary school years I became a very angry child,anyone who said anything I didn't like soon got cursed out either in Spanish orin English. I got into fights regarding the things I said to others and startedto lose some friends because of it. I was so angry all the time but I hid itwhile home to keep my other split personality a secret. Whenever I was atschool I never acted as I did at home. When I was growing up I was told tospeak proper English instead of slang.

            Mymiddle school years were a little more drama filled and I still fought hard tofit in with my peers but once again I failed to hide my high level of intellectand I was once again the nerd/geek etc. I hated being categorized under theaforementioned terms but it was better than being teased because of the way Italked. In my last year in middle school I decided I wasn't going to fit inanymore no matter what school I was going to the following year. I was gonnalet my surroundings fit me and blend to my liking instead of just trying to belike everyone else, I was gonna dare to be different and stand out. I hadfinally found my own voice and I stood up against being an outcast because Irealized something, you're only an outcast when you cast yourself out.Therefore, I was gonna be myself, just plain old Chelsea Alexis Starks fromWest Philadelphia born and raised.

            From eighth grade and throughout high school I started being myself. I expressedmyself freely and stopped caring so much about what everyone thought, about me,my speech, mi lengua, todos. When I came to SLA that's where mi lengua fueevolucia. I started writing poetry more often getting in touch with anotherside of mi lenguaje. I had deeper thoughts and feelings some of these feelingswere very dark but the manor I expressed them showed how my language andthoughts went from surface to depth. I surrounded myself with people who sharedthe same qualities as me such as poetry and began to develop a largervernacular [way of speaking].

MyDarkness

Man I'mso lost in this forest of darkness tryna climb mah way out I'm reaching for ahand to grab me but I don't feel it...I hear the voice but can't feel histouch...help me before this sea of darkness and sullenness eat away at mahsanity...

Oh dearinsanity was never the plan ya see your man was sleepin on the job and I guessthat's when you fell for me I prolli woulda fought through hell to be betterthan the ex, love you so good that you wouldn't worry bout the next mayne butsomehow sh*t got swiched around like a sex change...nope not even time couldexplain the pain that you musta felt, damn I know I musta up done some foolishsh*t cause ya bestie used to think I was cooler den Lil and dem but now she saythis n***as fulla sh*t and she ain't cool wit him

I hearthe voices in the back of mah mind screaming hollering damn I'm running outtatime I'm still reachin still dreamin to get outta this darkness I see butreally its now become part of me the darkness swallowed my sanity so now thisinsanely insane girl is lost with out a guide making no effort to hide thescars that were once wounds in her heart the pain and hurt that tore it aparther mind in an enclosed place so isolated not near Earth nor space just in thatplace where lost souls dwell deep down in the fiery walls of her own hell...

My poeticways bring me to the point at which I stand now. I'm proud of my language andeverything involved. Mi lengua es muy perfecto a mio criteria. Si no tegusta...that's just too bad. This is me...Esto es me, El Uno Y SolóFuerza. 

Language Essay

Language defines a person’s total background. Who you are, where you’re from, where you’ve been, and whomever you choose to place yourself around. Not only does someone’s life scenario define their language; a person’s language can help to define their background. Through life people’s ways of communicating with others tremendously change time and time again. As you grow older, your tone with people, the thought to pronounce certain things, the knowledge of how to switch codes if how you’re speaking isn’t acceptable somewhere or to someone, all changes along with you.

 “Un’tle Dennis!” I yelled to my uncle as I began to see his shadow coming up the outside steps. It seemed as if my stubby legs just could not bolt me to the door fast enough. “Hey cubby!” He yelled back; we hugged and began making our way back to the sanctuary of his mother or my grandmother, the kitchen. I asked him, “Where my skittles un’tle Dennis?” and he replied, ”I knew that was commin cubby…I got em’ right here”. He pulled out the candy that he brought me every time and that kept my baby teeth rotting away. People base their code switching of language primarily on how the person they are conversing with is speaking to them. If speaking to a child, you tend to change your tone or speak in a more friendly sounding voice like they speak to you. It’s only natural you speak how you are spoken to. My point is not saying that if someone with an accent is speaking you to, then you’ll respond by speaking in the same manner. My point is directed toward what level of professionalism someone has with you when you’re conversing.

Surroundings teach individuals how to react to the levels of professionalism I talked about before. My surroundings are mainly, family, friends, and the media. I watch how my elders speak in situations like an important phone call or like when my mom has “grown folks business” conversations. When I found my friends, my choice determined whether I’d speak slang; since I do speak slang, it determined what kind of slang I’d speak or how often I’d think to use slang. If a type of persona is unknown to someone and they can’t find out about it from people they know, they'll turn to the media. The media teaches so many stereotypes about cultures and races on shows or in movies; I sometimes don’t even think twice before I develop stereotypes about unknown characters. While watching a documentary in school on different languages and stereotypes that people have I took interest in a certain quote; “Language can bring us together or set us apart”, the ignorance people have about other’s languages and the stereotypes that are made make that quote play a negative part in my life. This is because; it can give a people the wrong idea about each other.

My language defines my background. Who I am, where I’m from, where I’ve been, and whomever I choose to place myself around. Not only does my life scenario define my language; my language helps to define my background. Through life, my ways of communicating with others tremendously changed, and will change time and time again. As I grew, and still grow older, my tone with people, my thought to pronounce certain things, my knowledge of how to switch codes if how I’m speaking isn’t acceptable somewhere or to someone, all changes along with me.

    What is language? Is it the very essences in which people communicate with one another or is it a term used to generalize the voice we have, the thing that separates continents, countries, cities, neighborhoods, and even people. 

    I think language is both of these things. The world is home to thousands of languages, these languages are what help people talk with each other and do simple things like asking how someone is doing today and what the weathers like out side. It’s also the thing that separates all of us, even if we’re from the same neighborhood or house. If everyone spoke the same language and in the same way, the world would be a boring place to be. Part of having so many languages in the world is to be able to share your language with people. Which in turn is sharing your culture. Although language is only a part of a culture it is one of the most important parts of culture. Language can tell where a person is from or where a culture originated.

    As a kid I was always told that I talk “white”. Being told this I, at first, didn’t know what this meant. But as the years went on I started to believe this and tried to change the way I talk by saying words like “dat”, “iz”, and “cuz”. But when I reached the age of 13 I saw that I did sound “white”. So I developed another code, one for home and one for school. But then I saw that my friends talk different then my school code and home code, and from that I developed another code for my friends. One day in school we had a program helping teens get jobs. In the program I was told that I would have to talk proper and correct English, so again I developed another code. So by the age of 14 I developed 4 codes each coming in good use at certain times in my life.

   When I’m home I talk like a responsible, respectful kid:
“Can you pass me the phone on your way to the kitchen? I gotta call ya crazy behind aunt, hahaha she is too crazy.” Says my mother as I start to get off the couch.
“Ok, but how is she anyway?” I say in a dull tired voice.
“Well how am I suppose ta know I haven’t talked to her in like 3 weeks.”
“Oh, ok sorry I forgot bout dat.”

    But when I’m with my friends I’m more of a loud craze kind of kid:
“YO, wat is dat?” Yells David form the left side of me as I walk up on the porch.
“Ya mom, hahaha. But no its just YA FACE hahaha.” Mushie says as David, Steffon and myself walk to the banister to lean against.
“So you goin to dat party on Washington lane, or ya mom got you in lock down?” I try to say without laughing knowing that he won’t be able to go.
“Naw, I gotta go to ma aunt weddin tomorrow. So she makin me come in at like 10:30 11 o’ clock.” Mushie says looking at the ground with a disappointed look on his face.

Philadelphia Young Playwrights and Temple Theater will be performing winning monologues by SLA 11th Graders Marshall Johnston and Aimee Leong. Marshall's monologue is titled "The Way I Think." Aimee's is titled "Torn Between." Each deals with personal reactions to a changing world. They are great!!

Performances are:

Thursday, Oct 15th at 7:30 PM

Friday, October 16th at 8:00 PM, 

Saturday, October 17th at 2:00 PM and 8:00 PM

For more details and directions go to the Philadelphia Young Playwrights website.