Shameless to speak, English has Dialects.
Somandy Real,
Fremont, CA.
Many people who’s first language was not English think that they’re English isn’t “fluent”, however they are fluent, it’s just in another dialect of English they have made on their own, and it is okay.
Your accent… Are you from here?
Ivan Vazquez,
Sacramento, CA.
Although I was born and raised in San Diego, CA ; I grew up in a household that comprised of both the English and Spanish language, about 60% English and 40% Spanish. I am a child of second-generation immigrants and even though I received my entire education in English, I came to realize an accent was attached to my vocal chords. The ironic thing about it all, even when I was in Mexico among other Spanish speakers I received the same reaction and came to learn I also have an accent when I speak Spanish. I don’t necessarily feel rejected, however, on that same token I don’t really feel as I belong to either group…
Somewhere between Salsa and Country!
Stephanie Connors
Eureka, CA
Music is one of my biggest reminders of the cultures that I grew up with. It fills me with nostalgia and pride, longing and love of the people who came before me. The people from: everywhere! I love all of it now. From day to day I swirl around in a delicious mix of American, Texan, Californian, Panamanian, English, Colombian, Scottish, Cuban, German, Irish and Woman!
I’m Filipino and that means a-lot
Coby Guzon,
La Palma, CA
I’m born a Filipino, I speak English, Tagalog, Visaya, Cebuano, and a bit of Spanish. I live in America and I look Chinese. Being Filipino is not just an Asian culture it’s a mix of many cultures. I’m also a current student at Cypress College.
Actually, I speak English very well.
Guadalupe Mitchell,
Damascus, OR.
Growing up, most people just saw a little brown Mexican girl. I remember when entered the second grade and my family had a moved to a predominantly white neighborhood, I was placed in an ESL classroom. My classmates made fun of me because my Spanish was not very good. After struggling for about two weeks there, I was tested and placed in a regular classroom. I never forgot this experience.
I speak better English than you.
Nicole Huber,
Colorado Springs, CO.
I am Asian American. Being an Asian American, no one clutches their purse tighter when I walk by, and no one finds it surprising that I teach at a university. But despite Asian Americans being perceived as the “model minority,” we are not seen as “real” Americans. I was adopted by a Caucasian couple when I was two weeks old, and grew up in a Caucasian family in Colorado. There is nothing Asian about me, except my appearance, of course. Nevertheless, people often ask me what nationality I am. I always reply definitively, “I’m American.” Then they ask me where I’m from, and I say Colorado. They shift uncomfortably, and then ask again. “No – I mean… originally.” The thing that gets me is that these people aren’t even familiar with any of the various Asian countries, so I don’t even know why they are asking. I could make up a country like Kerblinkistan and they would just smile and say, “Oh, how nice. You know – I had sushi for the first time on Sunday!” Perhaps the next time someone asks me, I will reply, “Haven’t you heard? All modern humans are originally from Africa.” But I usually play nice. When I finally tell them I was born in Thailand, it is usually met with a standard response: “Oh, so you’re Taiwanese.” No, I am not Taiwanese, nor am I even Thai. I’m American. And I’m pretty sure I speak better English than you do.
Life Divided By A Common Language
David H Lippman,
Newark, NJ
My situation is different…my mother is English, my father a third-generation New Yorker, so I either sound like I come from The Bronx or from London.
The accents switch at the slight move of my tongue, which can be voluntary or involuntary. It’s involuntary if I’m talking about specific subjects. I can’t talk about baseball in an English accent. I can’t talk about British history in an American accent. It even impacts my emotional reactions. I can only say, “Bloody hell” in an English accent and “”Ya gotta be kidding me” in an American accent.
On numerous occasions, I will say some phrases in the “wrong accent,” which is involuntary. An outfielder makes a fine running catch at Yankee Stadium and I say to my pal, “That was rather well done,” in an English accent. I finish buying a pizza in New Zealand, rattle off the end of the order, and add, “That’s all she wrote” in my Bronx accent. Everybody gets puzzled.
Because of this dichotomy, I failed US Navy broadcasting audition. The instructor said my voice was a cross between Walter Cronkite (CBS) and John Snagge (BBC), two legendary newscasters. “Your voice is a cross between The Bronx and London,” the instructor said, which I knew.
However, I answered him, “Well, look here, old boy, (British) what the **** are youse talkin’ about? (Bronx)”
They sent me to a broadcast unit anyway, where, among other things, I had a radio show, and my Senior Chief, a great character, called me in said, “Dave, if you ever say ‘shhedule’ instead of ‘schedule’ again, I’ll kill you. It wasn’t the only time I lapsed into English on the station…I introduced a segment on the Nagasaki bombing by quoting William Shakespeare…in English. British English. Our headquarters guys commented on the segment: “Why is the narration in an English accent?”
When the sergeant who did the markup came to us, she got NOTHING but the English accent from me. She was puzzled and amused.
It leads to other things, some bad, some good. The bad was when I was a kid and my English voice was associated by my schoolmates with latent homosexuality. Therefore, I had to be beaten.
The good side was that I could understand both British humor (based on puns, absurdity, Benny Hill in a dress, Goon Show inside jokes, and Monty Python multiple characters and animation.
And American humor: Three Stooges slapstick, Marx Brothers three-corner lunacy, Mel Brooks satire, and Abbott trying to con Costello.
Totally different theories.
Other different theories: history itself. I had trouble when the Americans fought the British in two separate wars, even if the first created America. I had relatives on the British side. I had even more trouble with historical myths, as a guy who writes World War II history for magazines. The movie “Patton” is wrong. Montgomery was not a strutting, jealous, incompetent in a Paisley scarf. There was no “Race to Messina.” The movie scene never happened. WW2 was won by John Wayne, Errol Flynn (a Nazi sympathizer), and the kid from Arkansas who was too young to die.
More importantly, I do not and never will regard the Royal Family as a source of gossip, fashion, and entertainment. My family has served them in battle and as civil servants since 1680, all over the world, sometimes landing in unmarked graves, doing so at their command. They are direct connections to Britain’s past and who we are. When the Prince of Wales speaks out for the World Wildlife Fund and environmental conservation, when the Duke and Duchess of Sussex work on the Invictus Games, when the Duke of Cambridge goes to New Zealand to console victims and survivors of a ghastly hate crime, it’s reminding New Zealand that their future king is not a distant ruler, but — as he put it — the future head of “the family.” I take that seriously. Americans do not. They worship the Kennedys and the Kardashians. The former for glamor and wealth, the latter for glamor and low-cut dresses.
A few years ago, I went to an event hosted by the British Consul-General in New York to mark the 100th anniversary of The Somme. My great-uncle went over the top on the first day with the 1st London Scottish and was never seen again. Great War language is very familiar to me. After the event, two of our diplomat hosts said to me, “Well, we’re done here. You’ll have to leave now.”
I smiled and said, “That’s a diplomatic way to say ‘Naff off sharpish,’ right?” They cracked up.
I didn’t know english, but learned.
Phillip T.,
Elk Grove, CA.
Prior to going to school I didn’t know a lick of English. My parents spoke to me either in Cantonese or Vietnamese, but when I enter kindergarten I learned English for the first time. I don’t remember much of kindergarten, I don’t even remember her name. I was in E.S.L until the 3rd grade, and now I’ve lost the ability to speak Cantonese. English is now my primary language.
We thought you didn’t speak English.
Gabriela Denise Frank,
Seattle, WA.
Despite being a Detroit native who grew up in Arizona, I was mostly surrounded by white kids like me during my childhood. Though my family is Jewish, I never experienced discrimination while living in predominately Christian communities. Even as an adult in Seattle, which is more ethnically diverse, I live in a middle class Caucasian world. It wasn’t until I visited Italy that someone helped me glimpse the other side of the race card.
The two couples were white, and they were from Virginia. They mistakenly assumed that I was an uneducated local maid because my beginning Italian was better than their attempts at the language. In 15 years of owning a home in a tiny hill town, they had never bothered to learn more than a word or two of Italian. When I greeted them with, “Buon giorno,” they smiled nervously and brushed past me. In the garden, they turned their backs to me, closing ranks so that I couldn’t sit with them, so I sat on the ground as they spoke over my head to our host. It took a while for me to realize that none of them met my eyes because, to them, I wasn’t there.
The oven buzzer went off, signaling that their welcome lunch was ready, a meal that I had helped our host cook. “Come on in – lunch is served!” I called. They froze. “Are you… American?” they asked, aghast. “Yes,” I smiled. “I live in Seattle.” One of the wives paled.
“We ignored you because we thought you didn’t speak English,” she admitted, like this excused their slight. The minute of outrage I experienced made me see that I could never know the discrimination that others face for their entire lives. For what it’s worth, I’ll never forget the lesson.
My three boys will check “other”.
Elaine Oyzon-Mast
Avondale Estates, GA
Filipino, German, English, Irish, supposedly with a touch of Cherokee and Iroquois. The melting pot serving up three beautiful boys.
America provides opportunity for English accent
Andrew,
Irvine, CA.
Love America and as an immigrant British CEO recognize the opportunity afforded by this forward thinking multi cultural environment that is SoCal
Light skinned, biracial, Jewish, Arab American man.
Arturo Hull,
Anchorage, AK.
My mom is Syrian, Iraqi, Egyptian, Greek, Italian, Swiss-German, Austrian, South German, English, Norwegian and Danish. My dad is English, Scottish, Irish, Swedish, German, Polish, and Russian. I am light-skinned and can easily pass as French or Italian, but I embrace my Arab roots to the fullest and enjoy foods like Falafel, ful medames, and baklava. I also celebrate Arab holidays, such as Syrian Independence Day and Syrian Revolution Day. When I go to synagogue for Shabbat, I try to attend a Sephardic Synagogue and I eat qitnyot on Shabbat.
Kids’ mother tongue isn’t their mother’s
Elise DuBord,
Cedar Falls, IA.
Growing up in the Midwest, I started studying Spanish as a second language in high school, fascinated with learning about other cultures and enchanted with the idea of traveling to or even living in a new country. As a middle-class white kid, I was completely unaware of the privilege I brought to learning Spanish. I was not studying Spanish because I had to; I was doing it because I wanted to. It was interesting and exotic, and there was no penalty to me if I didn’t do it well or spoke Spanish with an accent.
After living abroad for a few years in college, I was able to call myself a Spanish speaker, and as a young adult, I wore that label proudly and somewhat cockily, showing off my Spanish abilities any chance I got. One day at work, I greeted a Latina client who was about my age in Spanish. She sneered at me and forcefully (and fluently) said, “I speak English.” I was mortified. Had I offended her? Was it wrong for me to greet her in Spanish? Did I have a right to make a claim on being a Spanish speaker?
In retrospect, I realized that there are no easy answers to these questions and I had much learning to do. Becoming a fluent Spanish speaker did not give me an open invitation to speak Spanish with anyone, anywhere. With many missteps along the way, I have become more sensitive to the language needs and desires of the people I encounter. I have learned to acknowledge and accept that sometimes I am not invited to speak Spanish, and it is not my place to control that conversation.
Fast-forward to a decade later to when my kids were babies and my husband (a native Spanish speaker) and I had decided to maintain Spanish as the language of our family. I knew that I would speak to my kids in Spanish from the start; we wanted them to be able to communicate with their extended family in Puerto Rico and grow up bilingually. In all of the first exciting moments of becoming a parent and meeting your kid for the first time—a new human being who you love and talk to—I was doing it in Spanish. A mother passing on someone else’s mother tongue.
At first, it felt awkward; I realized that I didn’t know how to talk to babies in Spanish. I felt self-conscious on the playground talking to my baby girl in Spanish while pushing her on the swing. Were other people listening? Did they think I was a fake? Most of the time I have felt lucky to be part of helping my kids grow up bilingually. Other times it has felt like a lot of work.
Now my kids are in grade school and are bilingual, even as ever-powerful English persistently erodes away at the edges of their Spanish. As far as I know, they haven’t experienced discrimination for speaking Spanish. But I also recognized that they are speaking Spanish from a place of privilege too. Their fair skin, middle-class upbringing, U.S. citizenship, and perfect English has so far allowed them to speak Spanish without many consequences.
I have many hopes for my kids. I hope they don’t face discrimination because they are Latinas and Spanish speakers. I hope that they are curious, empathetic, and kind. I hope that they proudly maintain their Spanish.
Filipinos ridiculed for using proper English
Honorato Velasco,
Cleveland, OH
My brother and I spoke proper English and generally pronounced the words correctly. This meant that we were often ridiculed by our peers when we lived in the Philippines. It was almost as though our countrymen took pride in not using the proper pronunciations and accenting the wrong syllables.
Oh, do you speak English? Si.
Loreina Gonzalez,
Edwardsville, KS.
Imagine not being able to have a proper conversation with anyone, because they all assume you do not speak English. They approach you at your job because they need help finding something but before they even ask their question, they ask if you speak English. They see you and a Caucasian cashier and since they’re not Latino/a they go to the other registrar only because they feel they wont be able to communicate with you. Wrong. We are all capable of understanding.
“Change your English level to native”
Silvia Zorrilla,
Seattle, WA
After applying to jobs for over a year and not getting a single call back for interviews, a local independent recruiter told me to change my English level in my resume to native. I had listed it as advanced since English is not my first language. I was very skeptical. Surely this had nothing to do with my 40+ applications not being considered, surely. However, I went ahead and changed it. I applied that week for two jobs and got called for both – ended up getting an offer for both.
