a lot lately. Recently all of my English courses this semester seem to blend into one another and it is like I am in one big English course of 100 people. It is not that they don’t each stand out on their own but we are all talking a lot about language and what all it does for us. So I then started to think, how does language restrict us? Is that even possible? I personally think that it can.

I love writing. Truly I spend a majority of my days writing poetry or blogging. However, as someone who values words just like anything you love, there are possibilities to hate it. For example, the other day I had lunch with a friend. I was telling her a story and I got fixated on one phrase that I just couldn’t think of. I tried to express the emotion I was trying to convey without this phrase but nothing seemed to be doing it for me so after 20 minutes went by of us brainstorming (Luckily she is an English nerd like I am) I gave up and told her that eventually I would text her what I was meaning to say. Do you know how frustrating that is? I’m sure you do. All of us are college students who I am sure have at some point in their career raised their hand in class only to have blah come out of their mouth. An incomprehensible chuck of words come out and you stammer out a, “you know what I mean”. This happens to me almost every day. I blame language for this. If it wasn’t for me knowing key phrases that get straight to the point of an emotion that is almost universal I wouldn’t have thought about one phrase for 20 minutes. I would have moved on with one of the many synonyms we came up with and would have been done.

Another example, every time I write a poem. The end. The point of writing poetry is using language uniquely. Poets are obsessed with finding the perfect combination of words. It is exhausting, my brain is constantly thinking that their are better words out there than the words I have been using for the last 22 years and that I need to discover new ones. Having this mind set can tear the joy of writing right of its fleshy bones.

Our fascination with language and words is something that is beautiful and amazing but sometimes also limits us. Forces us to think too much instead of going with that first word you think of (which growing up I was told was always the right one…clearly I’ve been doing that wrong).

What do others think? Are there any other ways that language can limit us? Is there a way to communicate emotions/ideas/etc. out there? Though language is important is there any time that you almost wish it didn’t exist?

I find it very interesting that there is no national language of the United States of America, but all of our legal documents are written in English. In Kate Elizabeth Vieira’s article “American by Paper” she brings up issues that immigrants have with this concept in America. My roommate immigrated from the Philippines when she was one year old to Maryland. When she went to kindergarten she met another Filipino girl who spoke the main language of the Philippines, Tagalog. They instantly bonded over their bilingualism and decided that they would only speak in Tagalog with one another. Their teacher told their parents that if they did not stop talking in a different language with one another they would have to go to English as a Second Language classes.

From that point on her parents only spoke in English in the home until young Jefi learned to speak only in English. This pleased her teacher but made Jefi a very angsty pre-teen. She hated that she was forced to assimilate. She could only understand her grandmother speaking in Tagalog, but could not speak her first language back to her. This summer Jefi went on a mission trip to the Philippines where she was the only one who could speak to the people in the village, but realized her vocabulary was about the same as her favorite three year old.

So I ask you fellow classmates, is this not truly a travesty? Should we learn from the error of our ways and tell kindergarten teachers to let their students speak whatever language they are most comfortable with? Or will those children fall behind in school because they are not learning to speak proper English with superhero like grammar and punctuation? How will it end?

I found it interesting to consider what it means to be academically literate and culturally literate, and how damaging it can be to a student if a teacher refuses to recognize a community dialect as ever being correct. Students associate their community dialect with friends, family, and their own personal identities as well. If a teacher is constantly correcting how a student speaks as well as whether what he/she is saying is correct the student may develop an anxiety with the way he/she speaks as well as dislike the teacher for always correcting typical conversation.

It seems that there is  a fine line between how important a community dialect and academic English  both are and which is more appropriate in certain situations. Although it is true that academic English is needed for economic success in the future, knowing one’s identity in a community and among peers is also important. Students will sometimes choose to speak in a dialect rather than Standard English because they would rather identify with peers than a teacher constantly correcting their speech.

I never considered the fact that teachers can confuse the teaching of reading to be the teaching of a new dialect. If students read a sentence and pronounce certain words with their community’s dialect, that does not actually take away from the fact that they are reading and comprehending. These students do not have a reading problem; they are using a dialect other than Standard English. However, to be able to do this a student must be able to read in Standard English before switching the pronunciation, which is actually pretty impressive.

In both of this week’s articles, I noticed a common idea that children can “read the world” before they are truly literate, with Marti and the other students in Delpit’s article “reading” verbal and behavioral shifts in their teacher, and with Eli Jr. in Fishman’s article, with Eli “reading” with the rest of the family and becoming involved in all the literate activities they partake in. I can even remember instances of my own when I “read the world”, all of these memories from when I was much younger. For  example, my mother used to work as a fundraising and development director in the city’s museum of art. I would go to her work sometimes and tag along on the tours she would give to potential donors, and while I couldn’t read the signs telling me not to touch or how far away to stand, I picked up on these behaviors from watching her and the potential benefactors. Additionally, I knew that when she began speaking to people in a different way (with larger words and a slower cadence), that it would be expected that I would try and speak “politely”, when spoken to.

Still, these memories are only from when  I was younger. Do we lose the ability to read the world as we become “literate” in the literal reading and writing sense? Or do we stop noticing these moments of subtle literacy because we are more capable of understanding our surroundings now? When was the last time you “read the world”?

I felt Delpit’s article on “Language Diversity and Learning” hit home for me because while in first grade, I was placed in ESL to help me “catch up” to the literacy level of other students in my class. Before I had moved here, I was fluent in several different languages, including English. However, English in India and Singapore differed substantially from English used in America, especially in grammar, spelling, and syntax. While I would have otherwise considered myself literate, I was suddenly faced with the daunting task of unlearning everything I had believed was accurate and proper and forced to consider myself as illiterate or on a lesser level of literacy than my fellow classmates. I became very quiet and immersed myself in books, very rarely speaking in class in order to prevent myself from further embarrassing myself (since it was bad enough that I had to go to ESL). While I excelled in other subjects, I rapidly fell behind in English and would avoid studying for it altogether. It wasn’t until middle school when I finally realized that to succeed anywhere here I had to learn to use English as a tool to my advantage.

I definitely agree with Delpit’s statement that students should be exposed to and allowed to practice alternative forms of English in a nonthreatening environment (54). Unfortunately, teachers often pick on students who require constant correcting to give them more practice with Standard English. This would almost certainly have the opposite effect than intended and would only bring forth silence (51). Do you agree with this conclusion or do you think students practicing Standard English more would be able to converse in it more efficiently?

What I found most fascinating were the differences in discourse style and language use that Delpit discusses. Delpit states the following: “When differences in narrative style produce differences in interpretation of competence, the pedagogical implications are evident” (55). White adults uniformly agreed that “episodic narratives” were wrong for some reason, and predicted that children who told such stories would do poorly in academic settings (55). The children who told “topic-centered narratives” were right and predicted that these particular children would do better in academic settings (55). Black adults, on the other hand, did not associate episodic narratives with low school success whatsoever (55). Why would a “topic-centered narrative” be considered the main form of discourse in an elementary school while an “episodic narrative” be considered incorrect when the later are explored in creative writing classes in high school or college? Why are these narratives not considered to be creative in elementary school, and what makes them wrong?

In Fishman’s essay he describes the different kinds of literacy that the Amish community learns and uses in their everyday lives. I found this article particularly intriguing because I grew up in Amish country and have had multiple occasions to interact with them. While I’ve only had wonderful experiences with these people, this article did illuminate some things that I never would have even thought about before.

While the Amish have a tight knit community, and they’re by far some of the nicest people I’ve ever met, I don’t believe it’s fair for the child to have their parents show such a disinterest in their children’s schoolwork. Last week we read about Brandt’s idea of sponsorship. In this she discussed all the ways that sponsorship was used as a tool for literacy like The Bible, word games, and letters. However, while all this positive sponsorship was being brought into the home, the parents were exhibiting negative sponsorship by dissuading the children from doing their school work over their chores.

Even though the parents want to keep their culture strong in their children, do you believe that it’s okay for the parents to put their children’s education on the back burner just to  keep it that way?

While reading the article on the views of Amish literacy, I felt a little taken aback by the fact that they are very limited in their sponsorship of literacy. Being from a extremely rural town, my family has very good relations with the Amish. We often buy and sell materials from them, help build their parts of their houses, or even share coffee with them (pretty bitter, by the way). As much as I have been around the Amish, I do not see them as inferior or at a lower literacy level than me.

One memory is very clear to me, when I first remember meeting one of the boys from the family my father was buying a table from. He ran up to me and said, “Wie bist du heit”, to which I had no response too. At the time, I had no idea the Amish spoke another language, and I was shocked at the fact my father knew how to converse with them. However, after seeing the quizzical look on my face, the boy then said he did not know I couldn’t speak their tongue and plainly stated, “How are you?”. What I did not realize is that the Amish are not only expected to know mediocre English, but a form of German as well, called Pennsylvanian Dutch. At that time, I was still young and struggling with reading in English, while he could read, write, and speak in two.

While I understand that the Amish typically only go to school through eighth grade, I am not sure that it really takes an significant portion out of their literacy ability. Am I able to read, write, and speak in a more coherent and professional way? Of course. However, they have an entire set of sponsorship in literacy that we will never get to experience. Through their religion, work, and everyday lives, they are more proficient in many areas that the non-Amish are not. It all goes back if literacy is black-and-white or more of a gray area? If one excels in one area of literacy does that put them ahead of others, or is it one variable that we should take into account?

In Lisa Delpit’s, “Other People’s Children: Cultural Conflict in the Classroom,” she begins her conclusion of the article with, “While linguists have long proclaimed that no language variety is intrinsically “better” than another, in a stratified society such as ours, language choices are not neutral,” (68).

Sadly, but seemingly unnoticed, the English language is spoken in many varieties and people can’t help but criticize the varieties that don’t follow the rules of “Standard English.” Certainly, there are rules to the written “Standard English” language, and the language that is considered the norm, or the language that is going to help one succeed, is the one that people consider superior.

If a person speaks their “home/ local community” language regularly, rather than the “national community” language or “global community” language, they are considered to be speaking incorrectly, (68). Some would probably just assume they are using slang, which according to Merriam-Webster is, “a type of language that consists of words and phrases that are regarded as very informal, are more common in speech than writing, and are typically restricted to a particular context or group of people.” Therefore, is it impolite for people to consider one’s “home/ local community” language as such, as slang? Are people considering one language inferior to the other, or not considered as educated as another just because it isn’t the one that will get you the job?

On a different note, just like Delpit’s article talked about, if a student enters a classroom and doesn’t speak proper “Standard English” and is corrected to do so, the teacher takes the risk of shutting that student down, socially and experimentally. The student is likely to close him or herself off and be less likely to try new things that require them to speak aloud or to the teacher, or to anyone who tries to correct them. Therefore, is correcting someone who doesn’t follow the rules of “Standard English” impolite, or is it necessary?

In my opinion, I do not think people realize that correcting someone could be hurtful or embarrass one, because most think that they are doing the right thing, or being helpful. When in reality, if a person is brought up speaking their “home/ local community” language, it is possible that they assume they are speaking correctly.

So enough of my rambling and thoughts, here are a couple concluding thoughts for you to consider:

First, do you find yourself criticizing or correcting the language of others when you hear them speaking a language other than “Standard English”? Why do you think you do this, or why do you not?

Second, have you ever caught yourself speaking the language of your “home/ local community”, and if so, what sorts of language do you consider such? Is giving a language variety other than “Standard English” the title of “home/ local community” wrong, is it just slang?

In Fishman’s essay she mentioned that Amish children’s’ literacy education primarily revolves around developing the ability to read religious texts. Being able to read and interpret texts has been a force pushing people to learn how to read for decades, so that was not particularly surprising. What I found to be surprising was that while Fishman states that Amish families do not go out of their way to expose their children to literacy and that schoolwork and home are two very separate things. It seemed sort of out of place to me that these parents that she was focusing on, the Fishers, would take such care to find appropriate books for their children and make sure they can read and understand the Bible, but then not concern themselves with their children’s school work.

I realize that I worded that in a biased way, “not concern themselves with” but I just can’t understand how the two processes can not be related. To me, a parent that supports literacy and amends family Bible reading and hymn singing activities so that the youngest child can follow along would also be helping them with school work or helping them study or something. But I guess, the more I think about it, parents today who are not Amish do similar things. For instance, all parents want their children to read—I hope. But all parents do not have the interest, time, or energy to help their children with their homework or to ask them about their day or to help them study or even have the faintest idea what is going on in their schooling. Today a lot of parents are working when their kids are at home doing their homework and so they don’t even get the opportunity to talk to them about what they are doing in school of to offer to help them.

In Brandt’s essay last week she found connections between parents sponsoring children’s introduction to reading. While I was reading that I found myself questioning if she had encountered any families who were unable to introduce their children to reading due to the inability to read, or lack of time, or some other factor. In the essay it did not seem so. While the Fishers are not an example of this type of family they too pushed me to question how children in these families are introduced to reading and writing. In class when Professor Vee asked us what/who our sponsors were, if I’m remembering correctly, we all said our parents, grandparents, or school. Are parents, teachers, and religion the only possible sponsors? What then happens if all three of these fail?

In Akinnaso’s work, “Literacy and Individual Consciousness,” he tells a short story about his childhood in which he recalls the time before his village was “literate.” However I am quite taken aback by this statement because his neighborhood is clearly far more literate than he gives them credit. Earlier on in the article he mentions an extended definition of literacy, which includes “perceiving, thinking, speaking, evaluating, and interacting with a characterized group of individuals and set them apart from others.” How on earth can he imply that his village cannot read nor write when he comes from a culture of diviners? Diviners in my personal opinion are some of the most literate people to exist. This could just be the Religious Studies major in me, but someone who can read signs from a supreme being is far more literate than myself. They are perceiving, thinking, speaking, evaluating, and interacting with gods! Seriously, how can they not be among the literary elite? The mere plebeian that I am can only read and write what is human and common, while these extraordinary (let’s assume they are all) men are going beyond the physical world and reading the words of the metaphysical gods who are far greater than our reality.