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Mia Pippin

Malcolm Campbell

UWRT 1103

January 27, 2015

Literacy Narrative

It was balmy May day in Mt. Shasta California and the clock in Mrs. Wagner’s 2nd

grade classroom at Siskiyou Christian Elementary continued it’s relentless tick-tick-tick

while twenty something anxious and giggly 7 year olds waited for their last day of school

to end and their summer vacations to begin. It was obvious from the way I was furiously

shaking my Mary Jane-d foot under my desk (a habit that I carried with me the rest of my

life) that I was the most anxious of all that afternoon. My parents had told me they had

something very important to talk to me about after school and I silently prayed that it

wasn’t another brother or sister because I already had three of those and that was more

than enough for me. As the bell finally rang I jumped up and ran to my Cousin Tyler’s

class and we raced to the parent pick-up area. While waiting for our Nana to pull up I

hugged all of my friends and we exchanged good-byes, but little did I know that this time

our good-bye would be permanent. Our trusty old white Lumina pulled up and Tyler and

I slid in the back and our car pulled out of the school’s parking lot for the last time.

That night we were doing our nightly ritual of cooking dinner and spending time

together in the main house with my Mom’s family. Around 7 my Dad finally arrived

home covered in dirt, sweat, and a hard day’s work but he was happy to see us all the

same. I jumped on his lap the second he sat down. “Daddy can you tell us our surprise

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now? Tyler said we’re going to Disneyland again, but he always think’s we are going to

Disneyland.” I beamed with pride as the entire living room laughed at my apparently

funny statement. “Well…” my Dad began “Remember how I told you that your other half

of your family, my family lives in North Carolina?” “The North Carolina we visited

when I was younger?” “Exactly, so my Great Grandfather that lives there has recently

gone to a better place and he left us a house there.” My eyes grew bigger and bigger,

“Well how are we going to get the house here?” My parents exchanged a glance and my

father continued with his explanation “We aren’t moving the house here, you, your Mom,

your brother and sisters and I are all moving to North Carolina.” At this moment it was as

if someone had shattered my entire world and I immediately burst into tears.

Approximately an hour and a half later my parents had finally calmed me down to

gentle sob. I used each and every excuse in the book as to why I just positively absolutely

could not leave California.

- Tyler’s my best friend, I can’t leave him - I’m in the Church Play

- I love my Nana too much - Chloe’s party is this summer

- What about our pets? - I just learned my address

- My height chart is on the wall here - What about my basketball team?

- And most importantly… I don’t have any friends in North Carolina

I felt so deeply about not wanting to leave California that I even wrote a letter to Jesus

and Santa (I could not be making this up) telling them how important it was that I didn’t

move and if there was anything they could do to stop it. My attempts continued for a

couple weeks and I really thought I was getting somewhere, but instead I ended up sitting

between my Mom and little sister Olivia on an airplane by the end of the month.

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My first day of third grade was one of the scariest and most confusing days of my

life. My parent’s had promised me that morning that all would be well, they even claimed

I’d leave school my first day with new friends. The one thing they hadn’t told me was the

fact that I had to learn an entirely new language just to speak to the kids in my class!

Okay, I’ll admit this was an obvious exaggeration, the kids in my class all spoke English

(aside from a few that spoke Spanish but they were in the process of learning English) but

their slang and word choice completely blew me away.

That morning at Lindley Park I sat in the third row of Ms. Lindsey’s class next to

a blonde girl named Cara King. Cara seemed sweet enough and before class she turned to

me, “Hey Guuuurrlll!” I panicked. Did she just call me girl? Doesn’t she know my name

is Mia? My Dad told me during slavery they called grown men ‘Boy’, is this the same

thing? Is she racist? My head was buzzing so much I could barely get out my “Umm,

Hello.” Her reply however was immediate “Why do you talk so funny?” Yeah, now she

had officially made me mad. First this girl who knows nothing about me used racist

words and now she said that I was the one who spoke funny? ME. I must have glared at

her for 2 minutes straight before one of us broke the silence. “Oh shoot, I didn’t mean to

be rude. I just meant you use big words and you talk really fast, like you’re not from

here.” I took a deep breath and carefully thought about what I could say next that

wouldn’t sound ‘funny’ to her. “Yes, I am from California, I just moved here this

summer.” We continued our conversation like this for the rest of the morning, with her

practically speaking in tongues and me being extremely cautious with each and every

word I spoke so that I wouldn’t be known as ‘Valley Girl’ as Cara kept calling me.

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Just a couple hours later I found myself eating lunch with Cara and a group of her

friends; Krista, Trevor, Jacob, and Brianna. If you don’t speak Spanish and you’ve ever

tried to watch a Spanish soap opera for fun then you have a general idea for how my

lunch went. Just like when watching the telenovelas, there were many words that I knew,

but once I heard them in context I was completely lost. I had a pile of questions inside of

me ready to burst! What is mudding? Are there actual dogs in hushpuppies? Who is this

‘y’all’ person they keep talking about? I was especially puzzled when I was invited to eat

barbeque with Cara’s family and was simply told “barbeque” when I asked what we

would be eating there. Luckily Trevor told me that here in North Carolina barbeque is a

type of food you eat (not a gathering) and a Cookout is where you eat it.

My first couple weeks of school were the worse, but eventually I began to realize

I could understand the entire lingo that I heard around my classroom. My newfound

knowledge even transferred to my home life. I began to frequently use some more

common southern words such as ‘y’all’ and sweet tea, which I had assumed to be like the

hot tea my Nana always drank, became a beverage that literally changed my life. What I

consider to be the moment when my true southern speech took root happened when my

Mother had some new friends from work over. My Mom had been really stressed about

work that needed to be done on the house, and finding the best places to shop and eat and

in the middle of her rant about this I walked over to her, put my hand on her shoulder,

and with a completely serene face I looked her straight in the eyes and said the most

powerful 3 words that any good southern woman could say “Bless Your Heart.” In that

moment I knew that although California would always be in my heart, I was now a

southerner and that meant I would be talkin’ like y’all for the rest of my life.