When I consider the oppression and hardship faced by the bilingual authors we have read in class, I find myself hard pressed to relate a part of my life that could even begin to reflect the situation of language assimilation. This is obviously because I have never had to face a position of complete loss in communication, having been a resident of my native country all my life. The only comparable scene I can recall, that at best grazes the subject matter of the authors, would be the language transformation I faced as a five year old child.



It was three days before my inauguration into the lucrative world of elementary education, and I could hardly express my overflowing excitement at the prospect. I was not the only one that was expressing excitement as I prepared for the maiden voyage of my true role as a "big kid"! My mother was seeming exceedingly proud, and appeared to gain a mysterious energy that only a mother can summon when she feels the arrival of her offspring at a prestigious landmark in their life. However beneath the proud energy she possessed, there were undertones of a less than wonderful anxiety about this change.



My mother, though a loving and caring woman who has always seen to my every need and want for happiness, had an unfortunate condition that no one seemed able to cure her of. She was a Vice-principle, and if that was not bad enough she was a good vice-principle having gained the great title of the Wicked Witch of West Tennessee.



Now comes the first problem I ever had with my dear mother. As I said, it was the third day before my proper education's commencement, and my mother who had been cuing with delight for the past month had finally sat me down and put upon her face a look of supreme will and solidarity. A face I would become quite accustomed with and learn to feel both respect and frustration for. As I sat there it was all I could do to keep from laughing considering that this was a woman who in the five years I had known her, not including the nine months in the womb, had always strived to appear at prefect peace and happiness. I soon realized that she meant business. She began her presentation by saying that I should decide whether or not I was ok with her being the vice-principal of my school. Of course, as a five year old I didn't understand her completely. I honestly thought she said she was Vice-president, but I didn't mind any way because I knew that whatever her occupation was it entailed being at my school as much as I would be, how cool is that! "Oh, to be five and an idiot." After she completed the preamble portion of her presentation, she told me that my school life would be far better if I did not try to converse with her at school as if I were her child. She said it would be far better for me if I spoke to her as any other student would, by saying Ms. Padgett instead of mom and trying not to say "I love you" as best I could.

My response to this was merely a look of what could only be expressed as "MY MOTHER HAS GONE CRAZY AND SHE TRYING TO TAKE ME WITH HER." I didn't understand what she was trying ask me to do. I was her child, so why was it she was trying to make me act as if I wasn't? I had always tried to express my deep felt love for her, as she had always done for me. So why couldn't we do the same anymore? Well seeing as how my mom did goofy stuff all the time I just decided, to say yes and go play with my imaginary friend Nanukinhifrerstaooken the III.

So, I came to class my first day and went about my business as any student would. That is until lunch rolled around and I found myself face to face with my mother, who had lunch-patrol like so many of the teachers. As everyone went into the lunchroom, in our classic straight line, we passed my mom who was controlling the flow of traffic when I opened my mouth and said this, "Hi Mommy, I love you."

Well you might think it caused a problem, and you would be wrong. When I said those dreaded words the apocalypse did not occur. There were no typhoons, no floods, no earthquakes. There was not a soul who made a big deal out of it. After all, it was kindergarten. No one even really cared whether or not I called Ms. Padgett, mom. That is until about the third grade, I was doing very well in school, and that can be attributed to good parenting. But, everyone else decide it had nothing to do with a good mom, and everything to do with a devious vice-principal, everyone who entered the third grade and was a lazy moronic buffoon at least. Most of which would be arrested for drug possession in the future. So in order to deal with this problem I had to start calling my mother the impersonal Ms. Padgett, and tried to present as little emotion as possible. This lasted for all of three seconds with small bursts of success. I found it much easier to just forget everybody else, and just talk to my mother as I pleased. After all, who were they to say how my family should operate.