March 20, 2025

By: Melinda Medina‍

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When my student, Marcus, strolled into class one morning and greeted me with a confident, “Yo, what’s good, Ms. M?” I could feel a few heads turn, the air thick with the unspoken tension of what’s deemed “proper” in a classroom. I tried my best to hold back my grin. Marcus wasn’t just greeting me, he was bringing his whole self into the room. It reminded me of myself as a kid. I could have snapped back with the classic teacher line: “That’s not how we greet in school.” But I didn’t. Marcus wasn’t being disrespectful—he was simply showing up as Marcus, with all the vibrant energy and linguistic rhythm of his world.

But here’s the thing: Marcus, like many of my students, lives in a world where not everyone will appreciate his “what’s good?” the way I do. Some spaces will judge him based on his choice of words and frown upon his authentic linguistic style, assuming his language reflects his intelligence, ambition, or character. I also know that my job is to prepare him to navigate various spaces without losing himself. That’s where the delicate dance of honoring identity while teaching code-switching comes into play.

The Brooklyn Way: Language as Identity

Growing up in Brooklyn, New York, I learned that language isn’t just communication—it’s identity. Whether it was the rhythm of my abuela’s Spanish, the sing-song cadence of the kids on the block, or the no-nonsense directness of my parents, our words wereas much a part of us as our DNA. When I showed up in spaces, so did the Brooklyn in me. Biggie Smalls did say, "Spread love, it's the Brooklyn way.” So when Marcus walked in with his “what’s good,” I saw it for what it was: an extension of his narrative, his history, and his community.

But I was quickly taught that the world doesn’t always see it that way. I remember my first job interview when I was 16 years old where I said “Nah, for real” instead of “Absolutely.”. The interviewer raised her eyebrow extremely high. As I became older and grew professionally, I quickly realized that if I wanted access to certain spaces, I’d have to learn how to speak their language without letting go of my own. That’s the lesson I wanted to share with Marcus.

The Fine Line Between Acceptance and Assimilation

Let’s be honest—our classrooms should be places where students feel celebrated for who they are and how they speak. Language carries culture, history, and pride. But in a world that still values “standard” English above all else, students like Marcus might find doors closed to them unless they can code-switch, adapting their language to fit certain environments. It’s a harsh truth I wish didn’t exist, but as an educator and aspiring leader, I’m here to prepare my students for the world they’ll face—not just the one I wish existed.

The Story of Marcus: A Lesson in Code-Switching

One day, after class, I pulled Marcus aside—not to reprimand him, but to talk. “Marcus,” I started, “you know I love how you greet me every morning, right?”

He grinned. “Yeah, Ms. M, I know. You’re cool like that.”

I chuckled. “Well, thanks. But let’s talk about this: Imagine you’re walking into a job interview or addressing a college professor. Do you think ‘what’s good’ will work there?”

His smile faded a bit, and he shrugged. “Probably not. They’d think I’m dumb or something.”

“That’s not because of you,” I said gently. “But here’s the thing: language is like a toolbox. You’ve got your everyday tools, like ‘what’s good,’ but sometimes, you need a different tool to get the job done, like ‘Good morning’ or ‘How are you?’ It’s not about losing who you are; it’s about adding to what you’ve got and giving yourself options. Sometimes, different tools open different doors."

We talked about how code-switching isn’t about erasing his identity but expanding it. He nodded thoughtfully. “So, it’s like when I talk to my grandma versus my friends?”

“Exactly!” I said. “You’re not pretending to be someone else. You’re just showing different sides of yourself depending on the situation. Same person, different tools. Both are valuable.”

Honoring the Whole Student

It’s a tricky balance, teaching students like Marcus to navigate a world that might not always value their authentic selves while fiercely protecting their right to be exactly who they are. It starts with celebrating their language and stories. In my classroom, we read literature that reflects their lives and voices. We write narratives in whatever dialect feels most natural to them. And yes, we also practice formal academic writing and speaking—not because one is better, but because both are useful.

I also teach them that code-switching isn’t a betrayal of their identity—it’s a strategy.

Acceptance isn’t about forcing students to conform; it’s about equipping them with choices. It’s about saying, “You are perfect just as you are, and here’s how you can succeed and gain access to spaces that might not see that yet.”

Teaching Beyond the Words

By the end of our conversation, Marcus had a new perspective—and a new greeting. The next morning, he walked in, gave me a sly grin, and said, “Good morning, Ms. Medina.”

That’s what it’s all about—teaching students to navigate the world while staying true to themselves, honoring their voice while helping them amplify it, and showing them that whether they say “what’s good” or “good morning,” they’ve got a teacher in their corner who sees the brilliance in both.

As educators, it’s our job to meet students where they are and help them expand their toolbox—not sothey can conform, but so they can thrive. Sometimes that means teaching them how to switch from their colloquial swagger to boardroom poise.

The Power of Code-Switching to Shatter Glass Ceilings

In the context of code-switching, the idea of using our voices to break the glass ceiling takes on a nuanced meaning. Code-switching is about leveraging linguistic versatility as a tool for empowerment, access, and dismantling the barriers that limit us.

When students learn to code-switch, they’re not abandoning their authentic selves; they’re mastering the art of using their voices to navigate and challenge environments that might otherwise exclude them. It’s a way of saying, “I understand your rules, but I’ll play the game on my terms.” This duality—honoring their identity while expanding their toolbox—is what equips them to break the glass ceilings that exist due to biases against certain dialects or speech patterns.

In the end, teaching code-switching is more than just teaching language—it’s giving students the keys to unlock doors that have been historically closed to people who speak like them, look like them, or come from where they come from.

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This article was crafted by Melinda Medina, an independent contributor engaged by CheckIT Labs, Inc. to provide insights on this topic.

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