North often gets classified as one of the most ghetto schools in Des Moines because of our large diversity, the fights, and  mostly because of the way we talk. And while I would love to go to into the unfairness of being labeled as “ghetto,” that’s not what this article is about.

Take a second to visualize this situation (and bare with me, because this is about to get a bit unrealistic): You have extremely protective parents. All your life, they’ve sheltered you, home-schooled you, and kept you at their sides. You’ve never spoken to someone you wouldn’t call “mother” or “father.”

They insist that keeping to to themselves is for you “own good” and they “only want what’s best for you.” That’s all good and well, but for your birthday, you decide you want a taste of the real world. So you ask for only one thing: “Please let me go to school with people my age.”

Unable to deny your birthday wishes, your parents comply, and with tears in their loving eyes, they send you off to your first day of high school.

Congratulations! You’ve escaped! Run to the nearest police station and tell the authorities your parents have kept you a prisoner all your life.

Just kidding.

So, you have now been enrolled at North. And it’s like a whole new world. Thankfully, the school is nothing like Mean Girls. People are nicer than you thought they would be… but you’re a little confused. You think your peers are speaking English, but it’s difficult to tell, since they keep using words like “salty” to describe someone not something.

Suddenly you hear someone yelling “Turn up for what!” down the hallway, issuing a cheer from some guy. And you think to yourself, “Turn up for what does that even mean?” But someone just cheered, so it must be a good thing. Shrugging, you push your way into class.

You make it through your day without any real problems. Luckily, your teachers do speak English, so you think you’ll be able to learn something.

At home, your parents are eagerly waiting to hear about your first day. You relay the events of you day to your parents. A little perturbed, they feed you dinner and send you off to bed. Even though it’s only like 3:30.

As the months go on, you begin to pick up on some things. Like, “putting someone on blast” means that whoever is doing the blasting is actually doing some exposing. And “ratchet” usually refers to a female who is unpleasant in appearance.

Since this story is getting a little long and I’m really off track, I’m gonna end it there. But my point was that while the use of our slang might confuse outsiders, it’s part of our culture as a school. I don’t think that speaking that way makes us ghetto. It’s a form of expression, and it is our right to use it.

Moral of the story: Speak the way you feel you can best express yourself, even if others don’t get it. They’ll get used to it.