As the eldest child of two immigrants growing up in suburban New York, I developed my code-switching skills early. Right from elementary school, I knew there was a way to speak, dress and behave at school that was very different than what we said, did and wore in a room full of chatty aunties serving tea. Sure, most kids act a little differently at home and at school, but first-generation Americans are not just trying to manage their own parents and maybe hide some bad grades. They’re trying to navigate language and culture. 

My family didn’t face the barriers that many Asian and immigrant families do. Both of my parents have been fluent in English since childhood, hold advanced college degrees, and had steady housing and transportation. But they attended school and college in another country, one where the education system and expectations are very different. So, my schooling in this country was a mix of familiar and foreign to them. Advanced Placement classes – check. Team sports – check. Music lessons – check. But what was Key Club? Why did Homecoming involve a bonfire? And why did I have to wear a dress on the days I had track meets? 

Participating fully in school activities required parent permission. For that, I often had to take a few steps farther back to explain the purpose and anticipated outcomes of my request before I could address more practical things, like cost and time commitment. And those explanations had to make sense to people who had never encountered these experiences.

It would be easy to assume that most people have a shared understanding of “the school experience,” at least on a broad scale. But the longer I work in school communication, the more apparent it becomes that each person’s interaction with their local education system is unique and nuanced, whether they are first-generation or have lost count of their generation.

In our work, we are used to segmenting audiences and tailoring messages to specific circumstances. We routinely talk with audiences who have no familiarity or prior experience with us. But even a narrowly defined group will still overlook the communication needs of some members, especially when cultural differences are involved. When families fall into multiple audiences – English language learners and special education, for example – they require even more nuanced communication from their schools. 

Part of our role in school communication is helping to create welcoming, inclusive learning environments for all students and families, especially those who challenge us to rethink how we do our work. This may mean changing the words and images we use, researching holidays we’ve never heard of before, or simply taking a step back to recognize that how we present at school vs. home vs. in the community can be three very different personas. We should aim to connect with all of them. 

Throughout Asian American and Native Hawaiian/Pacific Islander (AANHPI) Heritage Month, NSPRA is highlighting reflections and perspectives from members that explore identity, culture and the importance of communication that recognizes and connects with the many experiences represented in school communities. If you would like to contribute a personal reflection connected to  Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month or share a communications strategy, initiative or campaign your district is leading to celebrate, educate or engage your community during the month, please email editorial@nspra.org.