I educate.
But, not in the way you may think.
When I say “I educate”, I’m not saying that I teach nor am I claiming to be an educator, but do believe that I use the word as a verb.
When I say “I educate”, I define it as something much deeper. Something much bigger than just you or me.
You see, I have been getting an education for the majority of my life. From my early years in preschool — where my grandmother would buckle me up in the backseat of her ‘94 black Honda Civic dressed in two twist pigtails, stockings, and a skirt that matched the barrettes in my hair — all the way up until now as an undergraduate, trekking to my 10 a.m. lectures with nothing in my system but last night’s dinner and an unnatural amount of caffeine. But within this nearly 16-year span, it is only in the latter four or five years that I truly understood why and what for.
When it came to my education, like everyone else I had to obtain one by law. But, unlike many of my peers at the time, there was also a much denser weight applied to it for me. The necessity meant something much more that was never verbalized, just unspoken and understood. School was never an option for me, be it primary, secondary, or undergraduate. It was non-negotiable — and at most times “non-entertaining” — and just like the adults in my life had their careers, it seemed that this one was delegated as mine. I didn’t understand it, and to them, I didn’t necessarily need to. I just knew I had to be good at it.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but whether I understood it or not, my education was more than just something I had to do by law. It was more than just my mom checking my report cards and progress reports for any grade that didn’t meet her expectations. My education meant more than just working hard enough to get into a good university and earn some scholarships. I didn’t have to love it, but I had to do my best, and not exactly for a what or a why, but rather, a who?
So, who do I do this for?
For my mother.
The woman who raised me all on her own with the help of the village around us. The woman who wasn’t able to fully understand the value of an education until it was her turn to teach. The woman in my life who has worked ever since she became of age, switching from odd job to odd job just to make sure that everyone else was fed, clothed, and taken care of. I’ve watched the years of labor take a toll on her physically and mentally, even as I selfishly complained about the “lengthy” eight-hour school days that I had been embarking on since what I felt was the beginning of time.
I work hard to be able to give back to you at least a fraction of what you’ve given to my siblings and I for the past 20 years. These degrees hold the sweat and tears of both you and I. These degrees would mean nothing without you as you continue to aid and stand with me by my side.
For my grandmother.
The woman who has always made sure to support every aspect of my dreams, big or small. My personal “soccer mom”. The woman who would hang up every academic certificate and verbally broadcast every single achievement of mine to any ear that would listen. The one who would listen to me read to her, from passages to whole novels, just so I could focus.
I know now that you were never afforded the same opportunities as I did. That you too sacrificed your education just to help provide at home. That much of what I do, making sure to include you, is you being able to live vicariously through me. I work hard for you so that we can share these achievements together. I work hard so that you can continue to shout my praises from the mountaintop. I work hard to earn what you deserved.
For my people.
Lucky am I to come from a lineage of fighters, related to me be it by blood or spirit. The ones who stood up amid all adversity to say enough is enough. From small acts of sacrifice to large bouts of protest, you fought so I could have just as much of a shot as everyone else. Your shouts in the streets still ring loud. The footsteps from your marches make way to pave the path that I now take. Your words hold dear in my heart, reminding me constantly that I deserve to be where I am.
I work hard to make sure that all of your work does not go to waste. I work hard to continue painting the legacy that we have earned as a culture with the tools that you left behind for me. I work hard to make a name, not for myself, but one that has been cultivated for decades by the ones who held it before me and made it their own.
For my ancestors.
Words cannot encompass all that you endured, built, and yet still conquered and persevered through. I aspire to be as resilient as you. I work hard to live out the wildest dreams of each and every one of you. I live and learn for each and every one of you. I remember you, not for your pain, but for your strength. I work and earn to achieve the things that may have felt out of reach for us before but are inaccessible no longer. I work hard because it runs in my blood. I work hard to continue to soar beyond the horizon we once knew.
But most of all, for me.
To that nerdy little girl who, at one point, loved learning even if her friends didn’t. That little girl who would trot every day at 8 a.m. to her classroom down the hall with a beaming smile and a new library book for her Accelerated Reader goal for the week. The little girl who grew to hate school, felt exhausted and uninspired, while still feeling the need to keep going. The girl who strived even when she didn’t have it in her to keep going. The girl who shot for the stars when her teachers said to downsize and aim a bit closer to home. The girl who now, knows better and understands exactly what every assignment, tear, hair pull, study session, and workbook was for. I work hard to make you proud. I work hard because, at the end of the day, we would think that we’re pretty effing cool.
My people were not always afforded the opportunities that I at least can try and apply for. Many may feel that this was hundreds of years ago, but that is not the case. Many would believe that this is no longer an issue, but that too is not true. I feel stressed. I want to quit, but I persevere. I continue on for those, both living and gone, who had to give up their chance to learn for other reasons. I continue on for my peers who realized that this version of our paths was not for them. I continue on for those who would love to be in a position similar to mine but are still not afforded the opportunity. I continue on for those who will come after me, to provide them another example of all that we can achieve.
For all of these people. For all of these reasons,
I educate.
