My First Experience Of Education

My first experience with education occurred in kindergarten. I remember my mom picking up my older brother up and I from school in order to drive us to my brother 's speech class. At the time, he had a combination of a lisp and a stutter which caused these classes went on for what seemed like forever. The part of this experience that baffled me was that I never saw a problem with the way he was speaking until we arrived at the class. Now that I am older, I realize that everything that I know to be is due to someone giving their opinion on it. In my opinion, Life is the education of opinions. Each year of my life, I have been taught a variety of subjects, outside the conventional classroom setting. In the following paragraphs, I will discuss

Mainly the question I have learned to seek out is "Who" and "What". What does it mean to be educated? Some scholars may state it means to attend various Ivy League schools in which you are taught prestigious subjects in order to find a prosperous career. Additionally, they may state that education is having a plethora of degrees and written accomplishments. My question is, who decides what education is and which form of education is important or relevant. As stated above, I am eighteen years old and up to this point in my life, I have been taught that the best education I can receive is through getting a masters or doctorate degree in college. I was taught this, but who taught the people who taught me? Furthermore, who tested and proved that this is the best form of an education? These are the questions that no one appears to have the answer to and robotically sweeps under the rug as "just the way life works". My response to that statement is, who determines the way that life works if not the people who are living

When a child is born, it does not think of anything. There may be senses going off due to the light being shined and the noise in the room however, the only thing the child knows is that he or she needs to be fed. The only thing that matters is the need and instinct to live it. I did not know I was black until I was told. The color of my skin never mattered to me until I was taught and experienced how its effect on other people. My first educator on the matter of race was my Great grandmother. In her youth, she was heavily involved in the New York chapter of the NAACP and civil rights movement. She often sat me down at her feet told me her tales of beliefs and experiences. My parents resided in the Bronx but moved to suburban Suffolk County-Long Island to shelter their children. My Great Grandmother was the first person to constantly remind me of how I am different from other people in my town due to the color of my skin. On certain occasions, she would even make jokes of how dark I was, which was somewhat hypocritical. Although, I believe her heart meant well, at the time her teachings made me feel ashamed of my race rather than proud of it. This feeling of shame followed me throughout my life and didn 't subside until sophomore year in high school. Nonetheless, the impact of my experience with her form of education followed me for