Ghenesis Mendez HumW 011 Debelius/Zackeim What Does it Mean to Be Educated?

Emotional disabilities have not always been a big part of my life. Before depression became a struggle in my own family, I was very ignorant about this topic. I didnt believe that emotional disabilities were actually legitimate. I thought of it as a way people got away with not dealing with their emotions. I didnt realize how difficult it must be to have a condition that makes life painful to live. I didnt realize how little I knew about something that would eventually become a defining factor in my life. On July 22, 2008 my uncle was killed. He was driving a group of friends to his fathers house for dinner when suddenly he realized that a police car was chasing him. My uncle is far from perfect and made a few bad choices in his life, all of which he paid for with his time. Upon hearing the sirens, his first reaction was to flee ! He sped away from the cops until he had to

stop. Immediately, he realized that he had had no reason to flee in the first place. He had done nothing wrong. He patiently waited for the police to walk over to his car or for a sign as to what was going to happen next. Neither came, instead 3 bullets were fired to his back. In less than five minutes, my uncle, who had once been so full of life, was dead and on the ground. Titi was only 27 when he was taken from us. It is easy for one to see how such a story would leave a family broken. After he died, everything was happening really quickly, there was the in New York, then one in the Dominican Republic, then came the funeral and a mass in his honor. It seemed that his presence was everywhere, yet not at the same time because my family refused to talk about it. For many months, we hung pictures of him, we held church services in his honor, we lit candles for him, but no one spoke about their feelings, or about the occurrences of that awful night.

As time went on, however, my familys and my feelings slowly crept up into conversation and we finally began to cope. Hearing his name was a little less painful every time. It seemed like everyone was starting to get be at peace with my uncle Titis death, except one person. It took me a while to notice, but every single time he was brought up, my grandmother would always retreat to her room or another place where she could be by herself. This seemed like a normal reaction to me because it was her son and I cannot even imagine the pain that she must have felt when he was taken from her at the young age of 27. No mother wants to outlive her child; thats not how nature is supposed to work. A year passed by and my grandmother was still not back to her normal self. She rarely spoke to us, and when she did, it was usually out of anger. I kept telling myself that everything was normal and that she was going to be okay soon. Another year went by, and grandmother still wasnt back. I did not recognize the new her. I kept hoping that it would be temporary, but somewhere deep inside I knew that this was not a temporary issue. The word depression came to me, and suddenly, it had a new meaning. That very day, I went to my room and looked up what depression is and how it can be fixed. I scrolled through endless pages of medical websites looking for that keyword : fix. But the more I looked, the more I realized that depression was not something that could simply be fixed. It required time, therapy, and medication in order to be kept under control. Therapy? My grandmother didnt need that. She wasnt crazy. I was so confused. Depression had always had such a negative connotation in my mind. Im not sure where it originated, but I always saw it as something that showed weakness; as a condition that didnt fit into my family. I looked at all the symptoms, my grandmother had each one: she had difficulty concentrating, she was not sleeping, she was easily frustrated, she had very little energy, and the list goes on. The signs were all there, but still, I refused to accept the fact that my grandmother had this condition.

That summer, I visited my grandmother in the Dominican Republic. She asked me how I was, gave me some food, and then silence. Not a word was said for what seemed to be an eternity. Abuela, I think you have chronic depression. The words rolled off my tongue before I could even think about them. I immediately regretted that decision and put my head down. More silence. Too much time passed by when finally my grandmother broke the silence. She simply said, Tell me more. I looked at her and I could see that she was actually interested in what I had to say. I told her everything I had found on depression; I told her about the symptoms, the possible forms of treatment, and what her next step should be. For the first time in a while, she smiled at me and gave me a huge hug. My grandma soon went to her doctor, and he confirmed that she has chronic depression. She thanked me for taking out the time to actually help her. She told me that she was relieved that there was an explanation to how she was feeling and that she wasnt just going crazy, whatever that means. In this moment, I felt like I really knew something that made a difference. My own ignorance about depression prevented me from helping my grandmother work through her condition even sooner. It also made me judge others among my community who I knew to also suffer from depression. I learned that before I make assumptions about conditions or people, I should always iknow the facts first. Education to me is taking the initiative to learn new things. Anyone can go to a class and hear what the teacher has to say. It is what you learn out of the classroom, however, that is more important. Its not about memorizing vocabulary words, or equations, its about being interested in something so much that you want to know more and then share your knowledge with others. Its also about using what you know in the right settings. I felt very educated through my experience with my grandmother because I knew something and then I shared it with her and

actually made a difference in her life. This experience truly made a significant impact on how I view education. Sept. 2013 Ghenesis, Thanks for this glimpse into your relationship with your grandmother and her struggle. Youre at your best when you get specific, as you do in your description of what must have been a difficult conversation with your abuela. Keep striving for more such specificity. When you revise, keep thinking about the final reflective portion of the essay. Is the point of the story that education is about learning new things? Or that real learning happens outside the classroom? Or that you need to overcome preconceived notions about things like mental illness? And what implications did this experience have for your educational choices? In other words, if real education happens out side the classroom, what are you hoping to achieve in 4 years at Georgetown? I look forward to working with you this semester. Thanks, Prof. D