PS 1st draft
Posted: Thu Oct 14, 2010 9:06 pm
Hi all... I have found writing the PS very difficult so far, as many do. I finished a draft and would love some feedback. Specifically, is the topic appropriate? Does the writing flow well? Does the essay show characteristics that adcomms are looking for? What did it make you think of me as a person? Are you bored to death? Anything else is welcome, of course!
There was a distinct smell of disinfectant as I walked into the classroom I would come to call mine. I paused to take in the scene: empty chairs, pristine and well-organized toys, my thoughtful and intentional lesson plan hanging on the wall. I smiled briefly, poised and ready for what the first day of school would bring. Little did I know, in a matter of hours, those chairs would be filled and peed on, the toys would be in every corner of the room, and my lesson plan would be obsolete in the wide-eyed, dimple-cheeked face of seventeen preschoolers. I went home and cried that afternoon, wondering what exactly I had gotten myself into.
The next day, that same disinfectant smell made my stomach churn. Would I forgot the words to The Itsy Bitsy Spider again today? Would I be hit, sworn at, and have my commands completely ignored for the second day in a row? I took several deep breaths and unlocked the door to welcome parents. My most difficult child of the previous day waltzed in, looking smug and ready. Every day became a question of how he would torture me. For the first couple of months, I left with bruises, bloody noses, and a sick sense of defeat.
Meanwhile, I was battling intense personal tragedy. Years of substance and alcohol abuse had finally caught up with my father, leaving him in the hospital waiting for a viable liver transplant. His liver was at 9% functioning, and his condition was getting progressively worse. I had to leave work for a week in October to help him through a surgery to remove five tumors from his liver. Unfortunately, he never recovered from this surgery; instead, his conditioned worsened every day thereafter. By late November, it had become a now-or-never situation. He called me one Friday morning while I was in class, and left me the most hopeful message I have ever heard. “Sarah, they found me a liver,” he had said in almost a whisper. His faint utterance made me weep in joy. I followed up with my grandmother that night, whose voice was almost as weak, and definitely just as tired as my father's. “He was too weak,” she started, “they could not give him the transplant.” My heart sank. This was his last chance. The next morning, I flew 2500 miles home to be with my dad. Two days later, he passed away with my hand trembling on his heart. I spent the next couple of days planning for his funeral and writing his obituary. Although the youngest child, I had always had the deepest connection with our father. There were many aspects of his life I could not condone, but we had similar interests like fishing in the creek and playing basketball at dusk. I will always remember watching Law and Order marathons, while doing books of crosswords.
It was only a few days until I was back in Phoenix. That Monday I had to be back in class, ready to face whatever my friends in room 3W-AM had in store for me. I did not have much time to grieve; I had to be able to pay my rent. I thought that going back to work so soon, and with such a high needs classroom, would prove too difficult. Instead, I went back with a renewed energy and a vigor I had not had previously. I started sticking to Orlando, my aforementioned difficult child, like glue. The boy needed attention, love, guidance, and, above all else, limits. I was the only person in his life who expected him to respect those limits, but I was determined to help him understand why they were so important, as well as help him mother see how valuable they were.
Day after day I held him to higher and higher expectations until one day in March he started to listen. I looked around and noticed he was not hitting the other students nor myself, anymore. I eavesdropped on him using one of several scripts I had supplied him with: “Can I play with you?” Shocked, tears welled up in my eyes; I had succeeded. He was not perfect, no. He was still having trouble sitting for circle, and the end of the day was always hard for him (in anticipation of going home). His mother was smiling these days, though, as she commented on him writing his name, and pointed to children she saw as his friends. At the beginning of the year, she felt he was a lost cause; now she spoke about kindergarten and reading and all things hopeful for the future. It was a great feeling, knowing, despite wanting to give up in the face of adversity, I had persevered and come out with such a positive result. The rest of my class was shinning too. Several left my class reading short words, counting and recognizing numbers well past 20, and speaking English clearly and confidently. As four and five year olds go, they were beautiful, burgeoning learners, well-equipped with basic skills and strategies for future success.
For me, that first day of school still stands out. I had felt every emotion that day. Trying to get through it, while simultaneously dealing with my father's weakening condition, was challenging and some days I felt hopeless and desperate. My incredible resilience, which I have maintained my entire life, mixed with determination and strong will, carried me through to the end of the year with awesome outcomes.
As I started this year, with a new batch of tiny, inspiring children, hat tinge of disinfectant made me smile, even laugh a little, as I knew it would not last.
There was a distinct smell of disinfectant as I walked into the classroom I would come to call mine. I paused to take in the scene: empty chairs, pristine and well-organized toys, my thoughtful and intentional lesson plan hanging on the wall. I smiled briefly, poised and ready for what the first day of school would bring. Little did I know, in a matter of hours, those chairs would be filled and peed on, the toys would be in every corner of the room, and my lesson plan would be obsolete in the wide-eyed, dimple-cheeked face of seventeen preschoolers. I went home and cried that afternoon, wondering what exactly I had gotten myself into.
The next day, that same disinfectant smell made my stomach churn. Would I forgot the words to The Itsy Bitsy Spider again today? Would I be hit, sworn at, and have my commands completely ignored for the second day in a row? I took several deep breaths and unlocked the door to welcome parents. My most difficult child of the previous day waltzed in, looking smug and ready. Every day became a question of how he would torture me. For the first couple of months, I left with bruises, bloody noses, and a sick sense of defeat.
Meanwhile, I was battling intense personal tragedy. Years of substance and alcohol abuse had finally caught up with my father, leaving him in the hospital waiting for a viable liver transplant. His liver was at 9% functioning, and his condition was getting progressively worse. I had to leave work for a week in October to help him through a surgery to remove five tumors from his liver. Unfortunately, he never recovered from this surgery; instead, his conditioned worsened every day thereafter. By late November, it had become a now-or-never situation. He called me one Friday morning while I was in class, and left me the most hopeful message I have ever heard. “Sarah, they found me a liver,” he had said in almost a whisper. His faint utterance made me weep in joy. I followed up with my grandmother that night, whose voice was almost as weak, and definitely just as tired as my father's. “He was too weak,” she started, “they could not give him the transplant.” My heart sank. This was his last chance. The next morning, I flew 2500 miles home to be with my dad. Two days later, he passed away with my hand trembling on his heart. I spent the next couple of days planning for his funeral and writing his obituary. Although the youngest child, I had always had the deepest connection with our father. There were many aspects of his life I could not condone, but we had similar interests like fishing in the creek and playing basketball at dusk. I will always remember watching Law and Order marathons, while doing books of crosswords.
It was only a few days until I was back in Phoenix. That Monday I had to be back in class, ready to face whatever my friends in room 3W-AM had in store for me. I did not have much time to grieve; I had to be able to pay my rent. I thought that going back to work so soon, and with such a high needs classroom, would prove too difficult. Instead, I went back with a renewed energy and a vigor I had not had previously. I started sticking to Orlando, my aforementioned difficult child, like glue. The boy needed attention, love, guidance, and, above all else, limits. I was the only person in his life who expected him to respect those limits, but I was determined to help him understand why they were so important, as well as help him mother see how valuable they were.
Day after day I held him to higher and higher expectations until one day in March he started to listen. I looked around and noticed he was not hitting the other students nor myself, anymore. I eavesdropped on him using one of several scripts I had supplied him with: “Can I play with you?” Shocked, tears welled up in my eyes; I had succeeded. He was not perfect, no. He was still having trouble sitting for circle, and the end of the day was always hard for him (in anticipation of going home). His mother was smiling these days, though, as she commented on him writing his name, and pointed to children she saw as his friends. At the beginning of the year, she felt he was a lost cause; now she spoke about kindergarten and reading and all things hopeful for the future. It was a great feeling, knowing, despite wanting to give up in the face of adversity, I had persevered and come out with such a positive result. The rest of my class was shinning too. Several left my class reading short words, counting and recognizing numbers well past 20, and speaking English clearly and confidently. As four and five year olds go, they were beautiful, burgeoning learners, well-equipped with basic skills and strategies for future success.
For me, that first day of school still stands out. I had felt every emotion that day. Trying to get through it, while simultaneously dealing with my father's weakening condition, was challenging and some days I felt hopeless and desperate. My incredible resilience, which I have maintained my entire life, mixed with determination and strong will, carried me through to the end of the year with awesome outcomes.
As I started this year, with a new batch of tiny, inspiring children, hat tinge of disinfectant made me smile, even laugh a little, as I knew it would not last.
