App. essay, help appreciated (it's only 500 words)
Posted: Fri Feb 11, 2011 4:18 pm
One of my applications asks for a personal statement, as well as an additional essay on your most profound learning experience, academic or not, of the past 10 years. I'm sitting around 580 words right now, it's supposed to be "app. 500." Any suggestions are appreciated.
The hallway is quiet: two small children are playing with Legos and miniature cars—their chatter and toys provide the only breaks in silence. The soft clacking of plastic blocks and the gentle whir of rubber wheels suddenly ceases as the door across the room swings open wildly. A woman and teenage girl emerge. The girl, who is holding her arm over her mouth as if anticipating a sneeze, marches into one of the many rooms that line the foyer before diving onto her bed. Her screams are muffled by her strategically placed wrist. The children sitting on the floor resume playing as if they had mistakenly heard someone call out their names. I look over at the woman, who is standing a few feet outside the room containing the girl’s restrained overtures. She says, “If she bites her finger, you’re okay. If she bites her hand—watch out.”
This kind of advice is invaluable in a residential treatment center for minors with autism and behavior problems. Many employees are injured on the job from dealing with violent students, and workman’s compensation claims are commonplace. Just like a poker player looks for his opposition’s tells, knowing the quirks, triggers and patterns of the children can be the difference between leaving work in an ambulance or in your own vehicle. Those signs often manifest themselves in subtle ways, such as spitting, pacing or, in this case, biting. What I learned during my brief tenure is in many ways clichéd and sentimental, but I now enjoy a new perspective.
First, children are precious and shouldn’t be taken for granted. Don’t be mistaken, many of the children living in that facility would not endear themselves to the adjective “precious.” Indeed, words such as “despicable” or “malicious” are more apt descriptors. However, one look into their histories reveals that most are products of their environment, or more specifically their parents. Approximately half of the students not diagnosed with autism are adopted, and nearly all of them arrive at that position due to the incorrigible acts of their biological parents. Whether the abuse is sexual, physical, psychological or neglectful, ninety percent of those living in the small child wing have a history of deplorable deeds committed by family members.
The second lesson is closely related to the first: there are truly disgusting, horrible people in this world. I have always known this, but looking it in the face every day opened my eyes to the depths to which people can sink. Reading about some of the loathsome abuses betrayed upon those kids even caused me to doubt humanity’s capacity for good. One can easily become depressed witnessing each discharged student replaced by one who is equally damaged.
After working there, I’ve come to realize that there are truly wicked people who will go so far as to perpetrate unfathomable cruelty on their children. I haven’t lost all faith in people, which is more than I can say of some of my former colleagues, but the travesties I have read, heard and seen has educated me on the extents to which evil can reach. I now know that good parenting isn’t necessarily about attending every piano recital or little league game, but just having a positive presence in a child’s life. And I know that because someone didn’t have that presence, there is a girl out there whose hands will constantly be watched not because of her soft skin or painted nails, but for how closely they are to her mouth.
The hallway is quiet: two small children are playing with Legos and miniature cars—their chatter and toys provide the only breaks in silence. The soft clacking of plastic blocks and the gentle whir of rubber wheels suddenly ceases as the door across the room swings open wildly. A woman and teenage girl emerge. The girl, who is holding her arm over her mouth as if anticipating a sneeze, marches into one of the many rooms that line the foyer before diving onto her bed. Her screams are muffled by her strategically placed wrist. The children sitting on the floor resume playing as if they had mistakenly heard someone call out their names. I look over at the woman, who is standing a few feet outside the room containing the girl’s restrained overtures. She says, “If she bites her finger, you’re okay. If she bites her hand—watch out.”
This kind of advice is invaluable in a residential treatment center for minors with autism and behavior problems. Many employees are injured on the job from dealing with violent students, and workman’s compensation claims are commonplace. Just like a poker player looks for his opposition’s tells, knowing the quirks, triggers and patterns of the children can be the difference between leaving work in an ambulance or in your own vehicle. Those signs often manifest themselves in subtle ways, such as spitting, pacing or, in this case, biting. What I learned during my brief tenure is in many ways clichéd and sentimental, but I now enjoy a new perspective.
First, children are precious and shouldn’t be taken for granted. Don’t be mistaken, many of the children living in that facility would not endear themselves to the adjective “precious.” Indeed, words such as “despicable” or “malicious” are more apt descriptors. However, one look into their histories reveals that most are products of their environment, or more specifically their parents. Approximately half of the students not diagnosed with autism are adopted, and nearly all of them arrive at that position due to the incorrigible acts of their biological parents. Whether the abuse is sexual, physical, psychological or neglectful, ninety percent of those living in the small child wing have a history of deplorable deeds committed by family members.
The second lesson is closely related to the first: there are truly disgusting, horrible people in this world. I have always known this, but looking it in the face every day opened my eyes to the depths to which people can sink. Reading about some of the loathsome abuses betrayed upon those kids even caused me to doubt humanity’s capacity for good. One can easily become depressed witnessing each discharged student replaced by one who is equally damaged.
After working there, I’ve come to realize that there are truly wicked people who will go so far as to perpetrate unfathomable cruelty on their children. I haven’t lost all faith in people, which is more than I can say of some of my former colleagues, but the travesties I have read, heard and seen has educated me on the extents to which evil can reach. I now know that good parenting isn’t necessarily about attending every piano recital or little league game, but just having a positive presence in a child’s life. And I know that because someone didn’t have that presence, there is a girl out there whose hands will constantly be watched not because of her soft skin or painted nails, but for how closely they are to her mouth.