PS critique
Posted: Wed Sep 26, 2012 4:04 pm
Any comments/edits/suggestions welcome. Thanx!
Shortly after Halloween my freshman year in college, people began to ask the question, "Are you going home for Thanksgiving?" I didn't know how to respond. First, it had never occured to me that the dorms would close for the weekend, forcing me to find temporary housing. Secondly, I didn't know how to explain that I didn't have a home. The people I had lived with most recently, who let me call them "Mom" and "Dad" so I wouldn't feel awkward around new friends, were my foster parents. The day I graduated from high school was the day I legally ceased to have parents.
My first few days as a foster child were spent in the County Shelter. This facility housed teens who were waiting for placement with a foster family or in a group home. It also housed teens deemed juvenile delinquents for such behavior as drug abuse, truancy, or theft. Many had run away, sometimes multiple times. Because of this, those children would likely never be placed with a family. Of the dozen or so girls with whom I shared a room, three were visibly pregnant. There was a classroom in the building where we were required to "go to school" during the week. Those actually enrolled in a school could arrange to have their assignments sent over weekly, and others could study for their GED.
Nothing was really structured, and we could pretty much do what we wanted, as long as we didn't cause any trouble. I tried to talk to as many of the girls as I could. I didn't expect anyone to discuss anything which was very personal. Children from our background learn quickly not to talk about home life; others just don't understand. However, there seemed to be an instant bond, as if the fact that none of us had families somehow made us part of an extended family. In fact, family was exactly what we were all seeking. It struck me that this was the reason why so many of the girls were pregnant. At this point in their lives, having a child of their own was the only way to guarantee being part of a family.
Fortunately, I was placed with a family and attended a high school where the majority of its graduates went to college. At a college fair, I spoke to a financial aid representative. When I mentioned I was in foster care, he told me I had two choices: community college or ivy league; either go to the cheapest school I could find or the most expensive, because they will have the money to give sufficient financial aid. Ironically, the "cheaper" option wasn't financially viable. At the time, children in foster care were not allowed to have more than a thousand dollars in savings, so I would be graduating from high school without even enough money to rent an apartment. Sadly, according to the California Department of Social Services, sixty-five percent of those who age out of foster care do so without housing. Many end up homeless, on welfare, or in prison. Having already beaten the odds by graduating from high school, I was determined to be part of the two percent of foster children who graduate from college.
Four years later, my foster parents flew from [state] to watch me receive my diploma from [university]. Now they look forward to returning to [city] to watch me receive a law degree. My motivation to attend law school comes from my experiences in foster care. The statistics regarding foster children and the criminal justice system are staggering. According to the Midwest Study, which followed a group of seventeen-year-olds as they aged out of foster care, 79.4% of males and 56.7% of females reported being arrested at least once. I want to represent children like these as a criminal defense attorney, and fight to keep them from becoming part of the seventy percent of prison inmates who have spent time in foster care. With a law degree, I will stand as an example that foster kids can grow up to be self-supporting adults, attend the college of their choice, and pursue a career through graduate school and beyond.
Shortly after Halloween my freshman year in college, people began to ask the question, "Are you going home for Thanksgiving?" I didn't know how to respond. First, it had never occured to me that the dorms would close for the weekend, forcing me to find temporary housing. Secondly, I didn't know how to explain that I didn't have a home. The people I had lived with most recently, who let me call them "Mom" and "Dad" so I wouldn't feel awkward around new friends, were my foster parents. The day I graduated from high school was the day I legally ceased to have parents.
My first few days as a foster child were spent in the County Shelter. This facility housed teens who were waiting for placement with a foster family or in a group home. It also housed teens deemed juvenile delinquents for such behavior as drug abuse, truancy, or theft. Many had run away, sometimes multiple times. Because of this, those children would likely never be placed with a family. Of the dozen or so girls with whom I shared a room, three were visibly pregnant. There was a classroom in the building where we were required to "go to school" during the week. Those actually enrolled in a school could arrange to have their assignments sent over weekly, and others could study for their GED.
Nothing was really structured, and we could pretty much do what we wanted, as long as we didn't cause any trouble. I tried to talk to as many of the girls as I could. I didn't expect anyone to discuss anything which was very personal. Children from our background learn quickly not to talk about home life; others just don't understand. However, there seemed to be an instant bond, as if the fact that none of us had families somehow made us part of an extended family. In fact, family was exactly what we were all seeking. It struck me that this was the reason why so many of the girls were pregnant. At this point in their lives, having a child of their own was the only way to guarantee being part of a family.
Fortunately, I was placed with a family and attended a high school where the majority of its graduates went to college. At a college fair, I spoke to a financial aid representative. When I mentioned I was in foster care, he told me I had two choices: community college or ivy league; either go to the cheapest school I could find or the most expensive, because they will have the money to give sufficient financial aid. Ironically, the "cheaper" option wasn't financially viable. At the time, children in foster care were not allowed to have more than a thousand dollars in savings, so I would be graduating from high school without even enough money to rent an apartment. Sadly, according to the California Department of Social Services, sixty-five percent of those who age out of foster care do so without housing. Many end up homeless, on welfare, or in prison. Having already beaten the odds by graduating from high school, I was determined to be part of the two percent of foster children who graduate from college.
Four years later, my foster parents flew from [state] to watch me receive my diploma from [university]. Now they look forward to returning to [city] to watch me receive a law degree. My motivation to attend law school comes from my experiences in foster care. The statistics regarding foster children and the criminal justice system are staggering. According to the Midwest Study, which followed a group of seventeen-year-olds as they aged out of foster care, 79.4% of males and 56.7% of females reported being arrested at least once. I want to represent children like these as a criminal defense attorney, and fight to keep them from becoming part of the seventy percent of prison inmates who have spent time in foster care. With a law degree, I will stand as an example that foster kids can grow up to be self-supporting adults, attend the college of their choice, and pursue a career through graduate school and beyond.