Top Law Schools

To some, a pilgrimage to the United States is the outlet to freedom and opportunity –the American Dream, as it is known. For many looking to make that journey today, the voyage focuses on the possible adventures and successes. With so many people dramatizing every element of the American Dream, they fail to mention what really is, the process to gain to these successes, the American Reality.
At the time, I did not know life was different for me, and that I was encountering things a normal child would not even think of seeing. We lived in the run-down motel my parents worked at called the *** in the City of St. Louis. My neighbors consisted of an underground drug-dealing gas station, a metal factory, and a plot of restaurant space that happened to get a new tenant every few months claiming their chicken was the best in town. With this type of neighborhood, going outside to play was more than just casual activity. It was actually rare activity.
Living in the motel indulged me in an environment that guaranteed no hope. I learned curse words earlier than I learned how to add double digits during math time. My parents fought with a lot of crooked guests, and the shining of a weapon or two during the dispute was not a surprise to me –never on my parents’ behalf, of course. My environment was not one that the average person with my aspirations could relate to, though it is my experiences in that environment that has made me who I am today.
My family consisted of my father, mother, younger brother, and grandmother, though we always had more than just us living in that built in studio-like apartment at ****. It was the first stop for every family member making their voyage to the States. Even though I had to share my bed placed in the living area, which doubled as a couch during the day, I loved having so many people around to take care of me. Then it all stopped, and it was just the five of us. It happened to be around the time my father had picked up a drinking and gambling habit –keep in mind, my father never really had discretionary income to be picking up habits like this. More and more fights about his habits arose and his actions got worse. I have this image of my mother engraved in my head: she sat on the ground in tears, pants soiled, fighting to breathe properly as my grandmother tried to counsel my father to stop hitting her. He beat her often. It is quiet blurry when the abuse actually stopped.
The alcoholism stayed and did not get better until my late teenage years. He drank, came home, and went straight to sleep –had no sort of communication with his family. He even offered beer to my younger brother before, who was ten years old at the time. I had enough with this man. I hated calling him my father, and I was going to do something about it. One night he came home, not in his car, but from a ride he had gotten from my mother; he was sloppy drunk that night. The next day he knocked on my bedroom door asking for a ride, and without saying a word I took him there. As he got out, I said to him, “I don’t know about you, but taking my drunk of a dad to work the next morning isn’t something I planned on doing in life. You have one month to stop drinking or else you never hear from me again.” Yes, I had given my father an ultimatum, but it worked. With a strong and courageous battle, he is now three years clean and I could not be more proud to call him my father.
Not too long ago, I sat down with my mother and we talked about the past. I asked her why she never left. She responded, “My mother taught me never to accept failure and I wanted to teach you the same.” She went on to explain that she knew my father and his abusive actions and alcoholism were habits that could be kicked. Seeing my parents overcome such viscous sins, gives me hope that the obstacles that attempt to slow me down will never prosper over me. This experience, like many more with my family, has instilled the value to never accept failure.
Keeping the motto in mind, to never accept failure, it is evident that my mother unquestionably has raised me on this value. With determination, I worked hard to overcome the challenges placed before me in all aspects of life. Growing up, obtaining an education from Saint Louis University was just the dream; I was the child gazing through the window of the back passenger seat as my parents drove through Grand Boulevard. Graduating from this fine institution in May 2014, I have made this dream a reality. Part of not accepting failure has to do with my motivation to be a well rounded person, by participating in the activities that I am passionate about such as nationally recognized professional business fraternity Alpha Kappa Psi to my Hindu Temple’s Youth Group. Rather than losing to my financial struggles, I secured a balance between being financially stable and obtaining the fine education I desire. My consistent grades paired with a 30 hour workweek management position is something not many 22 year old students can attest to.
The experiences I have faced make me the well-accomplished person I am today. I am taking the adventurous journey along with my parents and will continue their line of success. All components of my life are my American Reality, and I live everyday to complete the American Dream.


Things to look for:

-Is my topic practical? Do you think it stands out with the whole American Reality twist?
-I need to make sure it completely flows, or does it need more in certain spots?
-I need to add more meat to the end. It feels very "ehh" to me. Any suggestions?
-where do I need to take things out or add on, or even move things around?
-overall, does it show "why I would be a good candidate for law school?"

literally every suggestion will help!

You have a great story to work with. It seems a little raw right now--you can tighten up the details, clarify your story, and maybe streamline the story in the middle concerning the story regarding your father. The immigration aspect is a little unclear as of now...I was left wondering if your parents migrated here, and you are a first generation American, or something else was going. Clarifying that, I think, would be helpful. The overall scene you paint is great i.e. overcoming an extremely difficult situation, and you do a great job of encouraging the reader to actually visualize your environment.

There are a few awkwardly worded sentences, such as "Living in the motel indulged me in an environment that guaranteed no hope." I'm not sure if 'indulged' is the word that you are looking for there. Maybe inculcated? Or a word that means something along the lines of inculcated.

Again though, I think this is a solid draft. Keep revising, keep clarifying, and write clear sentences, and by the third or fourth draft you should have a tip top PS.

Thank you so much! Those are all solid suggestions.
I will work on making those changes!

HERE IS A REWRITE FOR ANYONE STILL WILLING TO HELP!

To some, a pilgrimage to the United States is a chance of freedom and opportunity—the American Dream, as it is known. For many looking to make that journey today, the voyage focuses on the possibility of adventure and success, but with so many people emphasizing the various elements of the American Dream, they fail to comprehend what this undertaking really entails; it is the constant struggles for immigrants and their first generation American children. I am a first generation American citizen, and this has been my American Reality.
Growing up I did not know a childhood could be anything other than what I was experiencing. My parents immigrated to the United States in 1989 from ***. I was born three years later. We lived in the run-down motel my parents worked at called the ***, in ***. If growing up in a motel was not abnormal enough, my neighbors consisted of a gas station that doubled as an underground drug-den, a metal factory, and a plot of restaurant space that got a new tenant every few months always claiming that their chicken was the best in town.
Living in such a place, I was enveloped in an environment with little guarantee of hope or prosperity. My childhood was one where I learned curse words earlier than I could add double-digits. Going outside to play was more than just casual activity for us, it was actually a rare occurrence. My parents fought with a lot of crooked guests, and the brandishing of a weapon or two on the part of one of those guests was not anything surprising to me.
While this was not the American Dream my parents had immigrated here for, they did what they could to give me a happy childhood. My father felt low and defeated by the unwritten system established by the streets of St. Louis. The life he was living was not his American Dream
The lack of control happened to correlate with the drinking and gambling habits my father had picked up—keep in mind, my father never really had the discretionary income to be picking up habits like this. More and more fights about his addictions arose and his actions got worse. I have this image of my mother engraved in my memory: she sat on the ground in tears, pants soiled, fighting to breathe properly as my grandmother tried to get my father to stop hitting her. In those days he beat her often. Lashing out at my mother seemed to be the only plausible solution to his unfortunate life (something better?). Fortunately, as my parents gained more control of their lives, the abuse phased away; they even managed to move to the suburbs of St. Louis.
The alcoholism persisted until my late teenage years. He drank, came home, and went straight to sleep, having no sort of communication with his family. At one point he even offered my younger brother a beer, my brother being ten years old at the time. I had had enough of this man. I was ashamed and disappointed, and I hated calling him my father. I decided I had to do something.
One night he came home, not in his car, but from a ride he had gotten from my mother; he was sloppily drunk that night. The next day he approached me for a ride, and without saying a word I grabbed my keys. As he got out, I said to him, “I don’t know about you, but taking my boozer for a dad to work isn’t something I planned on doing in life. You have one month to stop drinking or else you never hear from me again.” I had presented my father an ultimatum that worked. After a strong and courageous battle, he is now three years clean and I could not be more proud to call him my father.
Not too long ago, I sat down with my mother and we talked about the past. I asked her why she never left my father. She responded, “My mother taught me never to accept failure and I wanted to teach you the same.” She went on to explain that she knew my father, and that his actions were habits that could be kicked. He was a man of immense pride, and the real man she knew slipped away as stability of their lives did. She was the rock who geared him in the right path, and the reason my father his working on accomplishing his American Dream everyday. Seeing my parents overcome such vicious sins, gives me the hope I never had as a child, that the obstacles I face will not hinder me from obtaining my goals in life. These experiences, more than any other, have instilled the value to never accept failure.
It is with this renewed sense of hope that I pursued my undergraduate degree at ***. This opportunity was just a dream to that girl living in the motel, but with my graduation date rapidly approaching this dream has become part of my new American Reality. Being the first in my family to graduate from college, however, this milestone was not always assured. Rather than losing to my financial struggles, I maintained a balance between being financially stable and obtaining the fine education I desired. My consistent grades paired with a 30 hour workweek management position is confirmation of my determination to rise above any challenge.
I now stand at the precipice of beginning the path to an even greater milestone, and one that I can say seemed so unattainable that it was not even part of any American Dream I had; a legal education. It is with my constant perseverance and dedication that I humbly submit this application to ___________________. It is at your school that I believe this next part of the Dream can become a new chapter to my American Reality. (need something less cliché)

I think the general theme of your PS is "overcoming obstacles as a second generation (?) immigrant." But the whole reads more like a sad story about YOUR PARENTS instead of about YOURSELF. It's not very clear how you managed to go to college under such circumstances and how you maintained your grades while working 30 hrs/wk. That is, the "overcoming obstacles" part is missing. In addition to the detailed account of domestic violence, readers want to know more specifically about how you faced and handled the reality. I suggest that you shorten the story of your parents to one paragraph or two as the background information and spend the rest of your PS telling us your actions/reflections.

Thank you for your advice. I am working on that, but thinking of the transition that flows is my road block at the moment!