PS Rough Draft--Criticism Please
Posted: Tue Nov 11, 2014 2:15 am
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The personal statement does not have a logical flow. You jump around. Additionally, you taught English. I felt, however, that your paper had some grammatical errors. If you taught english then your paper better be damn good in that regard. You said, "I helped my class achieve a 54% proficiency rate on their state standardized test, more than double my school’s average." It is okay to do this, but it just jumped out like this was a resume. I don't think you even need to be specific about Garciela. You can just say you worked with students who were undocmeted and poor. I mean, really paint the picture here. What is the socio-economic background that these students are facing. "i worked with children who's parents were first generation americans. Their average income was $25,000 a year. The parents had no higher than an 8th grade education. I had to relate with these students. When the state wide mandated textbooks were not enough to teach the kids, I had no other choice but to use my own personal funds to buy supplemental materials. This included XYZ, so the students could relate blah blah blah."stoopkid13 wrote:“What might happen in a town where no one can speak?” I give this as a short story prompt to my 8th grade English class on the first day of school. I tell them, “Because it is our first assignment, it will not be graded. I only want you to try your best. There are no right or wrong answers. Just tell me a story.”
I give this assignment to get a sense of how my students write. My first year as a Corps Member in Teach for America, the more I learned about my students as individuals, the more I was able to help them. Although I was bound to a school-mandated textbook and syllabus, I tried to differentiate my instruction in order to challenge my advanced students and offer support to my struggling students. I provided supplementary texts that reflected topics my students were interested in. By tailoring my instruction and adapting to my students, I helped my class achieve a 54% proficiency rate on their state standardized test, more than double my school’s average.
One student’s story stands out in particular. In response to that beginning of the year prompt, Graciela wrote an amazing piece about a couple that flees their silent town and finds haven in the wilderness. Her descriptions were poetic and she made subtle, but purposeful, allusions to Adam and Eve. That first week, I knew that Graciela was different. But Graciela’s skill as a writer was not the only thing that set her apart. Graciela believed that she would never go to college because she was undocumented and poor. It frustrated her to see classmates with citizenship drop out of school. It frustrated me to see a student with such promise feel so limited.
Graciela’s story is not unique. Last summer, I worked as a College and Career Readiness Advisor for the International Rescue Committee (IRC). While many of my clients held refugee status, others were undocumented, like Graciela. Those clients learned that they could not apply for federal financial aid, that they would have to pay for extra testing to assess their English, or that fee waivers for the SAT were not available to them. My clients, like Graciela, did not expect someone to fix their problems for them; they just wanted the opportunities they saw being offered to others. But like the characters in Graciela’s story, my undocumented clients and students had no voice to ask for or create the opportunities they desired.
In Washington, D.C., the Kenilworth neighborhood lacked a voice to keep their elementary school open. In the spring of 2013, I worked as a Coordinator for *********, the university’s largest social justice organization. Although the bulk of our work was tutoring, the leadership team and many others became involved in opposing DC Public Schools’ (DCPS) proposed consolidation plan. Touted as an effort to save money and provide more extracurriculars, the plan almost exclusively closed schools in poor and African-American neighborhoods, like Kenilworth. DC Reads partnered with local community and school leaders to raise awareness by canvassing neighborhoods and speaking at DCPS hearings. Our voices were for naught. The next year Kenilworth Elementary, where I had seen students grow, learn, and find a home, was closed.
At the beginning of the year, I ask my students to write about a town where no one can speak, because I recognize how important it is for them to develop a voice. But I also question how I can best provide a voice for society’s most ignored. Despite my class doubling my school’s average proficiency rate, almost half of my students ended the year behind grade level. Although I helped many clients apply to college, there were others I could not help. Finally, while I helped lead a large student organization, the closure of Kenilworth Elementary continues to haunt me, as I wonder what else could have been done to save that school. Whether as a teacher, an advisor, or a coordinator, my efforts to create opportunities for others have been limited by laws and policies. I believe that a legal education will help me overcome similar challenges in the future and help me provide a voice for the voiceless.
another tfa alum here.stoopkid13 wrote:“What might happen in a town where no one can speak?” I give this as a short story prompt to my 8th grade English class on the first day of school. I tell them, “Because it is our first assignment, it will not be graded. I only want you to try your best. There are no right or wrong answers. Just tell me a story.”
I give this assignment to get a sense of how my students write. My first year as a Corps Member in Teach for America, the more I learned about my students as individuals, the more I was able to help them. Although I was bound to a school-mandated textbook and syllabus, I tried to differentiate my instruction in order to challenge my advanced students and offer support to my struggling students. I provided supplementary texts that reflected topics my students were interested in. By tailoring my instruction and adapting to my students, I helped my class achieve a 54% proficiency rate on their state standardized test, more than double my school’s average.
One student’s story stands out in particular. In response to that beginning of the year prompt, Graciela wrote an amazing piece about a couple that flees their silent town and finds haven in the wilderness. Her descriptions were poetic and she made subtle, but purposeful, allusions to Adam and Eve. That first week, I knew that Graciela was different. But Graciela’s skill as a writer was not the only thing that set her apart. Graciela believed that she would never go to college because she was undocumented and poor. It frustrated her to see classmates with citizenship drop out of school. It frustrated me to see a student with such promise feel so limited.
Graciela’s story is not unique. Last summer, I worked as a College and Career Readiness Advisor for the International Rescue Committee (IRC). While many of my clients held refugee status, others were undocumented, like Graciela. Those clients learned that they could not apply for federal financial aid, that they would have to pay for extra testing to assess their English, or that fee waivers for the SAT were not available to them. My clients, like Graciela, did not expect someone to fix their problems for them; they just wanted the opportunities they saw being offered to others. But like the characters in Graciela’s story, my undocumented clients and students had no voice to ask for or create the opportunities they desired.
In Washington, D.C., the Kenilworth neighborhood lacked a voice to keep their elementary school open. In the spring of 2013, I worked as a Coordinator for *********, the university’s largest social justice organization. Although the bulk of our work was tutoring, the leadership team and many others became involved in opposing DC Public Schools’ (DCPS) proposed consolidation plan. Touted as an effort to save money and provide more extracurriculars, the plan almost exclusively closed schools in poor and African-American neighborhoods, like Kenilworth. DC Reads partnered with local community and school leaders to raise awareness by canvassing neighborhoods and speaking at DCPS hearings. Our voices were for naught. The next year Kenilworth Elementary, where I had seen students grow, learn, and find a home, was closed.
At the beginning of the year, I ask my students to write about a town where no one can speak, because I recognize how important it is for them to develop a voice. But I also question how I can best provide a voice for society’s most ignored. Despite my class doubling my school’s average proficiency rate, almost half of my students ended the year behind grade level. Although I helped many clients apply to college, there were others I could not help. Finally, while I helped lead a large student organization, the closure of Kenilworth Elementary continues to haunt me, as I wonder what else could have been done to save that school. Whether as a teacher, an advisor, or a coordinator, my efforts to create opportunities for others have been limited by laws and policies. I believe that a legal education will help me overcome similar challenges in the future and help me provide a voice for the voiceless.