Basically Final Draft PS
Posted: Thu Nov 03, 2016 8:47 pm
Hey y'all,
I'm hoping to get my apps in by this weekend, so any sort of criticism would be much appreciated. At the moment I'm debating whether the last paragraph needs a little more "oomph," so any input there would be appreciated as well.
I have been to Heaven on Earth. I spent a summer assisting developmentally disabled men and women. The disabilities ranged from mostly physical ailments such as Cerebral Palsy, to mental disorders such as Autism, Down syndrome, and Bi-Polar disorder. It seems fantastically ironic to place nineteen and twenty-year-olds in positions of authority. Individuals who could not care for themselves were suddenly our responsibility, and yet, we had no experience in even taking care of ourselves. Parents nonchalantly received my introductory phone call and promised me that I would do a terrific job taking care of their children. This was just another routine summer for them, but anything but for me. How was I to take responsibility for fully grown men? Was I ready to commit myself to a summer predicated on the ethos of responsibility and hard work?
Orientation was almost surreal. The bus arrived and the first thing I saw was a sign in colorful lettering that unironically read “Heaven on Earth.” As a means of contrast, a representative from the Office for People with Developmental Disabilities (OPWDD) displayed to us on a projector the horrors that took place in the Willowbrook State School, the archetype of abuse towards those with disabilities. I sat in abject disbelief as Geraldo Rivera narrated the mistreatment, neglect, and total disregard for the mentally and physically disabled. As the grandchild of Holocaust survivors, it was not difficult to form a depressing parallel between the two. Looking back, I can pinpoint that moment as one in which I began to take the idea of law seriously as a possible career option. This was truly a scenario in which someone had to take action to protect those who could not. Where was the sense of justice in all those who were silent accessories to the suffering occurring in Willowbrook?
Nevertheless, alumni of the camp promised us that this would be the best summer of our lives, something that seemed truly inexplicable. What if I mishandled something dreadfully? I had heard of various horror stories passed off with varying degrees of nonchalance. The camp was no stranger to death, and I wondered how I would react if a camper of mine were to die. It seems selfish in hindsight, but my fears did not revolve around how the family would bear the grief, but instead on the potential personal impact. The camp began, and my fears were not unfounded; a camper tragically passed away the first week of camp. Subsequently, I heard that the girl’s parents had known of her impending death, but had chosen to send her to camp anyway. They explained that they understood that the camp was their daughter’s favorite time of the year, and that they could not bear her missing her last opportunity to attend. In just forty years the care for those with disabilities metamorphosed from the virulent atmosphere of Willowbrook into an institution in which those with disabilities are celebrated for their uniqueness.
After the departure of our veteran counselor, my co-counselors and myself assumed positions of leadership. Although, the responsibility was enormous, I found myself thriving under the pressure. The summer finally ended, but the experience initiated a significantly longer process. The explanation of why the parents sent their dying daughter to camp left a lasting impression on me. Instinctively, I had known that what I was doing was significant and beautiful, but I had never truly realized how much of an impact that myself and my fellow counselors were making. Three years later, and with exponentially more experience in working with those with disabilities, I can definitively say that the experience was a transformative one.
I'm hoping to get my apps in by this weekend, so any sort of criticism would be much appreciated. At the moment I'm debating whether the last paragraph needs a little more "oomph," so any input there would be appreciated as well.
I have been to Heaven on Earth. I spent a summer assisting developmentally disabled men and women. The disabilities ranged from mostly physical ailments such as Cerebral Palsy, to mental disorders such as Autism, Down syndrome, and Bi-Polar disorder. It seems fantastically ironic to place nineteen and twenty-year-olds in positions of authority. Individuals who could not care for themselves were suddenly our responsibility, and yet, we had no experience in even taking care of ourselves. Parents nonchalantly received my introductory phone call and promised me that I would do a terrific job taking care of their children. This was just another routine summer for them, but anything but for me. How was I to take responsibility for fully grown men? Was I ready to commit myself to a summer predicated on the ethos of responsibility and hard work?
Orientation was almost surreal. The bus arrived and the first thing I saw was a sign in colorful lettering that unironically read “Heaven on Earth.” As a means of contrast, a representative from the Office for People with Developmental Disabilities (OPWDD) displayed to us on a projector the horrors that took place in the Willowbrook State School, the archetype of abuse towards those with disabilities. I sat in abject disbelief as Geraldo Rivera narrated the mistreatment, neglect, and total disregard for the mentally and physically disabled. As the grandchild of Holocaust survivors, it was not difficult to form a depressing parallel between the two. Looking back, I can pinpoint that moment as one in which I began to take the idea of law seriously as a possible career option. This was truly a scenario in which someone had to take action to protect those who could not. Where was the sense of justice in all those who were silent accessories to the suffering occurring in Willowbrook?
Nevertheless, alumni of the camp promised us that this would be the best summer of our lives, something that seemed truly inexplicable. What if I mishandled something dreadfully? I had heard of various horror stories passed off with varying degrees of nonchalance. The camp was no stranger to death, and I wondered how I would react if a camper of mine were to die. It seems selfish in hindsight, but my fears did not revolve around how the family would bear the grief, but instead on the potential personal impact. The camp began, and my fears were not unfounded; a camper tragically passed away the first week of camp. Subsequently, I heard that the girl’s parents had known of her impending death, but had chosen to send her to camp anyway. They explained that they understood that the camp was their daughter’s favorite time of the year, and that they could not bear her missing her last opportunity to attend. In just forty years the care for those with disabilities metamorphosed from the virulent atmosphere of Willowbrook into an institution in which those with disabilities are celebrated for their uniqueness.
After the departure of our veteran counselor, my co-counselors and myself assumed positions of leadership. Although, the responsibility was enormous, I found myself thriving under the pressure. The summer finally ended, but the experience initiated a significantly longer process. The explanation of why the parents sent their dying daughter to camp left a lasting impression on me. Instinctively, I had known that what I was doing was significant and beautiful, but I had never truly realized how much of an impact that myself and my fellow counselors were making. Three years later, and with exponentially more experience in working with those with disabilities, I can definitively say that the experience was a transformative one.