Thirty-five heads turned to look at me when I entered the classroom, all except one; the teacher's. Quickly scanning for available seats, I spotted one in the far corner of the classroom, near the window. The teacher was obviously distracted, immersed in his lesson plan or whatever he happened to be reading. I didn't mind; my head was somewhere else too. Earlier that morning my mother took my father into the hospital. He had had a stroke. I begged her to go to the hospital but she insisted I go to school as it was the first day of a new semester. I was only thirteen, the only male child in my family. I believe my mother looked at me for the first time as if I was a man that day. Her eyes told me that she counted on me for the emotional strength the whole family would need to get us through this difficult time. As my mother speaks very little English, she did enlist my older sister's support in rushing my dad to the hospital, so that they would have no communications problems and everything could go as smoothly as possible.
As I waited in my seat for the teacher to take role, my mind wandered. I especially wondered how my dad would fare. Looking around me at the other students, few of which I recognized from last year, I realized that each one of these kids deals with some kind of hardship in their lives. Likewise, I wondered what the teacher was going through, for he seemed as distracted as I was.
More than any of the literature we read in that junior high English class, more than the proper writing techniques I learned from Mr. Powell, I learned fully of the universality of human suffering that day. The sense that people all go through tough times and feel weak and afraid hit me hard that day; I will forever carry that memory, as well as the memory of my mother's conviction that I could handle any situation with maturity. At thirteen, it was a tough but empowering lesson that I continue to carry with my as I apply to university, clear about my goals and certain I can accomplish them. Thank you for your consideration.
