adam2028
Dec 24, 2010
Undergraduate / "mother's womb and father's wrath" - common app [4]
H.G. Wells wrote, "History is a race between education and catastrophe." The course of human events is defined by the innovation that propels society into a new era and the tragedy that ensues when our knowledge is exhausted. I don't believe the relationship is so simple. Adversity is defeated by the mere act of trying to succeed in spite of catastrophic circumstances, regardless of whether or not success was met. It is about finding knowledge in suffering. The conflict of my own history, a story that was almost never written, taught me that education arises out of catastrophe. When faced with personal tragedy, I found a way to survive, even thrive.
My mother's womb provided little defense against my father's wrath. When my mother was six months pregnant, my father, in a drunken rage, beat her. My twin brother was killed instantly, and I, at only a pound, first opened my eyes to the world. From the beginning, my picture of the world was stained red. Beating after beating did my mother and I endure at the hand of my father. Then, my mother divorced my father, but my father wasn't done with me. When I was a child, he would stop beating me and force my frail body into his car and careen drunkenly all over the roads of Mississippi. As I grew, the beating only intensified.
My mother tried to spare me the heft of my father's hand, but sorrow lay on the path away from my father as well. Before I was eight, I knew homelessness, hunger, pestilence, and poverty. Even when we found a semblance of stability, I remained sick and money was never really there for medicine. Every other week any strength I had accrued was violently removed.
Right before I entered high school, my mother had two major strokes. It fell to me to care for the woman who had cared for me. Over the course of my secondary school career, Mom had several transient ischemic attacks. These were basically miniature strokes, but my mom insisted on working to support us. Whenever she got sick, I would nurse her back to enough health that she could type, and then she would be off to work again.
No sooner had Mom recovered than my grandfather got sick. An old stubborn Navy Chief, he had neglected his diabetes and went into both kidney and heart failure. He lay dead on the table for over 5 minutes and was in a coma for two weeks. Everyday, I sat by his bed and talked to him about how he had to wake up to see me graduate from college. That has always been his fondest wish, since no one in our family has ever even attended college. Then one day, he woke up. The doctor's were stunned. But he wasn't better. His health mandated strict care, and so, for a year, I traveled an hour a day to administer his medications, check his blood sugar, cook, and perhaps most important of all, talk to him.
The background of my life's artwork is filled with deepest black and bloodiest red, but, to me, it is a masterpiece because among the swirls of sin and sorrow are points of brightest light, glittering against the canvas like stars in the night sky. Those lights are the opportunities my existence has offered- infinite, unfathomable, and beautiful. Amongst such adversity present in my life, where could education emerge? The answer is just that: amongst such adversity. My education resides in the ruins of the catastrophe around me; my lessons are scrawled in the ashes of my innocence. I do not regret the life I have lived because I have learned from the life I have lived.
H.G. Wells wrote, "History is a race between education and catastrophe." The course of human events is defined by the innovation that propels society into a new era and the tragedy that ensues when our knowledge is exhausted. I don't believe the relationship is so simple. Adversity is defeated by the mere act of trying to succeed in spite of catastrophic circumstances, regardless of whether or not success was met. It is about finding knowledge in suffering. The conflict of my own history, a story that was almost never written, taught me that education arises out of catastrophe. When faced with personal tragedy, I found a way to survive, even thrive.
My mother's womb provided little defense against my father's wrath. When my mother was six months pregnant, my father, in a drunken rage, beat her. My twin brother was killed instantly, and I, at only a pound, first opened my eyes to the world. From the beginning, my picture of the world was stained red. Beating after beating did my mother and I endure at the hand of my father. Then, my mother divorced my father, but my father wasn't done with me. When I was a child, he would stop beating me and force my frail body into his car and careen drunkenly all over the roads of Mississippi. As I grew, the beating only intensified.
My mother tried to spare me the heft of my father's hand, but sorrow lay on the path away from my father as well. Before I was eight, I knew homelessness, hunger, pestilence, and poverty. Even when we found a semblance of stability, I remained sick and money was never really there for medicine. Every other week any strength I had accrued was violently removed.
Right before I entered high school, my mother had two major strokes. It fell to me to care for the woman who had cared for me. Over the course of my secondary school career, Mom had several transient ischemic attacks. These were basically miniature strokes, but my mom insisted on working to support us. Whenever she got sick, I would nurse her back to enough health that she could type, and then she would be off to work again.
No sooner had Mom recovered than my grandfather got sick. An old stubborn Navy Chief, he had neglected his diabetes and went into both kidney and heart failure. He lay dead on the table for over 5 minutes and was in a coma for two weeks. Everyday, I sat by his bed and talked to him about how he had to wake up to see me graduate from college. That has always been his fondest wish, since no one in our family has ever even attended college. Then one day, he woke up. The doctor's were stunned. But he wasn't better. His health mandated strict care, and so, for a year, I traveled an hour a day to administer his medications, check his blood sugar, cook, and perhaps most important of all, talk to him.
The background of my life's artwork is filled with deepest black and bloodiest red, but, to me, it is a masterpiece because among the swirls of sin and sorrow are points of brightest light, glittering against the canvas like stars in the night sky. Those lights are the opportunities my existence has offered- infinite, unfathomable, and beautiful. Amongst such adversity present in my life, where could education emerge? The answer is just that: amongst such adversity. My education resides in the ruins of the catastrophe around me; my lessons are scrawled in the ashes of my innocence. I do not regret the life I have lived because I have learned from the life I have lived.