I just sat down to write my personal statement, and this is an example of the direction that I'm trying to go in...does it work as a personal statement essay?
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My parents watched a baby crawl backwards across the living room floor. They watched a toddler sink to the bottom of the pool during her first swim lesson. They watched a first grader cower in the middle of the soccer field. They watched an eight year old finish dead last in a kid's triathlon. They watched a sixth grader sit silently in her class, unwilling to speak. They watched a freshman in high school cry on her first day at Skyline High School in her first period Spanish class. But they watched these failures for a reason - to marvel at her success. To watch her stand on her own two feet that carried her through the classroom door on the first day of kindergarten, and run and skip and jump, and dance across a stage. To watch her perfect a beautiful stroke, to watch her glide across the surface of the water with grace. To watch her score her first goal. To watch her smile as she crossed that finish line, unknowing that she had lost, just proud of herself that she had made it all the way to the end. To watch her scream at the top of her lungs when she got in the car and told them that she was Maria in the eighth grade production of West Side Story. To watch her flourish as a leader in her senior class, on stage, in the class room, and in herself. My parents knew a secret. They knew that if they let her follow her own path, let her make mistakes, let her be proud of any small thing she accomplished - that she would evolve from an uninhibited baby, to a timid tween, to a tenacious teen, and into a confident, determined adult - unafraid to take her future by the reigns and hold on tight.
*NO TITLE (YET)
My parents watched a baby crawl backwards across the living room floor. They watched a toddler sink to the bottom of the pool during her first swim lesson. They watched a first grader cower in the middle of the soccer field. They watched an eight year old finish dead last in a kid's triathlon. They watched a sixth grader sit silently in her class, unwilling to speak. They watched a freshman in high school cry on her first day at Skyline High School in her first period Spanish class. But they watched these failures for a reason - to marvel at her success. To watch her stand on her own two feet that carried her through the classroom door on the first day of kindergarten, and run and skip and jump, and dance across a stage. To watch her perfect a beautiful stroke, to watch her glide across the surface of the water with grace. To watch her score her first goal. To watch her smile as she crossed that finish line, unknowing that she had lost, just proud of herself that she had made it all the way to the end. To watch her scream at the top of her lungs when she got in the car and told them that she was Maria in the eighth grade production of West Side Story. To watch her flourish as a leader in her senior class, on stage, in the class room, and in herself. My parents knew a secret. They knew that if they let her follow her own path, let her make mistakes, let her be proud of any small thing she accomplished - that she would evolve from an uninhibited baby, to a timid tween, to a tenacious teen, and into a confident, determined adult - unafraid to take her future by the reigns and hold on tight.
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