Hiiya. I wrote my essay on the first option: Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
Don't be afraid to be harsh and critical. Speak your mind :) Thanks in advance for your feedback.
Hate and prejudice rear their ugly heads.
Prisoners in striped clothing stripped of their dignity.
Teased and tortured.
Thrown into ovens, and burned to ashes.
Childhood is a preservation of our fondest memories. It's the point in time where things are simple, and innocence is cherished. Cartwheels, poems by Shel Silverstein, episodes of Rugrats, and "tag-you're-it" were the epitome of my youth. Days were carefree and nights were bliss. The happiness, the compassion and the tranquility of life were the only characteristics existent in my world. My mom and her wisdom were the lyrics to my soundtrack of life. I admired her more than anybody because through her personal anecdotes and our experiences together, she taught me moral principles and awareness of the world around me.
A solid metal detector and a diminutive assembly of security guards lined the entrance of the Museum of Tolerance. Inside, my mom and I were introduced to the tour guide; a pleasant, elderly man who knew a lot about everything. He guided us to a gray-scaled corridor with dimmed lighting and a subtle chill in the air. A profound description of Adolf Hitler's background marked the beginning of the tour. The tone of the exhibit embodied the gravity of the subject. Hitler's foreseeable reign of terror initiated fear in my mind. I became frightened at the sight of his toothbrush moustache and piercing brown eyes. When the introduction ended, we were given photo identification passports describing the stories of innocent children whose lives were impacted by events of the Holocaust. Next, we were led to a display of a 1930's Berlin Street café where realistic mannequins casually sat and discussed their concerns over the impending Nazi takeover. As we continued through the museum, I noticed how broken Germany and the spirit of its people were becoming as Hitler rose to power. The sights and sounds of the exhibit made the visit all the more compelling and authentic. We were launched back in time to relive the past and become witnesses to victims of concentration camps, senseless murders, and genocide in Nazi-dominated Europe. Around each corner and through each hallway there was a plethora of images, voices, statistics and stories, each crying out to be remembered, and to be dwelt upon. At the end of the exhibit, the passports we received were updated and the ultimate fate of my child was revealed. A cloud of sorrow formed above me when I learned about the death of my child; a child whose life was cut short because of reasons beyond their control; a child who never had the opportunity to read a poem by Shel Silverstein, watch an episode of Rugrats, play "tag-you're-it", or do cartwheels in the grass; a child who never had a childhood.
On the evening following our day at the museum, my mom shared a story regarding her experience growing up in Johannesburg, South Africa during apartheid. As a black woman, she faced the remnants of racial injustice and inevitable anguish. I associated the details of her narrative with what I'd learned at the museum concerning the Holocaust and the poison it secreted over humanity. I developed a deeper understanding of the world through knowledge of my mom's past and events in our history. The aftermath of the day at the Museum of Tolerance and the night of storytelling left me pondering about heavy issues circling around our past, developing insight about our present, and worrying about our future. I'd reached the stage where I realized that life wasn't all teddy bears, and gumdrops. Disappointment spilled over my spirit when I discovered that hate, prejudice, and torment had been hiding beneath the shadows of my basement. I'd been blindfolded and unconscious to the "evil" in humanity, because, for years, I'd only been exposed to the "good". The entire experience impacted me in such a way that I was forced to look inside myself and gain an alternate perspective of not only the world around me, but also my place in the world.
Word Count: 670
Hate and prejudice rear their ugly heads.
Prisoners in striped clothing stripped of their dignity.
Teased and tortured.
Thrown into ovens, and burned to ashes.
Childhood is a preservation of our fondest memories.
Little confusing, at least for me.
It's the point in time where things are simple, and innocence is cherished. Cartwheels, poems by Shel Silverstein, episodes of Rugrats, and "tag-you're-it" were the epitome of my youth. Days were carefree and nights were bliss. The happiness, the compassion and the tranquility of life were the only characteristics existent in my world. My mom and her wisdom were the lyrics to my soundtrack of life. I admired her more than anybody because through her personal anecdotes and our experiences together; she taught me moral principles and awareness of the world around me.
A solid metal detector and a diminutive assembly of security guards lined the entrance of the Museum of Tolerance. Inside, my mom and I were introduced to the tour guide; a pleasant, elderly man who knew a lot about everything. He guided us to a gray-scaled corridor with dimmed lighting and a subtle chill in the air. A profound description of Adolf Hitler's background marked the beginning of the tour. The tone of the exhibit embodied the gravity of the subject. Hitler's foreseeable reign of terror initiated fear in my mind. I became frightened at the sight of his toothbrush moustache and piercing brown eyes. When the introduction ended, we were given photo identification passports describing the stories of innocent children whose lives were impacted by events of the Holocaust. Next, we were led to a display of a 1930's Berlin Street café where realistic mannequins casually sat and discussed their concerns over the impending Nazi takeover. As we continued through the museum, I noticed how broken Germany and the spirit of its people became as Hitler rose to power. The sights and sounds of the exhibit made the visit all the more compelling and authentic. We were launched back in time to relive the past and become witnesses to victims of concentration camps, senseless murders, and genocide in Nazi-dominated Europe. Around each corner and through each hallway there was a plethora of images, voices, statistics and stories, each crying out to be remembered, and to be dwelt upon. At the end of the exhibit, the passports we received were updated and the ultimate fate of my child was revealed. A cloud of sorrow formed above me when I learned about the death of my child; a child whose life was cut short because of reasons beyond their control; a child who never had the opportunity to read a poem by Shel Silverstein, watch an episode of Rugrats, play "tag-you're-it", or do cartwheels in the grass; a child who never had a childhood.
On the evening following our day at the museum, my mom shared a story regarding her experience growing up in Johannesburg, South Africa during apartheid. As a black woman, she faced the remnants of racial injustice and inevitable anguish. I associated the details of her narrative with what I'd learned at the museum concerning the Holocaust and the poison it secreted over humanity. I developed a deeper understanding of the world through this knowledge of my mom's past and events in our history. The aftermath of the day at the Museum of Tolerance and the night of storytelling left me pondering about heavy issues circling around our past, developing insight about our present, and worrying about our future. I'd reached the stage where I realized that life wasn't all teddy bears, and gumdrops. Disappointment spilled over my spirit when I discovered that hate, prejudice, and torment had been hiding beneath the shadows of my basement. I'd been blindfolded and unconscious to the "evil" in humanity, because, for years, I'd only been exposed to the "good". The entire experience impacted me in such a way that I was forced to look inside myself and gain an alternate perspective of not only the world around me, but also my place in the world.
Nice essay! Love the ending.
Thanks for your time :) So, do you suggest that i should remove the entire intro: "Hate and prejudice rear their ugly heads.
Prisoners in striped clothing stripped of their dignity.
Teased and tortured.
Thrown into ovens, and burned to ashes.
and instead begin with: Childhood is a preservation of our fondest memories. ?
