Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
I had to fall in order to learn how to stand. When three of my friends and I founded a club to benefit the Invisible Children of Northern Uganda, we expected to immediately rise up on stable legs. After all, we had created it in a response to a documentary that left half the student body in tears. Along with our classmates, we had watched in horror as kids our age told stories of their deceased loved ones, results of a civil war. However, because of school policy, we were not allowed to officially create the club until the following September. Unfortunately, by that time, the majority of those who had cried with us had forgotten the reason for their tears just seven months earlier. Our club was met with little support from our peers, and our determination to unite the student body in support of this cause struggled to stay on path.
We soon came to the realization that the reason people were not responding to the cause was simply because they needed to be reminded why they should care. In November, we began planning a community screening, a night where we could regain support for the cause by showing the documentary again. Together, we devoted the next few months to that one night in March. We reserved a conference room at our local library, and used the little club money we had to buy refreshments. Confident, we spoke at city counsel, school board, and PTA meetings. We taped up dozens of flyers advertising our community screening, and we wrote a short article for our local paper explaining our cause and inviting people to attend. I sincerely believed that this night would provide crutches for my ailing club.
On the night of the screening, I could hardly contain my excitement. The four of us set up about fifty chairs, hoping that we would need more to accommodate the anticipated crowd. We decorated a poster welcoming the attendees, and set up a merchandise table that we hoped would be almost empty by the end of the night. Finally, it was time. The four of us stood outside the room, awaiting the arrival of dozens of people. Five minutes past seven, the only people sitting in the conference room were our parents and a couple of friends. Confused, we exchanged panicked looks. After a few more minutes, I came to the staggering conclusion that our efforts had been in vain. My high hopes came crashing to the ground.
After that night, it would have been easy to throw up my hands and give up, but I realized that there was now nowhere else to go but up. Learning to stand again would be difficult, but not impossible. That summer, the Invisible Children organization announced that they would be touring the nation again with a new documentary. This was our chance to reintroduce the cause to our school in a fresh way. We contacted the organization and asked if they could come back to our school. Persuading school administration to allow us to hold another Invisible Children assembly took some strategic planning, but in the end, the date was set and the four of us grinned at each other. We had our second chance to get back on our feet.
The auditorium lights dimmed and the documentary began. I squirmed in my scratchy chair, holding my breath, hoping that this new movie would bring the cause I care so passionately about back to the attention of my classmates. I could not help but tune into the reactions of the people sitting near me. I could hear the laughs and the sniffles. I could feel the uncomfortable silence as the audience watched a young boy do his homework by candlelight, eager to educate himself so he could escape the confines of his current situation. Homework, what the majority of American students loath, was his only ticket to freedom. By the end of the following week, over 200 people had signed up for our club. Through strong teamwork and dedication, the four of us, a team, had achieved our goal.
I had high hopes for that night in March, and some might perceive that as naïve, but hope is never a sentiment to be ashamed of. Failures are inevitable, and I have learned that the true measure of one's character comes from what they do what them. Passion and dedication lead me from an officer of an empty club to one of which is that is now thriving, full of life and potential. I know that I am capable of overcoming my failures in my endeavor to make this world a better place. My club has reached our first goal of gathering support for the Invisible Children, and my goals and dreams are much bigger now. I want to raise at least two thousand dollars this year for the children of Northern Uganda. I plan on then someday traveling to Uganda and meeting some of the children to personally listen to their stories. This is my dream now. I stand strong, and I will not let a few obstacles get in the way.
I had to fall in order to learn how to stand. When three of my friends and I founded a club to benefit the Invisible Children of Northern Uganda, we expected to immediately rise up on stable legs. After all, we had created it in a response to a documentary that left half the student body in tears. Along with our classmates, we had watched in horror as kids our age told stories of their deceased loved ones, results of a civil war. However, because of school policy, we were not allowed to officially create the club until the following September. Unfortunately, by that time, the majority of those who had cried with us had forgotten the reason for their tears just seven months earlier. Our club was met with little support from our peers, and our determination to unite the student body in support of this cause struggled to stay on path.
We soon came to the realization that the reason people were not responding to the cause was simply because they needed to be reminded why they should care. In November, we began planning a community screening, a night where we could regain support for the cause by showing the documentary again. Together, we devoted the next few months to that one night in March. We reserved a conference room at our local library, and used the little club money we had to buy refreshments. Confident, we spoke at city counsel, school board, and PTA meetings. We taped up dozens of flyers advertising our community screening, and we wrote a short article for our local paper explaining our cause and inviting people to attend. I sincerely believed that this night would provide crutches for my ailing club.
On the night of the screening, I could hardly contain my excitement. The four of us set up about fifty chairs, hoping that we would need more to accommodate the anticipated crowd. We decorated a poster welcoming the attendees, and set up a merchandise table that we hoped would be almost empty by the end of the night. Finally, it was time. The four of us stood outside the room, awaiting the arrival of dozens of people. Five minutes past seven, the only people sitting in the conference room were our parents and a couple of friends. Confused, we exchanged panicked looks. After a few more minutes, I came to the staggering conclusion that our efforts had been in vain. My high hopes came crashing to the ground.
After that night, it would have been easy to throw up my hands and give up, but I realized that there was now nowhere else to go but up. Learning to stand again would be difficult, but not impossible. That summer, the Invisible Children organization announced that they would be touring the nation again with a new documentary. This was our chance to reintroduce the cause to our school in a fresh way. We contacted the organization and asked if they could come back to our school. Persuading school administration to allow us to hold another Invisible Children assembly took some strategic planning, but in the end, the date was set and the four of us grinned at each other. We had our second chance to get back on our feet.
The auditorium lights dimmed and the documentary began. I squirmed in my scratchy chair, holding my breath, hoping that this new movie would bring the cause I care so passionately about back to the attention of my classmates. I could not help but tune into the reactions of the people sitting near me. I could hear the laughs and the sniffles. I could feel the uncomfortable silence as the audience watched a young boy do his homework by candlelight, eager to educate himself so he could escape the confines of his current situation. Homework, what the majority of American students loath, was his only ticket to freedom. By the end of the following week, over 200 people had signed up for our club. Through strong teamwork and dedication, the four of us, a team, had achieved our goal.
I had high hopes for that night in March, and some might perceive that as naïve, but hope is never a sentiment to be ashamed of. Failures are inevitable, and I have learned that the true measure of one's character comes from what they do what them. Passion and dedication lead me from an officer of an empty club to one of which is that is now thriving, full of life and potential. I know that I am capable of overcoming my failures in my endeavor to make this world a better place. My club has reached our first goal of gathering support for the Invisible Children, and my goals and dreams are much bigger now. I want to raise at least two thousand dollars this year for the children of Northern Uganda. I plan on then someday traveling to Uganda and meeting some of the children to personally listen to their stories. This is my dream now. I stand strong, and I will not let a few obstacles get in the way.
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