Jobs-Matrix Resources - Sample Essays

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"That's not fair." Even as the smallest of children, I remember making such a proclamation: in kindergarten it was "not fair" when I had to share my birthday with another little girl and didn't get to sit on the "birthday chair." When General Mills changed my favorite childhood breakfast cereal, "Kix," I, of course, thought this was "not fair." Unlike many kids (like my brother) who would probably have shut up and enjoyed the "great new taste" or switched to Cheerios, this kid sat her bottom down in a chair (boosted by the phone book) and typed a letter to the company expressing her preference for the "classic" Kix over the "great new taste" Kix.

Through the plenty of "not fair" incidents that followed, my mother tried to explain that unfair things happen sometimes, but I never accepted the idea of an unfair world and began to realize that there were a great many situations and conditions that were "not fair" to women.

At age ten, I was mortified that all the boys in my Catechism class were signing up to be altar servers, but girls could not. When my grandmother told me that, at one time, because she was a woman, she was only allowed to touch the altar when she was cleaning it-the fight against the Catholic Church was on. Once again, I sat my bottom down in the chair (still with the phone book) and typed a letter to the Monsignor requesting to be trained as an altar server. With no immediate response, I respectfully but persistently harassed the Monsignor and the other priests every Sunday when I saw them in church, until, nearly two years later, I became an altar server. At age twelve I was almost too old to appreciate the new privilege, but there are girls becoming altar servers in that church to this day.

Fighting against things "not fair" for women has been my goal throughout my education, just as it will be in my future, and I have had several unique opportunities toward this end.

I have worked two summers in a Sacramento, California, law firm for the managing partner, a brilliant litigator and a woman who really cares about justice, on two of the biggest cases of her career. I performed legal research relevant to the issues of spoliation and antitrust, and I directly assisted Ms. F with trial preparation, accompanying her to court during the trials. Under her guidance I have learned the inner workings of litigation, and I have seen that unfairness pervades all types of law. Having experienced litigation, I know the heavy work load that characterizes trial preparation and can safely say that I approach a legal career aware of its realities.

I have also participated in the [school] Center for American Politics and Public Policy (CAPPP) Quarter in Washington program, which allowed me to take classes at the [school] Center and intern at the National Women's Law Center in D.C. The Law Center showed me the public interest side of law, the area of law that I hope to enter in order to address the women's issues that are so important to me. Public interest offers the opportunity to help women who need it the most, those who could not otherwise afford legal assistance and who are often victims of the "not fair," of violations of their civil rights.

My classes at [school] and through CAPPP, as well as my participation in the volunteer program at the [school] Women's Resource Center, have afforded me the chance to research issues of the "not fair" for women. Violence against women, an unfairness that maims and rapes and kills, has evolved into a special interest of mine that I hope to pursue through future work in a sex crimes division in criminal prosecution. For two classes at [school] I have researched domestic violence and battered women who kill their abusers. While in Washington, D.C., I studied acquaintance rape among adolescents: after making an extensive review of the existing literature, I tried to conduct original research interviewing teenagers at a recreation center in Alexandria, Virginia.

Though at the last moment the recreation center directors did not authorize my project, I did discover a class called "Self-Defense is More than Karate" that was developed by the Office on Women in Alexandria to instruct high school students on relationships,HIV/AIDS, dating violence, and sexual assault. After I observed one week of the program, the Community Education Coordinator asked me to research how such education influences teens, interviewing students before and after they take the class, for the Office on Women. Currently, I seek a research grant from the [school] College Honors Program that would allow me to go back to D.C. in the spring to carry out this project.

Fighting the "not fair" is certainly a driving force for me; however, I have chosen to pursue law not only because I consider it to be a weapon against injustice, but also because it fascinates me. My love for the law echoes my love for literature. I participated in theater in high school and majored in English in college because I enjoy analyzing the subtleties, innuendos, and themes that serve as the foundation of a literary work or a dramatic performance. I strive to understand the stories behind the characters involved. I am awed by the power of language and the influence art and literature can have on the values, thoughts, and actions of the audience. So goes the influence on the law: they call it "courtroom drama" for a reason. Just as literature tells a story, so does each legal case, be it criminal or civil; the way in which the law applies to each case must be analyzed and, in some instances, constructed.Law reflects as much as it influences the beliefs of the people it governs.

Both law and literature are instruments of change. Furthermore, literature and law can give voice to people who have been traditionally silenced. Just as I love so much to hear the voices of others through literature, I want to use my voice in the realm of the law, calling out "not fair" for those who have not been heard. I want to have a positive influence on the lives of women and all people, be it in the civil or criminal realm, and in law school I hope to gain the tools to do just that.

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High School Teacher with AIDS; SCID/Genetics Research Experience; HIV Counselor

Before I found out that my high school Spanish teacher was HIV-positive, AIDS was not much more than a bunch of statistics to me. The disease, its course, and the people afflicted with it seemed alien to my life-as distant as the continent from which the virus was supposed to have sprung. Then Mr. T. stopped coming to school. When he reappeared a few months later to wish us well on the advanced placement exam, his face looked sallow. His voice, once a thunderous bass that rumbled in class and reverberated down the hallway, was weak and thin. Seeing my teacher looking so unfamiliar was my shocking introduction to AIDS. I felt as if I were in the presence of a stranger, this mysterious disease, who was insulting Mr. T. right in front of my eyes. I wanted to know who this stranger was.

I entered college, believing that biology could explain to me why life's processes went awry. I learned that the body is exquisitely complex, but I was reassured by the underlying theme of systems. Even if I didn't know all the molecules and connections, there seemed no denying that a fundamental order existed.

From physiology to cell biology to molecular genetics, my classes presented smaller and smaller systems to explain the origins of diseases. Finally, in genes, with their innocuous four letter alphabet, I felt I was learning the foundation of it all. If biology provided the keys to understanding life, then genetics must be the master key (if only we could see some of the doors we were trying to open). During two summers in a research laboratory at The Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, I helped track down the gene causing X-linked severe combined immunodeficiency (SCID).

Even though AIDS and SCID are very different diseases (SCID is exclusively hereditary), each compromises the body's defense mechanisms against foreign pathogens. I felt this was a significant connection. In SCID, I was meeting a distant cousin of AIDS. Learning about common themes of immunodeficiency disorders, such as the perils of opportunistic infections, helped me to begin to understand what had happened to Mr. T. In the SCID laboratory, and in classroom seminars on infectious diseases, science was helping me demystify disease.

In the same year that Mr. T. became ill, my grandfather died during bypass surgery and my father underwent chemotherapy and radiation treatment for colon cancer. Since then, disease has had a human face for me. To better understand how people deal with disease or the fear of disease, I've become a volunteer counselor in an HIV clinic.

Speaking to people who come in for free testing, I've found that discussing HIV, getting the scary words (and acronyms) out in the open, is a way for many people to release their anxiety. Through expression in their own words, they make the disease real, which helps them to see that it is also preventable. Then, they often take the next step, making specific goals to maintain their health, whether they are HIV-negative or positive. What science in class and lab did for me in confronting the difficult issues of AIDS, talk does for my clients.

As an HIV counselor in an anonymous clinic, I feel both the potential of my role and its limits. I can't go home with my clients to remind them to keep condoms under the bed, but I can help them make a plan-something that could stay with them much longer than the information I offer. At the end of one session, one client surprised me with his response to a question I had asked: "What do you think you'll do with the HIV information?" There was a silence in the counseling room as the client pondered, but I recall sensing the comfort of the silence. This was a session that seemed to be producing the potential for a breakthrough (not every session does), and I waited patiently. He responded, "I think I'll ask my girlfriend to use her own needles." Then, the client thanked me for having asked the question.

I was thrown. My client proposed a strategy for reducing his HIV risk, but he didn't address what was likely his main issue-heroin use. Should I validate his plan? In effect, that's what I did, because I didn't challenge the drug issue. When he left the clinic, I practically wanted to follow him out the door. I wondered if I would ever see him again and be able to ask him how his plan was going. I wondered if he would ultimately seek help for his drug use. My supervisor reminded me that I had done my job as an HIV counselor. I had helped the client make a plan; he had even thanked me for it.

And I can thank him in return. He reminded me that although I have worked to understand disease in the classroom, the laboratory, and the clinic, I still have much to learn about caring for all aspects of a patient's health. I am eager to continue the learning process in the New Pathway Program at Harvard Medical School.

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Radiation Oncology Volunteer; Biochemical Lab Experience; Neurosurgery Research; ER Volunteer; English Language Tutor; Student Advisor; Community Service

"Carl, the woman we're about to meet will receive her first palliative treatment today," said Dr. A., an Attending in Radiation Oncology. He continued to explain her case as we walked briskly down the hallways of the hospital. I followed him into the radiation treatment room to meet the patient and learn about the procedure which, sadly, would not eradicate her disease. Since then, I have met with him weekly throughout this summer to learn about radiation oncology and medicine in general. Through experiences such as these, I have learned much about the profession of medicine. I want to become a physician for the intellectual challenges and rewards that come from helping others.

I first became interested in medical research by working in a biochemical engineering laboratory at MIT. For over two years I explored the medically related field, biotechnology. I have led experiments involving fermentation bioreactors and trained two inexperienced undergraduates. Recently, I presented a poster entitled "Effect of Antifoam during Filtration of Recombinant Bacterial Broth" at a New England Society for Industrial Microbiology colloquium. Enjoying the biomedical rather than engineering aspects of the work, I have shifted my career interests to medicine.

Last summer, I expanded my interest in medicine by working for the Neurosurgery Department at Brigham and Women's Hospital. After a short training period, I worked independently on three research projects: Clonality analysis of schwannomas, clonality analysis of a multiple meningioma, and the loss of heterozygosity (LOH) screening of pituitary adenomas. I developed a strong interest in my work when I observed my mentor, Dr. Peter Black, remove brain tumors in the operating room. After the initial shock and amazement of seeing the exposed brain of a conscious patient, I thought more about the connections between this clinical work and my research. While my projects' objective was to gain a better understanding of tumors, the ultimate goal is to prevent and cure tumors to save human lives-the very people whom I had seen on the operating table! With this thought in mind, I found the motivation to complete the short-term objectives of my projects. I will be the second author of a paper, entitled "Clonality Analysis of Schwannomas," which will be submitted to Neurosurgery.

This summer, as a participant in NYU Medical Center's Summer Undergraduate Research Program (S.U.R.P.), I am learning even more about research and clinical medicine. In my work, I am determining the effect of the absence of the N-ras protooncogene on induced tumorigenesis. By conducting molecular oncology research for another summer, I have greatly expanded my knowledge and interest in the field. In addition, through my experiences in the Radiation Oncology Department with Dr. S., I clearly see the greater purpose of medical research beyond personal intellectual gratification. In the case of cancer and many other diseases, research is the only way to overcome the limitations of current clinical treatments.

I believe that one of the greatest joys and privileges of physicians are their abilities to directly aid and affect a community. While becoming interested in the science of medicine through research, I have explored human service to understand the art of medicine. When I volunteered in the Emergency Room of New England Medical Center during my sophomore year, many physicians impressed me with their sensitivity and compassion. When not assisting the hospital staff, I took every opportunity to comfort patients who felt scared and vulnerable. During that same year, I also tutored a middle-aged woman in English as a Second Language. It was challenging to teach her vocabulary and sentence structure since, initially, simple communication with her had been difficult. Helping her pass the high school equivalency exam made all of my efforts worthwhile. In addition, I have been an Associate Advisor for freshmen for the past two years. In this role, I have helped first year students adjust to college life. Not only have I played the role of academic mentor, but I have also become an intimate friend and personal tutor to my advisees. For my efforts, I won the annual Outstanding Associate Advisor Award.

Besides individual volunteering, I have taken the initiative to help the local community on a greater scale. As Community Service Chair for the Chinese Student's Club for the past two years, I established a new program to promote the interaction between MIT students and underprivileged teenagers. College students and children affiliated with a local community organization, Boston Asian: Youth Essential Service, have become acquainted through regular activities. Through events such as a scavenger hunt and a hands-on introduction to the World Wide Web, MIT volunteers help teenagers learn about the opportunities available at college. Along with several other undergraduates, I have become further acquainted with the teens through individual tutoring. To establish this new service program, I have done intensive planning and budget management. I have refined rough, creative ideas into organized activities involving over twenty people. During the planning stages, I have worked closely with professional youth counselors, other MIT participants, and the teens. While my involvement in this program has been very demanding at times, seeing these teens learn and develop their interests has definitely made it worthwhile.

During college I have learned many things outside of lecture halls and libraries. In research labs, I have refined my intellectual curiosity and scientific thought processes. In the local community, I have developed my interpersonal skills and a greater understanding of others. Through it all, I have learned to treasure the simple pleasures of helping others. By becoming a physician, I will continue to develop and apply these personal attributes.

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Survivor of Anorexia; Emergency Medical Technician Training; Clinic Experience; Medical Volunteer in Honduras; HIV Test Counselor

I decided that I wanted to be a doctor sometime after my four month incarceration in Columbia Presbyterian Children's Hospital in the winter of 1986-87, as I struggled with anorexia nervosa. Through the maturation process that marked my recovery, I slowly came to realize that my pediatrician had saved my life-despite my valiant efforts to the contrary. Out of our individual stubborn wills was born a kind of mutual respect, and he is one of the people who make up my small collection of heroes.

I admire doctors who understand both what is said and what is held back, who move comfortably around the world of the body, and who treat all patients with respect. I am lucky because a few of them have become my impromptu teachers, taking a little extra time to instruct me in anatomy, disease or courtesy. During my Emergency Medical Technician training, one of the emergency room doctors took me to radiology to point out the shadow of a fracture in a CT-scan and trusted me to hold a little girl's lip while he inserted sutures. The physicians in the Hospital 12 de Octubre in Madrid, Spain taught me to hear lung sounds and to feel an enlarged liver and spleen. They explained the social and medical difficulties associated with the management of pediatric AIDS until I understood the Spanish well enough to begin asking questions; then they answered them.

I work now in the Mayfield Community Clinic, which provides primary care to members of the Spanish-speaking community near Stanford University. My job as a patient advocate involves taking histories, performing simple procedures and providing family planning and HIV counseling. I try to use the knowledge I have gained from class and practice to formulate the right set of questions to ask each patient, but I am constantly reminded of how much I have to learn. I look at a baby and notice its cute, pudgy toes. Dr. V. plays with it while conversing with its mother, and in less than a minute has noted its responsiveness, strength, and attachment to its parent, and checked its reflexes, color and hydration. Gingerly, I search for the tympanic membrane in the ears of a cooperative child and touch an infant's warm, soft belly, willing my hands to have a measure of Dr. V.'s competence.

I first felt the need to be competent regarding the human body when I volunteered with the Amigos de Las Americas program in the town of T. in Lempira, Honduras. The hospital available to the people of T. (at a day's ride in the bed of a truck) was "where one went to die," so my partner and I, with our basic first aid certifications and our $15 Johnson & Johnson kits, quickly became makeshift "doctors". The responsibility initially created a heady feeling; a distressed mother called on us to bandage the toe her eight-year-old son had accidentally sliced to the bone with his machete. I told him the story of Beauty and the Beast in broken Spanish while my partner and I soaked the dirt from his toe, and during the following week we watched him heal.

Then our foster-mother, who normally tended to the sick, told my partner and me to "check on the foot" of D. The gentle-eyed, sixty-five year old man lay on his bed, his leg encased in bloody bandages from mid-calf to toe. After performing surgery, the hospital had given him a bottle of injectable antibiotics and some clean needles and sent him home without bandages or further instructions. My partner and I had not been trained to handle so serious a situation. We did not know what had happened; we did not know what the antibiotics were (or if they were actually antibiotics); we did not know if handling D.'s blood put us at risk for disease. We wanted to leave, but leaving the house meant leaving D. and betraying our foster-mother's trust. So we injected the antibiotics and cleaned and bandaged the wound every day for our remaining two weeks in Honduras although we felt ill-equipped for the responsibility, crippled by our ignorance and lack of supplies.

In T., I did not feel qualified to receive the trust the townspeople gave so willingly. As an HIV-antibody test counselor in California, I struggle everyday to win my clients' confidence. Somehow a twenty-one-year-old, Caucasian female must be sincere, knowledgeable and open enough to earn the respect of a fifty-five-year-old man who could be her father, a high school sophomore, an ex-drug addict, and a pregnant Latina woman. My clients are black, white, straight, gay, Ph.D. candidates and illiterate; some choose to come to me while others have court-orders. Yet to communicate effectively, each client must have enough confidence in me to engage in dialogue about his drug or sex life and to believe what I tell him, whether or not he chooses to act on our discussion.

Speaking with patients, doctors and community members has opened my eyes to some of the difficulties involved with healthcare provision, and I hope I have given some inspiration or comfort in exchange for the knowledge I have received. I want these lessons in openness and compassion to shape my understanding of medicine and allow me to become the type of doctor I admire.

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When I began volunteering at the American Civil Liberties Union of Michigan, I was a doctoral candidate in English literature, a budding scholar of the early novel. By the time I stopped volunteering ten months later, I had learned that I wanted to become a litigator, a lawyer who brought his political beliefs and persuasive writing to bear on some of the most important social issues of the day. My experiences at the A.C.L.U. opened my eyes not only to the complexity and urgency of impassioned legal work but also to my own professional aspirations.

Under the supervision of the A.C.L.U.'s generous and busy legal director, I was quickly exposed to many aspects of practical lawyering. My first job-assessing and responding to the organization's voluminous mail-required me to analyze the fact patterns that various correspondents presented. The many incoming accounts of police brutality, judicial indifference, and prison rape were often moving and frequently suspect. They forced me to temper my emotional responses and determine whether the complaints seemed both factually plausible and within the A.C.L.U.'s limited purview. After this challenging introduction, I was then asked to assist in the discovery phase of a prisoner's rights case. This work was detailed and intricate: my job was to reconstruct the specific events of a day in 1991 while searching for conflicts between the prison's official regulations and the actual conduct of its guards. As I called Michigan prisons for information, sifted through ten years of our client's prison records, and helped endlessly revise our pleadings, I learned a good deal about the small chores and thankless legal persistence that go into building cases.

At the same time, I found considerable overlap between my new legal tasks and my ongoing academic work. In an A.C.L.U. case I assisted in, for example, a judge overturned a state ban on partial birth abortion because the procedure had no precise meaning in the graduate lexicon, and the legislation might thus chill a wide variety of graduate practices. What fascinated me was that when confronted with the task of interpreting a knotty and important text, the twentieth-century legal system made many of the same interpretive moves as the eighteenth-century novel readers I had studied in my English graduate work. As the case unfolded, the pleadings debated the legislators' authorial intentions; the relevant Supreme Court and Sixth Circuit precedents; the contradictory testimony of various graduate experts; and, finally, the language of the statute itself. Like my eighteenth-century readers, modern textual interpreters were attempting to make sense of a silent, ambiguous document by finding ways to situate it within different historical, intertextual, and linguistic contexts. While particular interpretive conventions have changed over the centuries-modern lawyers cite prior cases and not Biblical parables to bolster their arguments-I came to realize that the broader task of comprehending texts (whether artistic expression or legislation) has not. Moreover, as I roamed through the stacks of Michigan's graduate and law libraries, I increasingly began to believe that it is precisely through interpretation, through embracing particular readings of Robinson Crusoe over others or through fighting over the legal standing of terms such as "partial birth abortion" that a society obliquely expresses its priorities and values as well as its blind spots.

I began making these connections partly because my work on the prisoner's rights case had forced me to question my own values and unspoken assumptions. Was I being co-opted by working on behalf of an unrepentant racist and murderer who complained at having some writings and a swastika confiscated by prison officials? Or was I defending the rights of future prisoners who might be writing less like our client and more like John Bunyan, Henry David Thoreau, or Martin Luther King, Jr.? Had I succumbed to the knee-jerk First Amendment absolutism that the A.C.L.U. is sometimes accused of? I thought I knew what public policy I supported but I became sorely aware of my legal ignorance: much as I needed to do so, I felt ill-equipped to objectively assess and synthesize the various judicial precedents that pertained to the case. Although I was frustrated by my uncertainties and limited knowledge, I found myself increasingly excited by the questions I was trying to ask. By the time I finally threw myself into the bittersweet task of assisting a murderer, I had learned both how little I knew of the law and how much I valued the nuanced, committed defense of civil liberties.

My volunteer work left me wanting to do more in the legal sphere. While the law may be too ungainly and inefficient a vehicle to directly change the world, it offers a unique opportunity to help influence people's interpretation of their world. With the knowledge and skills imparted by a legal education, I hope to get back to crafting public arguments over abortion, prisoners' rights, Internet expression, and other defining issues of our day.

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