This is another area that I would like to improve on with the knowledge that I would gain should I gain entry into your program. But what would be the relationship of mostly clerical and administrative work in the final output? Academics, i believe, are an essential part in the execution of any program designed to help any individual. Without the knowledge gained in school, it would be difficult to be effective in any endeavor one has set out. But is the attainment of a degree of academic knowledge the answer in helping these children? Should that be the only basis? My advantage would be that in addition to the knowledge that i know I will gain in the event that i am accepted into your program, that knowledge will be accompanied by years of first-hand experience that i already possess.
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We will write a custom essay sample. Lending a helping Hand or any similar topic only for you. But these credits, i believe, would prepare me in earnest to help more children if I get accepted into your program. I believe that your program is looking for students not just good in academics, but learners and doers. Brain knowledge and experience are, to me, two vastly opposite ends for learning. Just getting into program with just the essay expressed desire to acquire more brain knowledge is not a trait that I would want to carry into my field. Yes, accumulating knowledge is important in correctly doing the task that is set before an individual. But I believe that with my experience and the knowledge that i know I will gain in your program will allow me to be better at my calling. It is also mentioned in my personal circumstance that i also assist in the education of children with special needs. The children in this area are of need of extra care and attention.
The many times that I talk to children and parents would tend to frustrate even the best of people. Especially when you see the efforts, the sheer amount of it, just end up in milton's smoke. But to me, its just not a job. If I sound a bit on the ethereal, i do find what I do to be a calling of sorts. Usually, people would connote a calling to be of a grander design. A calling would tend to make people think of going on some mission in life, away from civilization and the perks and benefits of this life to be with the down trodden and less fortunate. But how does getting children to go back to school be a calling? For me, it is a calling. If your office would office would consider my personal circumstance, most of what is apparent that apart from the house visits that I regularly conduct with the parents of truant children, most of the facts are in the area of clerical, administrative or research work.
But my vocation is not just to give up on them. I try hard to get them on the right track. But what blume is exactly the right track? For them, the first step in finding the path is talking to them. Its a home big step for them to open up on the reasons that they drop out of schooling. The parents, too, have a large part in the reformation of the child. I make it a point to challenge the parents of these children to be positive influences on the lives of these children. Some may think that what I do is tiring, exasperating and down right frustrating. At some times, i would tend to agree.
Its to make people understand the lives of these children are worth something. In this line of work, it is imperative that I can get a backgrounder of the childrens behavior from the parents or guardians of these children. This would allow me to better assess the patterns of the child in relation to his various environments. Factors such as school and social life, i believe, have a great bearing on the behavior of these children. But with the knowledge i already possess, i should have a better chance at the reformation of the child should I gain entry into your program. When the case is usually presented, some people are often times just ready to give up on these children. Many people would just rationalize that these children are born to be at the low rungs of society, ending up either as beggars or criminals.
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A gift is something you dont take back or fret over but something you offer in return for the comfort of knowing that you have helped another. Havent you ever heard that it is better to give than to receive? She was lost proposal for words as she witness the boldness of his speech that flowed from his lips, so easily. Mary, i didnt ask you for an arm or leg; just a gift for someone who was in need. All i asked for was a helping hand! Lending hand can mean a variety of things for many people. It can mean help to get out of a financial bind, coming alongside another for a time of grief, or just being there for somebody.
But most of us lend a hand to another for the purpose of seeing how one can help another in a specific situation. Especially in time when what one knows can help in the predicament of another. One of my reasons seeking admission in your program is to do just that. In my seven years in the new York city department of Education, one of my duties has been to conduct visitations to the parents of children that have proven to difficult. These children usually come from backgrounds and stations in life that would other people ask Why bother? But that is where the motivation comes in for me to seek admission into your program.
It was two days before she could gather the energy to walk to her small kitchen and when she did, she searched for him and in a whimpering voice she called out to him. There was no reply as she drank a full glass of the water that she had so thirsted for. She searched each dark room and he was nowhere to be found. She let out a tiny sigh of relief as she walked toward the front door. She would find someone who could help her; someone who could call a family member or take her to get some medical help.
Her wrist felt like fire moving through the end and she held it tightly as she ran toward safety. The coldness of the day and the bitter rain exaggerated the pain she felt but she knew she couldnt delay. She had to find someone who could cause this horrible pain to go away. As she picked up speed, heading in the direction of the ancient saloon, she heard him breathing but continued on her important journey. The saloon was full of familiar faces and as she walked across the floor she saw him gazing at her, once again. He held his graceful hand across the table as she watched him and suddenly moved in his direction. Mary, you wont tell anyone!
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It would have proven more beneficial if it had caused her to sleep through the blunt trauma but that kind event of pain could not be stopped by anything, including the strong tranquilizer he had shoved down her throat before the surgery. Her eyes fluttered and he seemed to move in a cloud over her, as she whispered that she needed water. He held the vial of fluid to her lips as she took the first sip and she searched his eyes once more, trying to remember the events of the night and as she saw her hand moving toward her face, she realized it was her. My unselfish love, you have given to me of yourself. You have freely offered the gracefulness of your touch that I will forever feel against my flesh. I will carry this part of your body with me forever, and I will always be thankful to you! He had seemed appreciative as she tried to lift her limb that was wrapped in blood-stained wrapping that was lifted above her head. She thought about her family as she wondered if she would ever see them again as she felt a shot slip of blood pulsate through the bandage. She had never felt pain of this severity and as she tried to raise herself to a standing position, this stranger pulled her back to the bed and stroked her face with his feminine fingers.
He was growing impatient and she wished that his breathing could have been gentler and as she realized there was no way of escaping, she at last reached offered her hand to him. He had stroked it with affection. It was something that he power had desired for so long and when he saw how gracefully they moved while she danced, he couldnt bare not to have one of them, as his own. He removed a long razor that was attached to a wooden handle and he placed his arm around her arms and chest to secure them, so they wouldnt flop or flinch, as he removed the precious gift. The scream was shrilling and the terror he saw in her eyes didnt faze him. He wanted it so badly that her pain, he felt, was a small price to pay for the happiness it would bring to him. It was a gift that would enable him to give back so much more than she could ever offer with the long fingered hand. It was after midnight when she finally awoke. The medicine he had given her had caused her to sleep as he ceased the blood flow and sutured the wound that he had given her.
all that she needed to know. He was there for one reason and she could feel his eyes piercing her soul as he placed the artificial hand to her chest. Were the first words he spoke as she wiped a single tear from her cheeks, and removed her sweater. His voice was strong and he had not wanted this from her, but something much more personal. There was no way she could give this to him, and as she thought about it, she would have rather that he had been a crude pervert who only wanted her body, but he was asking for more than that! Her body tightened and she stood immobilized as he seemed to say thank you with his eyes and she suddenly wished that she hadnt moved away from her family. They had warned her about the dangers that existed in London, England and had advised her to reconsider her move so far away from those who cared about her. But, she had been strong-willed and their words of advice hadnt been able to convince her.
She could feel him standing behind her, but she couldnt allow herself to look. She could barely catch her breath and as she felt his hand rest on her shoulder, she closed her eyes and pretended she was back on the dance floor. He smelled of cedar and whiskey and as he brushed his hand across the back of her neck, she spoke words that she had no idea where they emerged from. Can I help you? I was all she could say and she wondered if he had been a male caller who had watched her dance, earlier. She could feel the sharp object tnt protruding from his arm and when she was finally able to turn around; she saw that he was equipped with the prosthetic hand that he had used to touch her. Had he any feelings in his hands? He must have, since she could feel the warmth that radiated from the object. She looked him in his face as he dangled the golden key before her.
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In the essay story, a helping Hand i am creating a gothic tale which takes place in the mid-eighteenth century in London, England where the madman of this story takes his hostage, a young dancer by the name of Mary, who is an eighteenth century prostitute. I intend to create a desperate and scary situation, that will leave my reading audience paralyzed with fear but unable to pull themselves away from this story. It will be a winning Gothic tale; hands down! The hallowing winds hurled Marys hair into air, as she crossed the rocky road that led her to her tiny stone villa, on fourth Street. She had danced easily for the gentlemen callers who had paid their dues, in order to watch her move across the floor with incredible grace and little clothing. She had performed this dance ritual for several months, now, and she had saved up enough money to pay her rent plus buy food, which was a rarity she had earlier missed. She searched her bag for the golden key that would allow her to enter, and she panicked when she discovered it wasnt in its proper place. The wind had picked up even more strength and she could barely hold her feet on the ground as she continued to look for the key. There was a humming in the distance, and she convinced herself that it was just another voice that the storm was offering, and as it grew louder and clearer, she froze where she stood.