Thank you to everyone who participated in the 2015 Appelman Law Firm $1,000 Criminal Defense Scholarship! We’ve sifted through the applications and narrowed our list down to a final five. We will showcase the essays of the five finalists over the next five Mondays, and we’ll announce the winner shortly thereafter. So without further ado, here’s finalist #1 talking about how she put a DUI conviction behind her to continue her pursuit of a career in law.
Actions Have Consequences
On August 4, 2012, while driving home from a friend’s house after consuming one drink, I was arrested and charged with driving under the influence. I was convicted and received court fines, 24 hours of community service, and Alcohol Awareness courses. I always used to look down at people who got DUIs, but I can definitely say that it is a mistake that I will never make again. This was an error of judgment on my part, and I accept sole responsibility for this offense and have since learned to avoid the situations that led to these mistakes. While I am not proud of these actions, I was able to grow as a person and mature from them, which provided me the ability to improve my moral character that I hope to contribute to the public good.
While I did no physical harm to myself or others, I know that this is a grave possibility for anyone whose judgment is even slightly impaired. It hurt to watch countless Mothers from MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Drivers) plead their cases before other offenders and myself without the slightest remorse from anyone around me.
As they told their stories, I could not help but shed tear after tear as I thought about the countless victims who are affected by drunk drivers every day. I am aware that my actions only carried negative consequences upon myself, but we must always think about all of the possibilities and consequences at hand. The MADD demonstration impacted me like nothing else. As a result, whenever I encounter individuals who are thinking about drinking and driving, I mention all of the potential consequences; their usual response is that won’t happen to me. As human beings, we must admit to ourselves that we are not omnipotent and that these things can happen to us and that our actions can affect other people.
I always like to see the positives and learn from every situation. My conviction has allowed me to see past the collection of numbers and see the potential consequences of my actions. I want to instill this thinking into others; I want others to see past the statistics and realize that each number is in fact an individual who was needlessly killed. Each number represents millions of people who grieved or are grieving the tragic loss of a loved one. I want them to realize that the death of these individuals is not an acceptable inevitability.
By going into the legal profession, I want my clients to be aware of their consequences, but I also want them to learn from their actions. One can only learn from a mistake after admission. I want them to know that everyone can make a mistake, but it is the lessons we acquire and the actions afterward that define us. Sometimes mistakes are inevitable, sometimes they require effort to prevent, and sometimes they are completely avoidable. I want to spread this awareness to others in the future as an attorney. This message can be vocalized in any field of the law even if a client is wrongfully accused. In every case there lies someone that is at least partially at fault. Whether I convict those that are or help those who aren’t, I am helping someone obtain this message-every action has a consequence.
A House Is Not A Home
About 17 years ago, my mother had to make a decision between upholding the Catholic disbelief in divorce and following her heart’s desire, and she chose the latter. My parent’s divorce in 1996 shattered my picture perfect image of a family. When I was six, my parents began having problems. They fought for months in front of my brother and me; arguments became so commonplace that I became conditioned to think that raising one’s voices was normal. I began to see that divorce is not between two people, but between the whole family. Things were never the same thereafter. I wanted to cry on a daily basis, but instead I ran to my room hoping that the screams would be muffled. My heart raced from the fear of not knowing what would happen. Looking back now, I wish my parents had invested in a children’s book covering divorce and separation to help me and my brother through the emotional issues we encountered, but unfortunately, we had to fend for ourselves.The only thing that kept me strong was being the leader and protector for my baby brother Anthony.
By age 7, my father had met someone new, a middle-aged woman with three kids. We began to visit them on a regular basis. Not only was I still adapting to the divorce, but now I had to adapt to a new family. Over the next years, they married and moved in together. My brother and I were merely temporary guests in THEIR HOME. I adapted to the changes yet again. Then in 2005, my father and stepmother divorced. It is now 2015, and I have a new stepmother and two half brothers.
My entire life I had to juggle my emotions, my belongings, and my life back and forth between houses. I became the messenger, the common denominator among my parents. I had to split myself into two: one part mother and one part father. As a child I just wanted stability, but I had to stay strong for my brother and myself. Despite the constant changes, however, I learned to stay strong and support both sides of my family. By realizing the complex nature of relationships at an early age, I positively developed a loving bond with my family. My relationship with my family mainly improved, however, with changes in my responses. While the experience of divorce is not unique to children, my response to these challenges undeniably sets me apart. The vulnerability of change taught me to adapt my fear and sadness into passion and determination, thereby fueling my desire to continue my educational trajectory towards law school.
Over time, my childhood became binding contacts, where the letter of the law determined whom I lived with and how much interaction I had with either parent. Dissolution of Marriage, Child Custody, Child Support, and Equitable Distribution of Marital Assets governed my life. I learned to comply with and adhere to the law, despite my reservation of its terms. The moment the court declared joint custody and I experienced the invariable consequence of marriage and divorce, I knew that I wanted to advocate for children and families in a court of law.
My life experiences have undoubtedly led me to be an independent, motivated young woman who yearns to protect children and families by providing them with a voice. I want to lead clients into making the best decision for their family as a whole. I see the law as a field of transition and change, something that is second nature to me. My familial encounters made me preoccupied with issues of family law and going to law school would allow me to put my experiences and knowledge into action. By assisting those going through similar experiences as myself, I can be a guide towards their personal growth. Because I was a bystander in the constant changes that unraveled in several HOUSES, I seek justice in providing children a HOME through the family court system. A house is an injustice, whereby love and affection can provide the justice of a HOME.
Life as a Cuban-American Child
“Ven aqui mamita,” said Julia, as she grabbed her five-year-old daughter, Maritza, aboard the plane. “Everything will be fine once we get to Los Estados Unidos,” she reassured her. As they boarded the aircraft, Julia waved goodbye to her husband, Pedro, who anxiously awaited his family’s fate in a new country. It would be years before he would see them again.
The sky grew somber as they began to board the plane to Miami that served as their symbol of liberation from the crude dictatorship of the Cuban Revolution of 1959.
My life has always revolved around my Cuban heritage; my grandparents Julia and Pedro raised me. My Cuban roots, however, would need to be put aside in order to assimilate to my American counterpart. When I was five years old, I began to attend elementary school in a class filled with English speaking students. As the child of an immigrant family, I was never obligated
to speak anything other than my native language-Spanish. I had to adapt to a new language and culture without the slightest help from anyone. Although this task seemed daunting, I had to learn English at any cost; I had to uphold my family’s dreams of coming to a free nation.
America was our home now, and I was filled with patriotism and pride; learning English was a privilege. Nonetheless, my language barrier hindered this privilege. Conjugations, vowels, consonants, long sounds, and short sounds: all the things that I dreaded. In first grade, while learning about World War I, we were reading a passage when I stumbled upon the word colonel.
It was not until all the students laughed at my mispronunciation that I realized that the word was actually pronounced [kum-nl]. From that day forward, I was determined to read with complete accuracy.
As senior year of High School approached, I was finally able to keep up with my peers. I was now the Cuban-American girl who academically excelled, while embracing both cultures. I applied to various colleges, determined to be the first to attend and graduate from college.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Today is the day of all days. Today is the day I find out if l got accepted into Duke
University. It is 8 a.m., and I run to my computer. As I open my email, I see that I have ONE
message in my inbox: the sender-DUKE UNIVERSITY. The email read:
Dear Stephanie,
Congratulations! The Admissions Committee and I take great pleasure in offering
you a place in the Duke University Class of 2013.
Sincerely,
Christoph Guttentag
Enthusiasm radiated and oozed through my pores. I ran and told my family, but Julia began to cry at the mere thought of my departure. I had to explain to her that college was a necessary journey. This was when I realized that I was going through what my grandmother went through on her plane ride to the United States. A college student, a recent immigrant-one in the same: emotions of confusion, homesickness, and the realization that a new life awaits ahead.
College was my symbol of liberation that would equalize my family’s struggles. I am my family’s chance at a second liberation: they envision their dreams in my accomplishments. Over 54 years and two generations of Hispanics had past since my grandmother’s difficult journey to the United States, yet I am just beginning to understand the emotions she battled when she arrived here. Our plane rides proved to be a journey into a new life: one filled with hope and fear-a journey into the unknown world that awaited us.
