It was adrenaline. As I sat on stage overlooking the six hundred faces which comprised my school, adrenaline coursed through my veins as powerfully as it does through an athlete's just before the score. It was a new feeling to me. It was the first time in my two and a half years of high school that I had been so exhilarated. It was this lack of exhilaration that had driven me up on stage in the first place. The exaggerated smiles and waves and the oblivious bodies sauntering past without a glance had pushed me over the edge. No one seemed to understand that a sixteen-year-old in a wheelchair has the same interests and ideals as any other sixteen-year-old. This is what I had called the assembly to try to change.

In order to grow strong enough to bring about this change, I needed to first strengthen my own foundation. A friend was an adaptive ski instructor in Colorado, and I wanted to visit her. I spent all my free time first semester planning a trip out west for New Years to ski with her. Planning this excursion shifted my focus off my frustration with school, and helped my sanity tremendously. It required a lot of hard work to plan the trip, as there were many details to consider. I had to find somebody to go with me as a personal attendant. I needed to rent a power wheelchair and an accessible van in Colorado. I also had to fund the entire trip myself. I pulled it off in the end, and had a fantastic New Years!

I began planning the assembly as soon as I got back. My trip left me filled with new energy. I wanted to focus that energy, and use it to do something to make the remaining six months of school bearable. I knew I needed to take some risks and do something radical. I liked the idea of speaking to the entire school. It went straight to the root of my problem, and was too explicit for anybody to ignore.

I worked with my guidance counselor for two months planning the assembly. I thought it would be great to find other students representing different minorities to speak as well. I found two other students who wanted to share their experiences with the school community. I put a lot of effort into planning my presentation, and as the day grew closer, I became more and more passionate about it.

Then something happened that brought things to a whole new level. A week and a half before the assembly, I lost a close friend.

When I was in the seventh grade, a young man named Craig began spending time with me after school and on the weekends as my aide. He moved in next-door so he could be available whenever I needed help. During the six years he helped me out, we became extremely close. Among other things, he provided me with the distance from my parents every teenager needs. He was one of my best friends.

Just before the assembly, Craig moved out in the middle of the night. He never mentioned a single word to me or my family about leaving beforehand, and I haven't heard from him since.

This experience flipped my world upside down. I was angry, confused, and dejected. The only silver lining was that I was able to use all the emotion it generated in the delivery of my speech. Things couldn't have gotten much worse, and I realized I had nothing to lose from saying exactly what I wanted to say to my school that day. So I pulled out all the stops and poured my heart out to the five hundred teenagers and one hundred adults sitting in front of me.

I asked them to imagine they were in my position, and could see and hear everything that went on around them, but were never seen or heard themselves. I challenged them to look past people's physical appearances, and to see the person inside. I spoke for ten minutes, and caught my breath at the end to a standing ovation!

The assembly united the school community in a way I had never seen before. When I finished speaking, we placed microphones in the aisles of the auditorium. One by one, two dozen students opened up and said they felt exactly the same way about high school as I did. I had hit a nerve that released a flood of feelings and emotions. I received the same response from my larger community. An article about the assembly was published on the front page of the local newspaper, and many people wrote me letters and stopped me on the street to say what I did was courageous and had forced them to think about how they deal with diversity in their lives.

In the days immediately following the assembly, my school was a different place. The town meeting had stirred things up, and people were friendlier in the halls. There were more smiles, and there was less hostility. However, the intensity of the effects has lessened with time. Now I am struggling to think of ways to keep reminding everyone of that day, and to encourage them to maintain the positive attitude it created.

When I spoke at the assembly, I thought that would be my contribution to my school. I knew it wouldn't solve all the problems we had, but I thought if I spoke to the entire school, my own conscience would let up on me. I thought I would be able to accept the fact that I had done everything in my power to better my high school experience, and I believed that alone would make me feel better.

However, I soon realized that the assembly was not the culmination of all my efforts, but rather just the beginning. I had shaken things up enough so people would be more accepting of differences in general, but then I needed to show them on an individual basis why I, specifically, was worth hanging out with. I have made a lot of progress with this effort, but it is an ongoing battle, and one that is not always easy to fight.

Montpelier, Vermont has been an excellent place to grow up. It is a small enough town that I have been able to become a real part of my community. Its small size and conservative atmosphere are what let me feel comfortable enough to do the assembly. I knew my peers would respond to my presentation respectfully. However, the same qualities which let me feel safe about speaking at the assembly are a large part of the reason I was driven to do it. The monotonously serious and aloof attitudes of the people in my town and school frustrated me immensely. Although the assembly did affect many people, these mindsets are still present in my community. I am ready for a more diverse and lively environment.

When I visited U.C. Berkeley last April, I immediately believed Cal could provide such an atmosphere. Berkeley would give me the intense academic challenge I need, and it would supply the dynamic, diverse culture I so strongly desire. Also, Berkeley's resources for disabled students are far better than those offered by any other school I visited. The Disabled Students' Residence Program is the only program I've seen that actively supports and encourages the development of the independent living skills that will be crucial throughout my life.

I subscribe to the idea that "that which does not kill you makes you stronger." I have undergone many battles in high school, but I am strong because of them. I learned a significant amount about interacting with people, and I have acquired a level of confidence in myself which I would not have obtained if I had not had these experiences. I want to continue this learning and growing process in college, and I believe the Cal community can provide the environment I want and need to grow to my full potential.