​2018大一新生资助申请书范文

时间:2021-09-23 17:43来源:蜜桃网

​2018大一新生资助申请书范文

(一)2018大学生助学贷款最多能贷多少钱?

主要是针对家庭经济困难的普通高校新生和在校生发放的贷款,用于支付贫困学生的学费和日常生活费。学历不同,获得助学贷款的数额也不同。

全日制普通本专科学生(含第二学士学位、高职学生):每人每年申请贷款额度不超过8000元,且不低于1000元。

全日制研究生:每人每年申请贷款额度不超过12000元,且不低于1000元。年度学费和住宿费标准总和低于 12000元的,贷款额度可按照学费和住宿费标准总和确定。

(二)大学生助学贷款申请流程如下:

1.学生提出申请。

2.国家助学贷款申请审批表;

3.本人学生证和居民身份证复印件

4.本人对家庭经济困难情况的说明;

4、乡、镇、街道民政部门和县级教育行政部门关于其家庭经济困难的证明;

5、银行或学校要求提供的其他证明文件和资料。

6.学校机构进行贷款初审。

7.经办银行进行贷款审批。

经办银行在收到学校提交的《信息表》和申请材料后,在20个工作日内完成审查。

8.与学生签订借款合同。

贷款申请被批准后,学校根据经办银行提供的借款学生名册,在10个工作日内完成组织学生填写、签署借款合同及借据的工作,并提交经办银行。

9.贷款的发放。

10.贷款的偿还。

2018大一新生:申请助学金的资料准备好了吗?都要准备哪些资料?

填写好的这份表格,需要学生所在街道或乡镇民政部门加印。单单拿着这份表,民政部门肯定不会给你加印的,必须有能够证明这份表填写属实的证明材料。证明材料里,最常见的,就是家庭贫困证明。这份证明应该由谁出呢?当然是你所在的村或者居委会,当然也就是居委会或者村委会负责人来写了。贫困证明模板如下:

学生本人在去村委会(居委会)写证明时,可以自己先写好,因为有些村委会(居委会)负责人年龄较大,识字不多。遇到这种情况,你把写好的证明让负责人过目后加印就可以了。

需要注意的是,证明中涉及到的,要有相关辅助材料。辅助的资料有很多种,因人而异。像入学贫困证明,借款贷款证明,大病医疗的病历等等这些东西都是可以增加你获得助学金的几率。家庭情况调查表填好之后,需要盖好相应的章。

在有些地方这里需要盖三个章,而且是一级一级部门的往上盖,先是去村委会盖章,然后去乡镇政府盖章,最后去县里的民政办盖章,三个章缺一个都不行,而且先后的顺序不能颠倒。持这样的证明以及其它辅助材料,到乡镇民政(有些学校还需要到县民政局)加印,就不会有任何问题了。

盖好印章后,将调查表、证明及辅助材料放在一起,一同上交学校,即可以获得学校助学金,保证自己完成学业。大家对申请助学金要用到的资料怎么看?

纽约时报5篇2018年美国大学申请essay范文精选

《The New York Times》每年都向高中生征集大学申请文书,今年将近300人回复,这里挑选出5篇优秀essay,有的关于家庭,有的启发梦想,有的思索阶级…从他们身上所体现的情感领悟、洞察能力、怪才脑洞,难怪会脱颖而出被顶尖大学录取。

Eric Muthondu

秋季入读哈佛大学

These are the two worlds I have inherited, and my existence in one is not possible without the other.

My grandmother hovers over the stove flame, fanning it as she melodically hums Kikuyu spirituals. She kneads the dough and places it on the stove, her veins throbbing with every movement: a living masterpiece painted by a life of poverty and motherhood. The air becomes thick with smoke and I am soon forced out of the walls of the mud-brick house while she laughs.

As for me, I wander down to the small stream at the ridge on the farm’s edge, remembering my father’s stories of rising up early to feed the cows and my mother’s memories of the sweat on her brow from hours of picking coffee at a local plantation.

Life here juxtaposes itself profoundly against the life I live in America; the scourge of poverty and flickering prosperity that never seem to coalesce. But these are the two worlds I have inherited, and my existence in one is not possible without the other. At the stream, I recollect my other life beyond this place. In America, I watch my father come home every night, beaten yet resilient from another day of hard work on the road. He sits me and my sister down, and though weary-eyed, he manages the soft smile I know him for and asks about our day.

My sister is quick to oblige, speaking wildly of learning and mischief. In that moment, I realize that she is too young to remember our original home: the old dust of barren apartment walls and the constant roar outside of life in the nighttime.

Soon after, I find myself lying in bed, my thoughts and the soft throb of my head the only audible things in the room. I ponder whether my parents — dregs floating across a diasporic sea before my time — would have imagined their sacrifices for us would come with sharp pains in their backs and newfound worries, tear-soaked nights and early mornings. But, it is too much to process. Instead, I dream of them and the future I will build with the tools they have given me.

Realizing I have mused far too long by the water’s edge, I begin to make my way back to the house. The climb up the ridge is taxing, so I carefully grip the soil beneath me, feeling its warmth surge between my fingers. Finally, I see my younger cousins running around barefoot endlessly and I decide to join their game of soccer, but they all laugh at the awkwardness of the ball between my feet. They play, scream and chant, fully unaware of the world beyond this village or even Nairobi, but I cannot blame them. My iPhone fascinates them and they ask to see my braces, intently questioning how many “shillings” they cost. I open my mouth to satisfy their curiosity, but my grandmother calls out, and we all rush to see what she has made.

When I return, the chapatis are neatly stacked on one another, golden-brown disks of sweet bread that are the completion of every Kenyan meal. Before my grandmother can ridicule me in a torrent of Kikuyu, I grab a chapati and escape to find a patch of silky grass, where I take my first bite. Each mouthful is a reminder that my time here will not last forever, and that my success or failure will become a defining example for my sister and relatives.

The rift between high school and college is wide, but it is one I must cross for those who have carried me to this point. The same hope that carried my parents over an ocean of uncertainty is now my fuel for the journey toward my future, and I go forward with the radical idea that I, too, can make it. Savoring each bite, I listen to the sound of neighbors calling out and children chasing a dog ridden with fleas, letting the cool heat cling to my skin.

祖母徘徊在炉子的火焰旁,一边优美地哼着吉库尤人的宗教歌曲,一边扇着火。她揉好面团,放在炉子上。她的静脉随着每个动作抽动:这是一幅由贫困和生为人母的一生所绘成的活生生的杰作。空气中的烟雾越来越浓,我很快就被逼出了这座泥巴砖墙房子,她哈哈大笑。

我呢,我漫步到农场边缘一座山脊中的小溪,想起父亲早早起身喂牛的故事,想起在母亲的回忆中,她在当地一个种植园里摘了数小时咖啡豆后额头上的汗珠。

这里的生活与我在美国的生活有着极大的不同,贫穷的苦难与闪烁的繁荣似乎永远不会相容。但这就是我所继承的两个世界。而我在任何一个世界中的存在也离不开另外一个世界。在溪水旁,我回忆起我在别处的生活。在美国,我看着父亲每晚回家,劳累却又习以为常地结束了又一天辛苦奔忙的工作。尽管他的双眼中透着疲惫,但他会让我和妹妹坐下,努力挂上我熟悉的微笑,问我们今天过得怎样。

妹妹的回应很快,大谈特谈她的学习和淘气。这一刻,我才意识到她太小了,以至于忘了我们原来的家:家徒四壁的破旧公寓,夜晚有动物在外面不断地嚎叫。

不久之后,我发现屋内唯一可以听到的,只有躺在床上的我脑中的思绪和轻微悸动的声响。我琢磨着,在我的到来之前,父母曾在离散之海上漂流,当时他们是否想过,他们为我们作出的牺牲会伴随着后背的剧痛、每个流泪夜晚与清晨的新忧虑。但是要理解起来太过繁杂。于是,我会梦见他们,以及我用他们赋予我的工具去开创的未来

我在水边沉思了太久。意识到了这点,我便开始往家走。爬上山脊十分累人,于是我小心地抓牢脚下的泥土,感受着它在我指间的温暖。后来,我看到了赤着脚跑来跑去的表弟表妹,决定加入他们的足球赛,但他们都嘲笑我带球有多不协调。他们玩耍、叫喊、歌唱,完全不知道这个村庄之外或者内罗毕之外的世界。我不怪他们。我的iPhone令他们着迷,他们还要看我的牙套,目不转睛地问这花了多少“先令”。我张开嘴巴以满足他们的好奇心,但祖母叫我了,于是我们都赶忙回去看看她做了些什么。

当我回到家时,薄煎饼已整齐地一个个摞好,金褐色盘子里盛着甜面包,这才是完整的肯尼亚餐。趁祖母还没来得及用吉库尤语连珠炮般地取笑我,我拿了一块薄煎饼就逃去寻找一块光滑的草地,在那里我才吃下了第一口。每一口都提醒着我,我在这里的时光不会是永远,而我的成功或失败将成为我的妹妹和亲戚们的决定性例证。

高中和大学之间的鸿沟是巨大的,但是为了那些一路将我提携至此的人们,我必须越过。这个曾带领我父母跨越无常之海的希望,也是现在的我走向未来的动力。我将带着一个最基本的思想前进,那就是:我也能做到。我听着邻居们的呼喊和孩子们追赶着满是跳蚤的小狗,享受着每一刻,让那清凉附着于我的肌肤之上。

Alison Hess

芝加哥大学

While I then associated my conquests with ‘being a better boy,’ I now realize what I was really working toward was becoming a better farmer.

I always assumed my father wished I had been born a boy.

Now, please don’t assume that my father is some rampant rural sexist. The fact is, when you live in an area and have a career where success is largely determined by your ability to provide and maintain nearly insurmountable feats of physical labor, you typically prefer a person with a bigger frame.high quality essay writing service on www.baydue.com

When I was younger, I liked green tractors better than red tractors because that was what my father drove, and I preferred black and white cows over brown ones because those were the kind he raised. I wore coveralls in the winter and wore holes in my mud boots in weeks. With my still fragile masculinity, I crossed my arms over my chest when I talked to new people, and I filled my toy box exclusively with miniature farm implements. In third grade, I cut my hair very short, and my father smiled and rubbed my head.

I never strove to roll smoother pie crusts or iron exquisitely stiff collars. Instead, I idolized my father’s patient hands. On a cow’s neck, trying to find the right vein to stick a needle in. In the strength of the grip it took to hold down an injured heifer. In the finesse with which they habitually spun the steering wheel as he backed up to the livestock trailer.

And I grew to do those things myself. When on my 10th birthday I received my first show cow, a rite of passage in the Hess family, I named her Missy. As I spoke to her in an unnaturally low voice, I failed to realize one thing: Missy did not care that I was a girl. She did not think I was acting especially boyish or notice when I adamantly refused to wear pink clothing (she was colorblind anyway). And she did not blink an eyelash at her new caretaker’s slightly smaller frame. All she cared about was her balanced daily feed of cottonseed and ground corn and that she got an extra pat on the head. As I sat next to her polishing her white leather show halter, she appreciated my meticulous diligence and not my sex.

When Missy and I won Best of Show a few months later, my father’s heart nearly exploded. I learned to stick my chest out whenever I felt proud. While I then associated my conquests with “being a better boy,” I now realize what I was really working toward was becoming a better farmer. I learned I could do everything my father could do, and in some tasks, such as the taxing chore of feeding newborn calves or the herculean task of halter-breaking a heifer, I surpassed him. It has taken me four years to realize this: I proved a better farmer than he in those moments, not despite my sex, but despite my invalid and ignorant assumption that the best farmer was the one with the most testosterone.

My freshman year, I left the farm for boarding school, where I was surrounded by the better-off and the better-educated — the vast majority of whom had heard the word ‘feminism’ before. I began to pick up just what the word meant from my antagonizing English teacher and my incisive friends’ furrowed brows when I described my hometown. Four years of education and weekly argumentative essays taught me the academic jargon. I learned the Latin roots of the word “feminism,” its cognates and its historical consequences.

But the more I read about it in books, and the more I used it in my essays, the more I realized I already knew what it meant. I had already embodied the reality of feminism on the farm. I had lived it. My cow had taught it to me.

我一直以为父亲希望我生下来是个男孩。

这个,请不要把我父亲当成疯狂的乡巴佬性别歧视者。事实是,在他所处的地区和行业,成功与否主要看你能不能提供和保持近乎不可超越的体力劳动壮举,人们往往更喜欢大块头的人。

小时候,我更喜欢绿色而不是红色的拖拉机,因为父亲开的就是绿色的。我喜欢黑白相间的母牛,而不是棕色的,因为父亲养的就是那种黑白的。我冬天穿连体工作服,一连几周穿着带窟窿沾泥巴的靴子。和新来的人说话时,我会表现出尚且稚嫩的男子气,双臂交叉抱在胸前。我的玩具箱里只有农具模型。三年级的时候,我把头发剪得非常短。父亲露出微笑,摸了摸我的头。

我从未试图把馅饼皮擀得更加光滑,或是熨出笔挺的衣领。相反,我崇拜父亲那双有耐心的手。它们努力在母牛的脖颈上找到正确的血管扎针;用力制住受伤的小母牛;在他驾驶牲畜拖车时习惯地、巧妙地快速打方向盘。

长大后,我自己也要做这些事情。十岁生日那天,我收到了自己的第一头表演母牛。在赫斯家族,这是一种成人礼。我给她起名叫米西(Missy)。当我用极低的声音和她说话时,我没有意识到一件事:米西不在乎我是女孩。她不认为我特意表现出男孩子气,也不会注意到我坚决抗拒粉色衣服(反正她是色盲)。她对照顾她的新人块头略小无动于衷。她只在乎自己每天的均衡棉籽玉米面饲料,以及有人能多拍一下她的头。我坐在她旁边擦她的白色皮革笼头时,她感谢的是我一丝不苟的勤勉,而不是我的性别。

几个月后,当我和米西赢得最佳表演奖时,父亲的心脏差点爆炸。我学会了无论何时只要感到自豪,就要表现出来。尽管当时我把自己的胜利和“当一个更优秀的男孩”联系在一起,但现在我意识到,那时我努力的方向其实是成为一个更优秀的农民。我知道,我会做父亲会做的所有事情,并且在有些事情上青出于蓝,比如承担喂新生小牛犊这件杂事,或是让小母牛习惯带笼头这项艰巨的任务。我用了四年时间才意识到:在那些时刻,我证明自己是一个比他还优秀的农民,不是因为我克服了自己的性别,而是因为我克服了自己毫无根据的无知观念,认为睾丸酮水平最高的农民才是最优秀的农民。

大学一年级,我离开农场,去了寄宿学校。在学校里,我身边都是更富裕、受教育程度更高的人。他们中绝大部分人以前都听说过“女权主义”这个词。在我介绍自己的家乡时,我开始从讨厌的英语老师和敏锐的朋友们皱起的眉头中领会这个词的意思。四年的教育和每周的议论文教会了我这个学术术语。我知道了“女权主义”这个词的拉丁语词根、同源词和它的历史影响。

但我通过书本了解到的相关知识越多,在文章中用这个词的次数越多,我越是明白自己早已知道它的意思。我身上正体现出女权主义在农场的现状。我已经付诸实践了。这都是我的母牛教我的。

Jeffrey Yu

将入读耶鲁大学

My family is a matriarchy in a patriarchal community.

Not all sons of doctors raise baby ducks and chickens in their kitchen. But I do. My dad taught me.

While my childhood was spent in a deteriorating industrial town, my dad was raised during the onset of Mao Zedong’s Cultural Revolution. After forgoing university so his sister could attend, my dad worked on a commune as a farmer. So while I grew up immersed in airy Beethoven melodies each morning, my dad grew up amid the earthy aromas of hay and livestock. Every time that I look between our grand piano and our baby chickens, I’m amazed by the stark differences between our childhoods, and how in raising livestock, my dad shares a piece of his own rural upbringing with me.

Embracing these differences, my dad has introduced me to diverse experiences, from molding statues out of toilet paper plaster to building greenhouses from the ground up. So you might be wondering: What does he do for a traditional 9-to-5 job? He’s already captained a research vessel that’s navigated across the Pacific, designed three patentable wind turbines and held every position imaginable, from sous chef to Motorola technician.

The answer? Nothing. He’s actually a stay-at-home dad right now.

My family is a matriarchy in a patriarchal community. Accordingly, I’m greeted with astonishment whenever I try to explain my dad’s financial status. “How lazy and unmotivated he must be!” Many try to hide their surprise, but their furtive glances say it all. In a society that places economic value at the forefront of worth, these assumptions might apply to other individuals, but not to my dad.

When I look at the media, whether it be the front cover of a newspaper or a featured story in a website article, I often see highlights of parents who work incredible hours and odd jobs to ensure their children receive a good upbringing. While those stories are certainly worthy of praise, they often overshadow the less visible, equally important actions of people like my dad.

I realize now that my dad has sacrificed his promising career and financial pride to ensure that his son would get all of the proper attention, care and moral upbringing he needed. Through his quiet, selfless actions, my dad has given me more than can be bought from a paycheck and redefined my understanding of how we, as people, can choose to live our lives.

I'm proud to say that my dad is the richest man I know — rich not in capital, but in character. Infused with the ingenuity to tear down complex physics and calculus problems, electrified with the vigor of a young entrepreneur (despite beginning his fledgling windmill start-up at the age of 50) and imbued with the kindness to shuttle his son to practices and rehearsals. At the end of the day, it’s those traits in people that matter more to me than who they are on paper.

Stories like my dad’s remind me that worth can come in forms other than a six-figure salary. He’s an inspiration, reminding me that optimism, passion and creativity can make a difference in a life as young as mine. It’s those unspoken virtues that define me. Whether it’s when I fold napkin lotuses for my soup kitchen’s Christmas dinner, or bake challah bread French toast sticks for my chemistry class, I’m aware that achievement doesn’t have to be measured empirically. It’s that entrepreneurial, self-driven determination to bring ideas to life that drives me. My dad lives life off the beaten path. I, too, hope to bring that unorthodox attitude to other people and communities.

All too often I’m left with the seemingly unanswerable question: “What does my dad do?” But the answer, all too simply, is that he does what he does best: Inspire his son.

并非所有医生的儿子都会在厨房里养小鸡小鸭。但我会。是我爸教我的。

我是在一个衰败的工业城镇长大的,而我父亲的童年却正值mozedong掀起他的文化大革命。为了让姊妹能上大学,我的父亲放弃了自己上大学的机会,去公社当起了农民。因此,我每天早上在贝多芬的悠扬乐曲中醒来,我的父亲却是在干草和牲畜散发的生活气息里长大的。每当我望向我们的三角钢琴和我们的小鸡,我都会惊讶于我们童年的鲜明差异,以及我的父亲是如何通过饲养牲畜与我分享他的乡村成长。

我的父亲接受了这些不同。从如何用厕纸制作石膏塑像,到如何从无到有建起一座温室,他向我介绍了不同的经验。于是你可能想问:他朝九晚五的传统工作是什么?他曾经是驾驶着考察船跨越太平洋的船长,设计过三种可取得专利的风力涡轮机,从副厨到摩托罗拉(Motorola)技术员,一切你能想象得到的工作他都做过。

现在呢?都不是。实际上,他现在是一名居家老爸。

我的家庭是一个父系社会中的母系部落。因此,每当我解释父亲的财务状况时,都会得到人们惊讶的反应。“他这是有多懒,多没出息!”也有许多人试图掩饰他们的惊讶,但他们游移的眼神透露了一切。在一个把经济价值摆在最前沿的社会中,这些假设对其他人可能适用,但对我父亲不行。

我看媒体,不论是新闻头版,还是网站上的专题文章,都常常突出描写那些为了保证孩子能接受良好教育而长时间工作,一人打多份工的父母。这些报道当然值得称赞,但它们往往会盖过那些相对不为人所知的、像我父亲这样的人,他们的所为是同样重要的。

我现在意识到了,我的父亲牺牲了他前途大好的事业和钱财上的成就,以确保他的儿子能得到恰当的关注、照料和道德教育。父亲从他无言、无私的举动中所给予我的,远远大于一份薪水所能买到的,也让我重新认识到,我们——作为人类——能如何为自己的生活做出选择。

我很自豪地说,我的父亲是我认识的人中最富有的——不是金钱上的富有,而是品格上的富有。他拥有解决复杂的物理和微积分问题的聪明才智,充满年轻创业者的活力(尽管他在50岁时才创立了一家正在起步的风车公司),会贴心地接送儿子去训练、排练。归根结底,对我来说更为重要的是一个人身上的这些品质,而非书面上的记录。

像我父亲这样的故事提醒着我,价值不只是六位数薪资这一种形式。他是一个启发我的人,他提醒着我,哪怕是对我这样一个年轻人的生活,乐观、热情和创造力都能带来不同。是这些无言的品质塑造了我。不论是当我为救济厨房的圣诞晚餐折餐巾花的时候,还是为化学课同学烘焙辫子面包法式吐司条的时候,我都知道成就不一定要用实证的方法来衡量。推动我前进的是这种创业者式的、自我驱动的决心,要让生活充满创意。我的父亲没有按着惯有的道路生活。而我,也希望为他人、为社会带去这样一种非正统的态度。

我时不时会面对这个看似无法回答的问题:“我的爸爸是做什么的?”但其实非常简单,答案就是,他做的是他最擅长的事情:给他的儿子带去启发。

Caroline Beit

今年入读耶鲁大学

While I have not changed the tax system (though someday I plan to), I have changed how my clients interact with it.

“Nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.”

Not only do Benjamin Franklin’s words still resonate today, but, if you are like most, filing income taxes is simply unpleasant. For me, however, preparing taxes has been a telescopic lens with which to observe the disparate economic realities present in our society. In looking through this lens, I have seen firsthand how low wages and, at times, regressive public policy can adversely impact the financially fragile, and how I can make a difference.

This coming year will be my third volunteering every Saturday during tax season with AARP’s Tax-Aide Program. In the basement of the Morningside Heights Library in Manhattan, we help the elderly and low-income individuals file their taxes. During my first season, I handled organizational tasks and assisted intake counselors with the initial interview process.

When I told the AARP manager that I wanted to return the following season and do actual tax preparation, she was skeptical, especially since the next youngest tax preparer at my location was 37. That, however, did not deter me: Though I would be just 16 before the start of the season, I diligently studied the material and passed the advanced I.R.S. qualification test.

As a volunteer, my goal is to help my clients obtain every credit they are entitled to and place vitally needed money in their pockets. To do this, I need much more than just technical knowledge. It is also essential to connect on a human level. I make it a point to put each person at ease by actively listening to his or her story.

For example, the young woman, who is a recently minted United States citizen and barely speaks English, mentions that her disabled grandmother lives with her. Her story allows me to determine she can claim a dependent care credit for her grandmother and a $$1,000 earned income credit. These credits represent approximately 20 percent of her income and will go toward buying her grandmother’s medications and other necessities.

I am saddened at times by the palpable stress of those living on the edge of economic subsistence. Basic necessities such as sneakers and dental care, which I had never thought twice about, are out of reach for many. I vividly remember the single mom from Queens who works at Target and spent $$400 (a week’s paycheck) at H&R Block last year. By not having to pay for tax preparation this year and the credits she can claim, she confided she will be able to buy her son, who is my age, new shoes for track and hopefully see a dentist for a tooth that has been throbbing for months.

As a volunteer, I have learned the importance of empathizing, listening and communicating complex and technical matters simply. Making my clients feel at ease allows them to understand my explanation of how their money is being taxed. I have also gained insight into how tax policy affects the financial and physical health of the working poor and elderly. While I have not changed the tax system (though someday I plan to), I have changed how my clients interact with it.

Beyond Benjamin Franklin’s two certainties in life of death and taxes, I would add a third: the enduring power of the human spirit. I remember an octogenarian man with a cane who waited two hours in line on a bone-chillingly rainy Saturday in February. He is somehow able to survive in Manhattan on $$15,000 of Social Security earnings a year. Even though his income is below the filing requirement, together we claim $$77 of school tax and rent credits, which translates into two weeks of groceries.

When we finish, he says to me, “See you next year.” It is at that moment I know I have made a tangible difference.

“除了死亡和纳税,没什么是可以确定的。”

本杰明·富兰克林(Benjamin Franklin)的这句话到了今天依然能够引起共鸣,如果你和大多数人一样,也会觉得申报所得税的确令人不快。不过,对我来说,报税准备工作是我观察我们社会当中迥异经济现实的望远镜。透过这个镜头,我亲眼见识到,有时微薄的工资和倒退的公共政策会对经济弱势者带来什么不利影响,以及我如何才能作出改变。

在报税季节,我每个周六都跟随AARP报税援助项目(Tax-Aide Program)进行志愿工作,接下来的这一年将是第三次了。在曼哈顿晨边高地图书馆(Morningside Heights Library)的地下室里,我们会帮助年迈者和低收入者报税。在我第一次加入的那个报税季节里,我负责处理组织任务,在初始面试过程中协助招募顾问。

我告诉AARP的经理我想在下一个季度回来,并做些实际的税务准备工作时,她表示怀疑,尤其是因为在我的所在地,第二年轻的报税人员也有37岁。但是,这并没有把我吓住:尽管我在税务季节开始时刚满16岁,但我钻研过这些材料,也通过了美国国税局(I.R.S.)的高级资格考试。

作为志愿者,我的目标是帮助我的客户得到他们应得的每一笔抵免,将亟需的资金放回他们的口袋。要做到这一点,我需要的不仅仅是专业知识,还得在人与人的层面进行沟通。我会积极地倾听他或她的故事,注意使每个人都感到放松。

比如那位几乎不会说英语、刚刚成为美国公民的年轻女子,她提到自己与残疾的祖母同住。从她的故事中我可以确定,她可以因为她的祖母而申请“受抚养者看护税抵”和一千美元的劳动所得抵免。这些抵免占了她收入的20%左右,并将用来为她的祖母购买药品和其他必需品。

有时,经济状况处于维生边缘的人们所受到的压力是那样明显,令我感到悲伤。比如球鞋和牙科护理这样我从未多花心思的基本需求,对很多人而言都遥不可及。我清楚地记得,那位来自皇后区,在塔吉特(Target)工作的单亲妈妈去年在H&R Block报税公司花掉了400美元(相当于她一周的薪水)。有了我们的志愿工作,今年她不需要再为报税准备付款,还可以申请抵免,于是她向我表示,她可以为和我同龄的儿子买一双新跑鞋了,而且还有希望去牙医那儿看看抽痛了几个月的一颗牙

作为志愿者,我学到了共情、倾听,以及通过简单的方式沟通复杂专业问题的重要性。让我的客户放松,他们就能理解我对他们的钱应当如何缴税的解释。我也深入了解了税收政策会对低收入劳动者和老年人的经济状况与身体健康产生怎样的影响。虽然我并没有改变税收体制(虽然我以后有这个打算),但我改变了客户与体制的沟通方式

除了本杰明·富兰克林说的,生命中死亡与税收这两样确定的事情之外,我还会加上第三件确定的事,那就是人类精神的持久力量。我记得一位拄着拐杖的八旬老人,在二月一个下着雨的寒冷周六排了两个小时的队。不知怎地,他能在曼哈顿凭着每年15000美元的社保收入生活下来。尽管他的收入低于报税要求,但我们一起申报了77美元的学区税和租房抵免,这相当于他两个星期的杂货采购费用。

我们完成了工作后,他对我说,“明年见。”这一刻,我知道我已经做出了实实在在的改变。

Kataryna Pi�0�9a

将入读科尔盖特大学

At the age of 11, I started working for the very first time as a cleaning lady with my grandparents.

The way the light shined on her skin as she sewed the quilt emphasized the details of every wrinkle, burn and cut. While she completed the overcast stitch, the thimble on her index finger protected her from the needle pokes. She wore rings on every finger of her right hand, but on her left she only wore her wedding ring. The rings drew the attention away from her age and scars to her cherished possessions.

My grandmother’s rings had not only been stolen by her son, my father, but she was constantly in the state of fear that he would steal from her once again. When my father was incarcerated, she wore her rings every day of the week; however, when he was home, her hands were bare. As it became increasingly common over time, she learned to hide her treasures in a jewelry box under her bed.

As a small child, I watched my grandmother’s hands move in an inward and outward motion, noticing her rhythm. This rhythm was like the cha-cha music I heard every Sunday when I went with her to the pulga, the flea market. Every week, she bargained on the vendor’s products and brought home “unnecessary necessities”; luckily, some weeks it just happened to be thread and new sewing outlines. As my grandma sewed my outfits for school, I was always trying to complete the outline of La Rosa de Guadalupe just so I could impress her. I would sing along to her favorite Prince Royce songs, use the same color of thread as her and try to go at the same cha-cha.

With my father incarcerated, the women in my family went to work. At the age of 11, I started working for the very first time as a cleaning lady with my grandparents. Even though I wanted to help my family, I was ashamed to be a cleaning lady. I argued with my mother against living a life like that, a life in which I gave up my childhood for my family’s stability. After being called “malagradecida” — ungrateful — several times, my grandmother reacquainted me with the idea that “todas las cosas buenas vienen a los que esperan” — all good things come to those who wait. Sewing was no longer a hobby, but a necessity, when it came to making my own apron, seaming together rags and pushing for a better future for my family. My grandmother, too, had to put down her quilt and go to work, but she never complained.

In recent years, my grandmother has become increasingly ill, so I took her unfinished quilt to my home, planning to complete it. My grandmother did not choose to leave this project unfinished; her age and constant contribution to her family through work did not allow her to. Often, obstacles have not only redesigned my course, but have changed my perspective and allowed for me to see greater and better things present within my life. The progression of each patch depicts the instability present within my family. However, when you put all these patches together as one, you have a quilt with several seams and reinforcements keeping it together to depict the obstacles we have faced and have overcome to show resilience.

Now, when she visits our home, as she reaches for her glasses and pushes her walker away from the table, my grandmother asks me to bring her the quilt. The jeweled hands that were once accustomed to constant stitching are now bare, and the scars are hidden under every wrinkle. With a strong grip on the quilt, my grandmother signals me to get her sewing basket that sits in the corner collecting dust. She runs her hands over the patches one last time and finds an unfinished seam. She smiles and says, “Cerrar la costura y hacer una colcha de su propio” — close the seam and make a quilt of your own.

她坐在阳光下缝百衲被时,光线让她皮肤上的每个皱纹、灼伤和割痕显得特别突出。她一针一针地缝着边,食指上的顶针保护着其他手指免遭针扎。虽然她右手的每个指头上都戴着戒指,但左手只有一个指头带着她的结婚戒指。这些戒指把人们的注意力从她的年龄和伤痕转移到她珍爱的东西上。

奶奶的戒指不仅被她的儿子、我的父亲多次偷走,而且她时时刻刻处于担心状态,怕他会再偷她的东西。我父亲被关在监狱里时,她一星期每天都戴着戒指;但他在家时,她手上光秃秃的。随着时间的推移,这已变得越来越常见,她学会了把值钱的东西藏在她床底下的珠宝盒里。

小时候,我观察过奶奶的手向内、向外来回不断的动作,注意到她的节奏。这种节奏就像每个星期日我和她一起去逛跳蚤市场时听到的恰恰舞音乐。每星期,她都对卖主的产品讨价还价,把“不需要的必需品”带回家;幸运的是,有些星期买来的东西碰巧是线和新的衣服样子。当奶奶给我缝上学穿的衣服时,我总是在试图按照电视剧La Rosa de Guadalupe里的衣服样子缝件什么,我那是做给她看的。我会边听边唱她最喜欢的罗西王子(Prince Royce)歌曲,用与她用的颜色一样的线,并试着用同样的恰恰舞节奏。

因为父亲被关进监狱,我家里的女性都得去打工。11岁时,我第一次开始工作,和祖父母一起当起了清洁工。虽然我想帮助我的家人,但对当一名清洁女工我感到羞愧。我和母亲争吵过,我不想过这样的生活,不想为了家庭的稳定而放弃我的童年。家人好几次说我“忘恩负义”——奶奶也多次用“一切好事都只会发生在那些耐心等待的人身上”这句话来教育我。缝纫不再是一种爱好,而是成了一件必需做的事情,我给自己缝制围裙,把布片缝在一起做抹布,为我的家庭争取更美好的未来。奶奶也不得不放下百衲被去工作,但她从不抱怨。

最近几年,奶奶的病越来越重,所以我把她未完成的百衲被带回家,打算把它做完。让这个项目半途而废不是奶奶的选择;她的年龄、以及她为家庭不停地做贡献让她无法完成这个百衲被。障碍不仅经常让我重新设计人生道路,而且改变了我的视角,让我看到了生活中更大、更美好的东西。百衲被是一块一块拼缝起来的,每块布都代表着我的家庭内部的不稳定。然而,当你把所有这些布块缝成一件完整东西时,你就有了一个用多条接缝连接起来、经过多次加固的百衲被,就像是描绘了我们曾经面临并克服了诸多障碍后所展示的韧性

现在,奶奶来到我们家时,她一边伸手去拿眼镜,把自己的助步器从桌子傍边推开,一边叫我把百衲被拿给她。曾经习惯了不停地缝纫、带满了戒指的手现在光秃秃的,手上的伤疤也被皱纹隐藏了起来。奶奶紧紧地抓着被子,向我示意,让我把她的缝纫篮子拿过来,那个放在屋子角落里的篮子上盖满了灰尘。她的手从每个布块摸过,对被子进行着最后的仔细检查,找到了一条没完全缝好的接缝。她笑着说:“把这个缝儿缝起来,然后做一床你自己的百衲被。”

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