My name is Camper Lam Crosby Dales. I was born in Thanh Hoa, Vietnam. I was found in the parking space of a party official when at approximately three days old. I was brought to a local orphanage and given the name Nguyen Thi Lam. I’m not fluent in Vietnamese but like to think it means “Lady of the Forest”. Given that my adoptive parents come from the northern New England this seemed a perfect fit. My parents wanted to give me a name that would honor my Vietnamese background but also connect to my adoptive family. Crosby is my mother’s maiden name. She was adopted by her stepfather and given that name when she was a teenager. For her this connection to the man she sees as her “father” is a close and deeply personal one. He passed months before my arrival in the states, and she wanted to pass along this family connection to honor him. My first name “Camper” is related to my experience in Vietnam. At six months old, I was diagnosed at my orphanage as having bronchitis and then pneumonia. I was taken to a hospital in Hanoi where they discovered I had been born with a congenital heart defect (Total Anomalous Pulmonary Veinous Return). My condition required immediate open-heart surgery and a lengthy hospital recovery. My parents would wake every morning at 3am hoping for an update on how their “little camper” was doing. They felt helpless to do anything for me and these emails were how they were able to get through and pass along updates to their family and friends. The name stuck and that’s how I became Camper. My interest in law has grown from both experience and conversation. During my internship at the Maine State Prosecutor’s Office, I learned from attorneys who taught me that clients deserve zealous representation and a trusted advisor to help them navigate the legal system and weigh their options. As an immigrant adoptee, I have thought quite a bit about how legal systems influence family structures and life opportunities. My sister was born with low vision. My time teaching her to sail, led me to found the New England Blind Sailing Association, a non-profit created to bring the world of sailing to kids with vision challenges. What began to create access to a sport I love, quickly became an education in leadership, responsibility, and inclusion. Through that experience, I began to understand how much work happens behind the scenes to make access possible. Inclusion is often the result of persistence, coordination, and an open mind. Through this work, I have heard stories of how our social and legal safety nets can fail those who struggle to advocate for themselves. I have seen how overwhelming navigating our social systems can be for families who are already navigating emotional and practical challenges. These experiences have made me especially interested in family and disability law. In college I hope to acquire the skills needed to succeed in law school and become an effective legal advocate. I plan to major in political science and public policy with a minor in psychology. I want to explore how laws and policy are created and how decisions made at the policy level affect real people. I hope to challenge myself academically while learning how to analyze complex issues, communicate clearly, and approach problems from multiple perspectives. Ultimately, I want a career practicing family or disability law that combines intellectual rigor with personal responsibility. I am motivated by the idea of helping individuals navigate complexity with clarity and confidence.

I grew up believing that leadership means responsibility for others. That belief has shaped my life on the water, in my community, and in the goals I have for the future. I am a competitive sailor and captain on two sailing teams, but the experiences that have influenced me the most have come from teaching and expanding access to sailing for others. Through these experiences, I have become deeply interested in political science because I have seen firsthand how policies, leadership, and institutions shape who has access to opportunities. I was adopted from Vietnam when I was one year old after undergoing open-heart surgery at six months of age. Knowing that my life was shaped by decisions made by governments, medical systems, and international institutions has given me an early awareness of how policy affects individuals in profound ways. It has also made me grateful for the opportunities I have had and motivated me to create those same opportunities for others. Sailing has been a central part of my life. As captain of my teams, I have learned how to guide people with different personalities and skill levels toward a common goal. Sailing requires strategy, communication, and trust. But my most meaningful work has come from helping expand access to the sport. I helped co-found the New England Blind Sailing Association (NEBSA), a nonprofit dedicated to teaching sailing to blind and low-vision youth. As an instructor, I helped develop lessons and teaching methods that allow visually impaired sailors to navigate independently using auditory cues, high-visibility markers, and tactile feedback. Through this work, I began to see how access to sports, education, and public programs often depends on the decisions made by institutions and policymakers. Many adaptive programs exist only because someone advocated for them, secured funding, or worked to change policies that unintentionally excluded people with disabilities. That realization sparked my interest in political science. I want to understand how governments and organizations create policies, how laws are formed, and how advocacy can influence systems to become more inclusive. Political science provides the tools to examine how power and decision-making shape society. Studying it will allow me to understand how public policies are created, how institutions respond to citizens’ needs, and how leaders can build systems that work for everyone. I am particularly interested in how law and policy can expand accessibility in education, recreation, and community life. My long-term goal is to attend law school and work in public policy or advocacy. I want to help shape policies that ensure people with disabilities have equal access to opportunities in schools, sports programs, and public spaces. My experience teaching adaptive sailing has shown me how life-changing inclusive programs can be. With the right policies and support, these opportunities could exist in far more communities. Leadership on the water has taught me that a successful crew depends on every member having the chance to contribute. I believe societies work the same way. By studying political science, I hope to better understand how institutions can remove barriers, create fairer systems, and ensure that everyone has the opportunity to participate fully. My goal is to use that knowledge to advocate for policies that expand opportunity and help communities become stronger, more inclusive, and more just.

My middle name is Crosby because of a man I never met, yet feel I have always known, my “Grandpa Chief”, Edwin C. Crosby. He served in the U.S. Navy during the Korean War as a pipefitter aboard the destroyer U.S.S. Roberts. His presence lives in our grandmother’s home through framed membership cards that say things like “Shellback” or “Ancient Order of the Deep”. I found those cards mysterious and they played into my awe and appreciation of the sea. I heard his stories so often that they feel comforting and familiar. When I watched Operation Petticoat with my Dad I feel like I got to know Grandpa Chief even better. My mother’s favorite framed document is a subpoena ordering him to appear before King Neptunes court for breaking beer bottles on the poop deck. I’m proud my middle name is on that subpoena. I think he would be proud that I’m a sailor now who is Captain of the University of New Hampshire’s MSST Sailing Team. He was very proud of his service in the U.S. Navy and was full of stories of camaraderie and global exploration. Mostly, however, his stories were filled with humor and adventure, but on rare occasion, he would share some of the more serious things he encountered. These were hard to hear, but they were important parts of his young life and, while only relayed to me, have stayed with me. His service has taught me about sacrifice and commitment. I never met him because decades after returning home, asbestos exposure caused two rare cancers that took his life just as I was born in Vietnam. My own beginning carried echoes of war as well. I was born with a congenital heart defect linked to Agent Orange exposure and underwent open-heart surgery at eight months old before meeting my parents and being brought home to the United States. You might expect these histories to leave me resentful toward the military, but instead they taught me respect for service members who carry invisible consequences long after conflict ends. My grandfather’s exemplary VA care showed what our country can do at its best, while also reminding me not every veteran receives that same support. I plan to pursue a career in law and ultimately hope to serve on the bench. I want to hold corporations accountable for environmental harm that affects families and children, and to advocate for disabled veterans whose sacrifices continue long after their service. Honoring my grandfather’s legacy means more than remembering him, it means protecting the people who still fight and serve to protect our freedom.

I was six months old when I underwent open-heart surgery in Vietnam to repair a congenital heart defect. I do not remember the hospital or the recovery, but I have grown up with an awareness that my life quite literally began with vulnerability. That awareness has shaped not only how I care for my health, but how I approach challenges, responsibility, and my future. Living with a repaired congenital heart defect has meant regular cardiology appointments, monitoring, and an understanding that my body requires attention and discipline. As a child, I learned vocabulary that most children do not: murmurs, valves, arrhythmias. While my peers ran freely without thinking about it, I was taught to pay attention to signals—fatigue, shortness of breath, recovery time. Instead of feeling limited, however, I felt motivated. I did not want my diagnosis to define my capacity. Sailing became the place where I tested that belief. Competitive sailing demands endurance, strength, quick decision-making, and composure under pressure. There were moments when I wondered if my heart would hold me back, especially during long regattas in strong winds. But with medical guidance, careful conditioning, and persistence, I grew stronger. Training my body became an act of trust in it. Each race was proof that I was capable. My medical history also shaped my leadership style. As captain of two sailing teams and a youth coach, I am deeply aware that everyone carries challenges that are not always visible. Some teammates face injuries; others face personal or family struggles. Because I have learned to manage my own health quietly and responsibly, I try to lead with empathy. I check in with my teammates. I create space for communication. I emphasize preparation and resilience over perfection. Beyond athletics, my experience has influenced my academic and career goals. Growing up with a congenital condition has given me a firsthand understanding of how healthcare systems affect families. Access to specialized care, insurance policies, and long-term medical planning are not abstract policy discussions—they determine whether children like me can grow up to pursue their ambitions. This awareness has drawn me toward studying political science at Davidson College, with the long-term goal of attending law school. I am particularly interested in the intersection of healthcare policy and civil rights. Medical vulnerability often intersects with socioeconomic and systemic barriers. I want to work in a field where I can advocate for equitable healthcare access and ensure that policies protect—not limit—the potential of individuals with medical conditions. Whether through public interest law or policy reform, I hope to contribute to systems that recognize both fragility and strength in the people they serve. My congenital heart defect has not been a barrier to my life; it has been a teacher. It has taught me discipline, gratitude, and resilience. It has taught me to prepare carefully and to persevere when circumstances feel uncertain. Most importantly, it has taught me that strength is not the absence of vulnerability—it is the ability to move forward with it. As I look toward my future, I carry both a repaired heart and a determined one. I intend to use both in service of others.

I was six months old when I had open-heart surgery in Vietnam. I do not remember the hospital room, the uncertainty, or the fear my family must have felt — but I have grown up understanding that my life began with both fragility and extraordinary resilience. That beginning has shaped how I see challenges, responsibility, and opportunity. I am now an A+ student, a competitive sailor, and an incoming political science major at Davidson College with plans to attend law school. My congenital heart defect has never defined my limits; instead, it has defined my perspective. From a young age, I understood that strength is not loud or dramatic. It is quiet discipline. It is showing up to practice. It is listening carefully. It is preparing when others do not see you preparing. Sailing became the place where I learned how to turn vulnerability into leadership. On the water, wind and current do not care about excuses. They reward awareness, adaptability, and teamwork. As captain of two sailing teams and a youth sailing coach, I learned that leadership is not about being the strongest voice in the boat — it is about building trust, creating calm in uncertainty, and helping others find their confidence. I have taught younger sailors how to navigate by feel, by sound, and by instinct. In doing so, I learned that empowerment is contagious. Growing up as a Vietnamese American, adopted and raised in the United States, I have also navigated questions of identity and belonging. My heritage connects me to a history of resilience and sacrifice, including my grandfather’s service as a Korean War veteran. From him, I learned that citizenship is not passive. It requires participation, courage, and a commitment to justice. These experiences have drawn me toward political science and ultimately law. I want to work at the intersection of public policy and civil rights, advocating for equitable access to opportunity — particularly in education and healthcare. Having lived with a congenital heart defect, I understand how policy decisions affect real families. Healthcare access, disability protections, and educational opportunity are not abstract debates; they shape the trajectory of lives. The adversity I have faced has not been a single defining obstacle but an ongoing awareness of vulnerability. Regular cardiac monitoring, careful training, and learning to advocate for my own health required maturity at a young age. I overcame those challenges not by ignoring them, but by preparing diligently and refusing to let caution become limitation. I strengthened my heart — physically through training and metaphorically through persistence. At Davidson, I plan to deepen my understanding of constitutional law, governance, and public service. I am excited by the idea of exploring the legal system from both academic and practical perspectives, while participating in internships, and seeking mentors who will challenge me to grow. After college, I plan to attend law school with the goal of practicing family or disability law, becoming a thoughtful and zealous advocate for my clients. Ultimately, I want a career that combines intellectual rigor with personal responsibility. I am motivated by the idea of helping individuals navigate our legal system and social safety nets. My life began with a repaired heart. It continues with purpose. The resilience that carried me through surgery, through training, and through leadership roles is the same resilience I will bring to my career. I believe positive impact begins with empathy, is sustained by discipline, and is realized through service. That is the kind of impact I intend to make.

I was born in Vietnam and at six months old, developed pneumonia. I was taken from my orphanage to a distant hospital where the doctors discovered that I had Total Anomalous Pulmonary Venous Return (TAPVR), Type II and pulmonary hypertension. At eight months old, I had corrective surgery. I don’t remember the hospital monitors or the recovery room, but I have grown up understanding that my life began with extraordinary care, skill, and hope. Living with congenital heart disease has never defined me, but it has shaped me in ways I continue to discover. I was adopted by my parents shortly after my initial recovery and brought to the states. As a toddler, I experienced delays in walking and other development. My parents celebrated small milestones that might have seemed ordinary in another family. At the recommendation of my cardiologist at Boston Children’s Hospital, my parents gave me swimming lessons to strengthen my cardiovascular system. I would eventually becoming a Junior Olympian swimmer and later a competitive sailor. Swimming taught me discipline and trust in my body. Each lap was quiet proof that my repaired heart was strong. Sailing, however, gave me something deeper: confidence. Being out on the water requires endurance, focus, and resilience. There are moments in a race when the wind shifts unexpectedly, and you must respond calmly and decisively. Growing up with CHD has felt similar. I learned early that while I cannot control every circumstance, I can control how I prepare, respond, and persevere. Living with CHD has also given me perspective. I am aware that access to specialized care, early diagnosis, and surgical expertise is not universal. My healthy, active life is the result of medical innovation, dedicated professionals, and advocates that got me the care I needed where other similarly situated children would not. That awareness fuels my commitment to education and advocacy. I try to share my story speaking openly about CHD and sharing my story with younger athletes and families who may feel uncertain about what the future holds. When people are surprised to learn I had open-heart surgery, it creates an opportunity to educate them about congenital heart defects — that they are common, serious, and survivable with proper care. I emphasize the importance of early screening, pediatric cardiology, and ongoing follow-up, even for those who feel “fixed.” In leadership roles, I also strive to model what thriving with CHD can look like. As a competitive sailor and team captain, I demonstrate that a heart condition does not limit ambition. At the same time, I respect my body, attend regular cardiology appointments, and encourage others with medical conditions to prioritize long-term health over short-term performance. Most importantly, living with CHD has shaped my sense of responsibility. I carry gratitude for the surgeons, nurses, and researchers who made my life possible. I hope to honor that gift by using my voice to spread awareness and by pursuing a future career in law, where I can advocate for equitable access to healthcare and support systems. My scar is small now, barely noticeable. But it represents resilience, community, and the power of informed advocacy. Living with CHD has taught me that strength is not just physical — it is the willingness to share your story so others feel less alone.