I have lived on the same street, in the same house since I was born 16 years ago. I have seen neighbors come and go, and I have grown attached to the ones who finally decided to stay. I have grown used to the constant singing of the musical family next door and the basketball rhythmically pounding the driveway of the family across the street. I have grown used to the summer gatherings at Standley Park where the Community Association President won’t remember anyone’s name, but she will offer everyone an extra newsletter. I have grown used to the neighborhood alcoholic, who leaves an empty Cutty Sark bottle on my house’s front lawn every fifth Tuesday, and I have even grown used to the incessant hum of military jets, rumbling to and from Miramar Marine Corps Air Station. My community is made up of all these little regularities though they may seem singular to those who do not experience them as often as my neighbors and I. It is when these regularities are interrupted, however, that the true meaning of community reveals itself. On Dec. 8 of last year, a fighter jet on its way back to the air station ran out of fuel and crashed into a pair of houses two streets up from where I live. Thankfully, the pilot managed to eject himself from the plane; he landed, incidentally, three houses down from my home. Four inhabitants of Huggins Road, however, were not so fortunate. Two babies, their mother, and their grandmother were all killed. I cannot remember ever having encountered the Yoon family, but the death of all but one of its members brought to light the value of community. Two nights after the disastrous crash, people from all over my neighborhood formed a kind of procession in front of the remains of the Yoon house. A half-melted plastic tricycle and charred teddy bear formed an altar around which dozens of candles were left burning. Mrs. Kay, the Association President, organized a drive to collect gift cards for Mr. Yoon and the retired couple whose house was also destroyed. Then, she even dedicated the next newsletter to the victims of the crash. Our community formed a shield around Mr. Yoon, trying to answer reporters’ questions in his place. Even after the initial anger and fear stemming from an it-could-have-been-me mentality wore off, we all emerged with a new sense of togetherness. A protectiveness of Mr. Yoon and all of those directly affected by this fundamental tragedy moved strangers to join together and help, both financially and emotionally. A responsibility to help those in a time of great need gave my family and neighbors an opportunity to realize how giving can cause a novel comprehension of what it is to be part of a community. Giving without regard to payment is what marks a truly meaningful action. In the days following the plane crash, many of us learned what it means to be selfless. When high-school students hear the words “community service,” many of us tend to think immediately of requirements and how we try to get the maximum credit with the minimum effort. Community service, however, does not have to be beach cleanup or ladling out soup. Service should not be performed in order to graduate — it should be performed because it is worth the effort to help a fellow human being. Sympathy is part of what makes us human. Deciding to act upon that feeling is what makes a good person. — Maxine Lancelot of University City, who is a junior at the Francis Parker School, received Honorable Mention in the 2009 Cesar E. Chavez Essay Contest. Essays were written on the theme “Coming Together Through Service for One Another.”