The writing assignment I've given you can be a bit challenging since you aren't allowed to use the plain and simple "I".  However, I think the process of writing will become more interesting, and, IF you treat it seriously, you will likely produce something you are proud of.
The YOU narrative can achieve a lot of things, and really grab your reader and put them in YOUR shoes.  You might have a number of reasons for doing this.  You may want to educate them, or simply make them feel what you felt as strongly as possible.
As writers, you have to make decisions to best suit what you are writing and WHAT you are writing it for.  Think about it before you write.  Third or Second person -- both have clear advantages in particular instances.
As I mentioned in class, I found this "
Letter to an Expectant Father" in Esquire Magazine to be really well written.  You may want to consider this kind of approach - writing a letter to a "soon-to-be" KMLAian.  
Here it is:
http://www.esquire.com/fatherhood-0612/
And here is where the "You" really works effectively in a personal anecdote:

 
You
 will occasionally fail at something very simple — probably because the 
honking has given you the yips. Awake at 3:00 A.M. with nothing else to 
do but watch the Concerned Mother/Crying Baby Subunit in full symbiosis,
 you will, say, decide to sterilize a new pacifier and you will, say, 
put the pacifier in a saucepan with some water and you will turn the 
burner up to high and you will come back to the sofa and you will sit 
down next to the mother and the baby, who is now feeding and thus quiet,
 and you will fall asleep. And after the water has all turned to steam, 
the pacifier will begin to melt and then burn in the saucepan. You will 
wake to the sounds of the mother freaking out. This is bumbling. 
Technically, it's a kitchen fire. But you will extinguish the flames. 
The important part is: Somehow, against incredible odds, and only 
because you were trying to help, you will set a pacifier on fire. 
Metaphorically, at least. But you will handle the crisis. Because 
there's too much at stake. 
What's at stake is best contemplated 
when you are alone with the baby. And being alone with the baby is best 
done a few days in and very late at night — because you want to allow 
the baby's mother to get some sleep. And being alone with the baby late 
at night — watching it fall asleep in your arms and then wake up over 
the course of two or three hours — is as unfamiliar as it gets. Heat 
will radiate from its tiny body into your stomach. There will be 
squirming. There will be shitting, the sluicing sound of which is louder
 than you'd think. Its eyes might open a little, even while it's 
sleeping. And at some point there will be staring. Having a staring 
contest with a newborn is one of the weirdest things you will ever do. 
And it is highly recommended. Because the baby is a stranger, and you 
need to get to know it. It is a tiny stranger that has come into your 
home, demanding to be fed, demanding to be cleaned, and then staring at 
you for long periods of time without smiling — or blinking. You might 
not feel love for this stranger at first. You might feel mostly gravity.
 But the gravity begins to get replaced by love over the next few days 
or weeks. And the staring seems to accelerate things. The baby becomes 
more familiar. 
Very early fatherhood is a kind of greatness, but
 it isn't heroism. You don't have to learn as much as you think. You 
don't have to do as much as you think. It's more amusing than you think 
it will be. It's more absurd. And it can all be reckoned with, if only 
task by task and despite your inexperience. Very early fatherhood is 
aided by skills, which you will master, and instinct, which you come 
equipped with, and love, which you will be engulfed by. The newborn baby
 requires just a little of all of that, and you will provide.