abesha92
Dec 29, 2009
Undergraduate / "Being really good at something" - Emory Common App: topic of your choice essay. [8]
This is my rough draft for "topic of your choice" Please read and give feedback..anything is appreciated. anything in red means i'm not sure whether to keep it, or what to do with it. thank you!
Five times five: eighteen. Four times seven: twenty-one. Done! I threw my pencil on the table, pushed the completed paper across to my dad and prayed that this time I answered all thirty questions correctly. However, to my dismay, pen marks began to sound as bright red "Xs" quickly covered my paper. After he finished grading, my dad looked up, shook his head and handed me another quiz. The cycle began again: Six times six: thirty-six. I did not know it then, but these numbers and X's resulted in far more than a good grade, it contributed to one of the many characteristics that make me who I am today.
It was a beautiful Saturday; the sky was blue, the kids were out and the notorious Albuquerque heat was gone. However, I enjoyed the day solely through a glass window. Although it was Saturday, I had to practice my basic multiplication skills because I brought home a low grade on a math quiz. My teacher Mrs. Frock gave us simple, timed multiplication quizzes twice a week. Students who attained a hundred earned a gold star beside their name as well as the honor of taking a more challenging quiz the next week. However, those who got a score less than perfect took the exact same quiz again, and again and again until they too were worthy of a gold star. At the end of the semester, the first students to gain twelve stars earned a trip to Chuckee Cheese for pizza, cake and games. On the first few quizzes, I effortlessly got one hundreds; however, on the fourth quiz I failed. When I told my dad of the low grade, he made sure to help me study as soon as possible, and that meant Saturday.
So there I was on a beautiful Saturday morning. Like a coach training an athlete for the Olympics , Dad held a stopwatch and beside him sat the stack of homemade quizzes. Ready, set, go! I took multiple tests; sometimes I did not finish on time, other times I got questions wrong, so I kept practicing until I was sure I could pass any multiplication quiz Mrs. Frock threw at me.
In the mind of an eight year old, this training seemed like nothing more than punishment for a poor grade, but today I see those quizzes as something more. My dad did not make me take these tests because I got a few questions wrong, he didn't make spend a full beautiful morning inside just to punish me, he made me practice because he knew I could do better, and wanted to teach me about the rewards gained when you work hard. I don't remember ever getting below a 100 after the intense training, and I will never forget when I heard my name announced at Chuckee Cheese for being the first student to earn twelve stars.
Being really good at something, being number one in my class, made an impression on me for life. It made me aware that I am capable of extraordinary things when I put forth my greatest effort. This awareness resulted in my unhesitant decision to take AP classes during high school; to choose BC over AB calculus, even when warned of its difficulty. When I decided I wanted to play the guitar, I sat in front of the computer screen for five hours teaching myself "How Great Is Our God." It was the knowledge of my potential that kept me from giving up even though my butt was numb and my fingers hardened and coarse. It is that belief that I can do anything, that finally got me the permission from my Sunday school pastors to direct a Christmas play for the Ethiopian Evangelical Church, and it is that belief and understanding of my potential that has led me to sit here in front of the computer screen and write an essay for the seventeenth best school in the nation.
This is my rough draft for "topic of your choice" Please read and give feedback..anything is appreciated. anything in red means i'm not sure whether to keep it, or what to do with it. thank you!
Five times five: eighteen. Four times seven: twenty-one. Done! I threw my pencil on the table, pushed the completed paper across to my dad and prayed that this time I answered all thirty questions correctly. However, to my dismay, pen marks began to sound as bright red "Xs" quickly covered my paper. After he finished grading, my dad looked up, shook his head and handed me another quiz. The cycle began again: Six times six: thirty-six. I did not know it then, but these numbers and X's resulted in far more than a good grade, it contributed to one of the many characteristics that make me who I am today.
It was a beautiful Saturday; the sky was blue, the kids were out and the notorious Albuquerque heat was gone. However, I enjoyed the day solely through a glass window. Although it was Saturday, I had to practice my basic multiplication skills because I brought home a low grade on a math quiz. My teacher Mrs. Frock gave us simple, timed multiplication quizzes twice a week. Students who attained a hundred earned a gold star beside their name as well as the honor of taking a more challenging quiz the next week. However, those who got a score less than perfect took the exact same quiz again, and again and again until they too were worthy of a gold star. At the end of the semester, the first students to gain twelve stars earned a trip to Chuckee Cheese for pizza, cake and games. On the first few quizzes, I effortlessly got one hundreds; however, on the fourth quiz I failed. When I told my dad of the low grade, he made sure to help me study as soon as possible, and that meant Saturday.
So there I was on a beautiful Saturday morning. Like a coach training an athlete for the Olympics , Dad held a stopwatch and beside him sat the stack of homemade quizzes. Ready, set, go! I took multiple tests; sometimes I did not finish on time, other times I got questions wrong, so I kept practicing until I was sure I could pass any multiplication quiz Mrs. Frock threw at me.
In the mind of an eight year old, this training seemed like nothing more than punishment for a poor grade, but today I see those quizzes as something more. My dad did not make me take these tests because I got a few questions wrong, he didn't make spend a full beautiful morning inside just to punish me, he made me practice because he knew I could do better, and wanted to teach me about the rewards gained when you work hard. I don't remember ever getting below a 100 after the intense training, and I will never forget when I heard my name announced at Chuckee Cheese for being the first student to earn twelve stars.
Being really good at something, being number one in my class, made an impression on me for life. It made me aware that I am capable of extraordinary things when I put forth my greatest effort. This awareness resulted in my unhesitant decision to take AP classes during high school; to choose BC over AB calculus, even when warned of its difficulty. When I decided I wanted to play the guitar, I sat in front of the computer screen for five hours teaching myself "How Great Is Our God." It was the knowledge of my potential that kept me from giving up even though my butt was numb and my fingers hardened and coarse. It is that belief that I can do anything, that finally got me the permission from my Sunday school pastors to direct a Christmas play for the Ethiopian Evangelical Church, and it is that belief and understanding of my potential that has led me to sit here in front of the computer screen and write an essay for the seventeenth best school in the nation.