Undergraduate / "Doughnuts for Dad" - Common Application [3]

Propmt: Indicate a person who has had a significant influence on you, and describe that influence.

My father has had a significant influence on me. This is not the heart warming influence which inspires boys to become men. Nor is it the masculine influence of responsibility and commitment. Not even the essential wisdom of changing a flat tire. His influence is not felt in what he said or did, but in what was not said and what was not done. His influence on me was through his absence. Through his absence I became a man. Through his absence I learned responsibility and commitment. It is my father's absence that has helped thread together the fibers of my being-my identity.

It is thought that cold is only the absence of heat and darkness the absence of light. Laws of physics claim that beings or objects can only be studied through the possession or transmission of energy. At absolute zero, all matter becomes incapable of possession or transmission of energy. Therefore cold cannot exist unto itself, but is a word which is used to describe how one feel's in the absence of heat. Light can be broken by Newton's prism and studied by color and wave length. Darkness can only be understood through the variances in the presence of light. Thus darkness cannot exist unto itself either, but is a word which is used to describe the absence of light. Likewise my identity can also only be understood through the variances in the presence of my father. My identity cannot exist unto itself, but is a word which is used to describe the absence of my father.

Awakening as a child was often a daunting task. My mother was compelled to assist in the process through a morning wake up call. The flick of a switch light in my room would instantly illuminate the embracing darkness of the previous night. Overcoming the temporary onslaught of blindness was an obstacle in itself. Mom would slowly enunciate my name and begin to tickle me fiercely. I would pretend to still be asleep-as if I were immune to her voice or the threat of wetting myself. I could never hold out for long. Once up and awake I began the morning rituals of preparing for the day. Soon I found myself in my third grade class room. There was something odd about this school day. Each of the fifteen desks were replaced with two long tables. Seated at these tables were my classmates joined by what appeared to be their fathers. What day was it? It was Doughnuts for Dads day. A warm rush of blood to my face engulfed me. I quickly composed myself and occupied one of the two empty seats. I took a brief moment to observe each of the fathers. Some wore suits, others uniforms, but all wore a sticker. This sticker stated: 'Father of _____.' Embarrassment and confusion soon washed over me. Didn't my dad know what today was? I glanced over at the empty seat next to me. From that moment on, a subconscious switch of roles took place in my identity-roles of a father and roles of a son. If there was to be an empty seat at all Doughnuts for Dads days from this day forward, I would cope. I would fill both empty seats.

My father's truancy that day was the result of an alcoholic marriage which ended in a sobering divorce. I discovered feelings of responsibility and an almost abnormal maturity. This maturity was forced upon me due to my mother's struggle to feed and support my younger brother. My mother worked three jobs: Best Buy restocking, gift card sorting at local Dollar General Stores, and interior painting. Need less to say, she would often come home exhausted and seemingly broken. Too tired to play and too tired to be both mom and dad. She never let my younger brother and I see this brokenness but I understood it and knew it well. Each tired late evening greeting and half smile made me aware. I couldn't let mom worry about my brother Micah and me, so I watched over him as a parent would. I had a commitment to loved ones, a commitment to always be there-I gave loyalty out of my own need for loyalty. While most neighborhood kids were out playing, I was making Micah after-school lunch. I made sure he got his homework done, I made sure he ate lunch and even sometimes dinner, and I made sure he knew that we were a family. He needed to know that it was going to be all right and that mom loved us so much that she had to "work extra, extra hard." I became the father figure I didn't have.

Taking on the role of my father became an identity. Playing this role provided a sense of responsibility, maturity, and commitment. These three traits are a part of my identity. Most boys learn these traits by mimicking the men who display them. This boy learned by compensating for the man who didn't.

Caleb Godsey- I would really like grammatical/sentence flow corrections. Thanks!

Undergraduate / Tastes in music, Damien Rice - unniversity of Chicago [3]

Share with us a few of your favorite books, poems, authors, films, plays, pieces of music, musicians, performers, paintings, artists, blogs, magazines, or newspapers? Feel free to touch on one, some, or all of the categories listed, or add a category of your own.

Everyone tends to have their own distinct tastes in music. Musical tastes seem to define us: indie, alternative, folk, classical, hardcore, r&b, country, pop, electronica, jazz, blues, hip-hop, new age, rock, reggae and the list goes on. Each genre breaking down into a subgroup which intern breaks down further until yet a new genre is created. Most genres were actually formed from the combination of preexisting genres, each bleeding into one another. Therefore a musical overlap takes place-no one genre existing without the influence of another. Though all music is understood as related to each of its genres, the very existence of specific types of music is indicative of the listener's need to individuate and set themselves a part. We get to wrap up who we are, what we believe, and how we think into a succinct and neat phrase: I listen to ______. It is a strange notion to categories ourselves, but though strange, it is also easier. These musical stereotypes convey to the world exactly how we want to be perceived. These perceptions change as we ourselves change, and so our musical tastes are ever changing. Nevertheless there is a musical artist who is immune to this change-our 'first love' so to speak. This artist introduced us to a musical awakening and seemingly transcends our fickle tastes and changes. For me that artist was Damien Rice.

I almost feel uneasy labeling Damien Rice as a musician. He is so much more. He is an artist, a poet, a performer and a story-teller. Damien's musical style can be labeled as alternative folk. It is mainly acoustic with splashes of cello accompanied with hard percussion, all blending into the backdrop of melancholy and story telling. Damien's lyrics are the true gems of his art. He is often extremely vague while at the same time extremely personal. This musical paradox is what I love. I can listen to a Damien Rice song over and over, each time finding new meaning and new ways in which the song is relevant in my life. His music is perennial. My exposure to Damien opened my ears to hear music differently. Gone were the superficial tunes of the radio and mainstream music. I needed something deeper from my music, something genuine-not some musical one night stand, but rather an enduring and truly satisfying musical marriage. I now analyze any song I hear, seeking to interpret the underlying messages. Damien Rice provoked this in me. My name is Caleb, and I listen to Damien Rice.

Undergraduate / the International Baccalaureate program - University of Chicago Statement [4]

How does the University of Chicago, as you know it now, satisfy your desire for a particular kind of learning, community, and future? Please address with some specificity your own wishes and how they relate to Chicago.

I am enrolled in the International Baccalaureate program-a program dedicated to rigor and probing inquiry. When presented with the option of either becoming an Advanced Placement or International Baccalaureate student the question for myself was clear: which one allows an outlet for discussion and reflection? Taking into account that both are weighted courses and considerably challenging, it is often difficult to dissect and differentiate between the two. I knew for myself that a challenging course for the sole sake of challenge is unacceptable. I found belief in a challenging course for the sake of satisfying one's intellectual appetite only natural-learning for the sake of learning. IB has provided this for me, offering classes which entertain atmospheres of open discussion and critical thinking. We are encouraged to set aside politically correct mindsets, and instead put fourth genuine and thoughtful conceptualizations. While always safe and inoffensive to merely fade back into what is accepted and unchallenged, it can be most assuredly understood as unproductive and stagnant. University of Chicago, as I understand is also in favor of providing its students with learning styles of Socratic Method. The approach taken to gain knowledge through edifying discussion and debate is a refreshing accommodation and tradition at Chicago. These approaches to learning are what I believe to be timeless and liberating, but most importantly crucial in establishing a foundation for which a truly reflective and vivacious community can flourish. This foundation supports a community of intellect, which in turn supports a future of promise; all three interlocking to construct a sincere institution of knowledge. I seek to be a part of the thoughtful and ongoing discussion that is Chicago.

(Caleb Godsey)

Undergraduate / "My father's presence" - a person who has had a significant influence on your life [4]

(I would really appreciate 'substance' comments--does the essay demonstrate thoughtfulness or reflectiveness. Also, flow needs a lot of work so any help there would be appreciated as well. Thanks!)

If who we are were shaped through the influences of others, then ironically, these others would cease to be differentiated from oneself. But rather, others become the very origin of our identity-in which a coalesce of one's self and others occurs. Therefore one's identity is akin to the influences of others. These influences can never simply exist as white and black. Instead, they exemplify dualistic qualities of both positives and negatives-bleeding into the lightness between the extremities of white and black. My father's presence, as well as his absence, helped thread together the very fibers of my being-my identity.

My coke had spilt on the new car interior. The blotchy brown stain quickly emerged, as if it had always been there. Dad had just bought me that coke too, although, my fear of the stain out weighs my lament. Slowly peeping up at the driver's side, maybe this unfortunate accident has gone unnoticed. It is too late. A quick glance into the rear view mirror has given me up. Dad's face confuses me. Instead of a scowl, a slight smirk. This unexpected facial contortion has dissipated all fearful uncertainties. We continued our car ride, enjoying the rest of my coke.

It is peculiar-how my father's facial expression could alter my emotion so profoundly. Inconsistencies in response were often the defining essence of my father. A simple smirk rather than frown could completely alter the experience of a car ride. It is in these inconsistencies that I formed individuation.

Coming home from an oppressive institution, known as a second grade school day, I quickly burst through our front door. Spewing a light musk of wood and dust as its warm mahogany frame closed behind me. This was the day after my birthday. Each and every second away from my new gameboy was an uneventfully blind moment in time and space. Nothing could have or should have been perceived. All matters keeping me from my new gift were irrelevant.

The moment I reached the threshold of my room a sudden voice boomed from the downstairs. This voice belonged to my father, summoning me from my room. I felt a similar feeling to that of a convict who has been extradited. Slowly I take each step downward, backtracking mentally all of which I must have done. He must have been made aware of what I whispered during the 'nap time'. Or maybe he knew I hadn't eaten the raisins mom packed in my lunch. I was quite the negotiator, blessed with a silver tongue; I often could convince my peers that they really did want my raisins and not their oreos.

At last I had reached the final step of my descent. With my father in full view all convictions were made valid. He knew everything. The stern face which greeted me guaranteed one thing: 'I know.' I cautiously skirted in a circular direction toward this intimidating being. Placing both hands firmly over my backside-this was to ensure I could not be spanked. My father proceeded to question me. Why did I slam our new door, even after the numerous warnings? Why did I also throw my shoes, jacket, books and book bag on the floor? All of these points, like nails, physically pierced my body- like wooden planks being securely fastened to one another, my father delivering the blows. I was confused. Didn't dad understand my negligence was merely an accident? Just as the car ride was an accident. He did not. After that spanking I never again slammed our new door.

It is thought that cold is merely the absence of heat and darkness the absence of light. Laws of physics claim that beings or objects can only be studied through the possession or transmission of energy. At absolute zero, all matter becomes incapable of possession or transmission of energy. Therefore cold can not exist unto itself, but is a word which is used to describe how one feel's in the absence of heat. Light can be broken by Newton's prism and studied by color and wave length. Darkness can only be understood through the variances in the presence of light. Thus darkness can not exist unto itself either, but is a word which is used to describe the absence of light.

My father's absence in my life was birthed from an alcoholic marriage which ended in a sobering divorce. This absence provided childhood experiences of both positives and negatives. Therefore labeling his absence as entirely positive or entirely negative is nearly impossible. As cold is the absence of heat and darkness the absence of light-neither cold nor dark exist without an absence of either heat or light. Likewise, my individuation is merely an absence of experiences-experiences either positive or negative. Identity is not tangible, and can not be measured or studied. But what can be measured and studied are the experiences which shape and define one's identity. Part of my own identity exists through the absence of my father.

Awakening as a child was often a daunting task. My mother was compelled to assist in the process through a morning wake up call. The flick of a switch light in my room would instantly illuminate the embracing darkness of the previous night. Overcoming the temporary onslaught of blindness was an obstacle in itself. Mom would slowly enunciate my name and begin to tickle me fiercely. I would pretend to still be asleep-as if I were immune to her voice or the threat of wetting myself. I could never hold out for long. Once up and awake I began the morning rituals of preparing for the day. Soon I found myself in my third grade class room. There was something odd about this school day. Each of the fifteen desks were replaced with two long tables. Seated at these tables were my classmates joined by what appeared to be their fathers. What day was it? The realization soon hit me like a sniper hitting his mark-accurate and deadly. It was Doughnuts for Dads day. A warm rush of blood to my face engulfed me. I quickly composed myself and occupied one of the two empty seats. I took a brief moment to observe each of the fathers. Some wore suits, others uniforms, but all wore a sticker. This sticker stated: 'Father of _____.' Embarrassment and confusion soon washed over me. Didn't my dad know what today was? I glanced over at the empty seat next to me. From that moment on, a subconscious switch of roles took place in my identity-roles of a father and roles of a son. If there was to be an empty seat at all Doughnuts for Dads days from this day forward, I would cope. I would fill both empty seats.

The influence of my father upon my own identity can be seen through inconsistencies in his responses as well as presence. His contributions to my individuation were both positive and negative-both blending together. The union of the two formed an identity which can not be disjoined, for without one the union would cease to exist. The influence of my father has contributed in birthing my own identity through both his presence and absence.