This is a topic of my choice from common app.
I had to scrap my other one and start over, so its more like a 2nd draft right now.
I'm not sure about the exact title yet though.
So please help me revise this. thank you!
Throughout my life I have been exposed to the yelling short tempered man that was my father. I never understood what he was mad at, but he was a person without any aspects I could admire. My life would have still lacked a central figure whom I could share experiences with if it were not for my brother. His name is Joey. Not Joe or Joseph, just Joey. And as far back as I remember he was the only person I seem to be able to idolize. He was the one who taught me, played with me, and helped me develop my character. But it was not long ago that I was even able to call him "brother." This seven letter word seemed to make my voice tingle and throat close up.
Instead I just called him Joey. Like any stranger would call him. When I was stuck on homework, Joey was there. When I was being yelled at by our parents, Joey defended me. And when it was my birthday, Joey would always surprise me with a present. (On my most recent one, it was colon.) Sometimes when I needed him, I would say "Hey Joey! I need help!" I did not know why I did this. But whatever the reason was, I continued to call out for him without noticing or appreciating what he was doing for me all along.
As a child I ran around everywhere with a vivid imagination. The apartment we lived in was my playground and I always enjoyed playtime. Putting back my toy cars one day, I misplaced one of them. This toy car was metal. And as my brother got home from school all tired and cold, he went knee first into the sofa and a different kind of yelling filled the house. I ran out to the living room and watched as he was on the floor in fetal position holding on to the one knee that had a cut half a inch deep. I was confused. I did not know what happened. Was he hurt? Why wasn't there any blood?
As he was rushed to the hospital, I was left at home. I was frozen up. It was my fault. As I laid on my parent's bed I wondered if he was mad at me. I did not know what to think. I began to list all the things he had done for me in my head, in comparison to what I had just done to him. And as I listed them, I began to understand what they all meant.
I remembered once asking him, "How come you let me play so much?" He replied, "You study better after you're done playing." Before I simply interpreted this statement as: I study better once my heart is at peace, which can only be achieved by playing till my heart's content. But I started to develop a different meaning, a meaning I hold to this day. Because everyone would always have the desire to play, one must satisfy these desires as much as possible to free themselves from them. If I were to indulge myself in these treats in intervals, nothing would ever get done. Piles of work would stack up in front me. I had to tackle life, but only after I was done enjoying it. If I did not, I would always be dreaming of "playtime."
I found the value of the companionship he gave me. I remembered the football game in the snow and the magic tricks he tried to teach me (He wasn't so great himself). I knew that he was not going to be with me forever and it was one thing to give someone joy, it was another to share it. To do so, I had to find people who shared my interests and acquire their friendship. Life is a difficult journey, but it will be much easier to take with the help of friends. Though self-reliance is a valuable trait, one cannot and will not be able to do everything alone.
As I continued to run through the list in my head, the sound of the front door ringed into my ears. As I rushed to the door, I realized it was hours before I last saw him. He was limping on clutches. As he moved toward me, he told me that he had to get stitches. Not realizing the tears running down my eyes, I said, "Joey, did it hurt?"
He just smiled and said, " Just call me bro and no, it didn't hurt."
any feedback is welcome. thank you again!
I had to scrap my other one and start over, so its more like a 2nd draft right now.
I'm not sure about the exact title yet though.
So please help me revise this. thank you!
Throughout my life I have been exposed to the yelling short tempered man that was my father. I never understood what he was mad at, but he was a person without any aspects I could admire. My life would have still lacked a central figure whom I could share experiences with if it were not for my brother. His name is Joey. Not Joe or Joseph, just Joey. And as far back as I remember he was the only person I seem to be able to idolize. He was the one who taught me, played with me, and helped me develop my character. But it was not long ago that I was even able to call him "brother." This seven letter word seemed to make my voice tingle and throat close up.
Instead I just called him Joey. Like any stranger would call him. When I was stuck on homework, Joey was there. When I was being yelled at by our parents, Joey defended me. And when it was my birthday, Joey would always surprise me with a present. (On my most recent one, it was colon.) Sometimes when I needed him, I would say "Hey Joey! I need help!" I did not know why I did this. But whatever the reason was, I continued to call out for him without noticing or appreciating what he was doing for me all along.
As a child I ran around everywhere with a vivid imagination. The apartment we lived in was my playground and I always enjoyed playtime. Putting back my toy cars one day, I misplaced one of them. This toy car was metal. And as my brother got home from school all tired and cold, he went knee first into the sofa and a different kind of yelling filled the house. I ran out to the living room and watched as he was on the floor in fetal position holding on to the one knee that had a cut half a inch deep. I was confused. I did not know what happened. Was he hurt? Why wasn't there any blood?
As he was rushed to the hospital, I was left at home. I was frozen up. It was my fault. As I laid on my parent's bed I wondered if he was mad at me. I did not know what to think. I began to list all the things he had done for me in my head, in comparison to what I had just done to him. And as I listed them, I began to understand what they all meant.
I remembered once asking him, "How come you let me play so much?" He replied, "You study better after you're done playing." Before I simply interpreted this statement as: I study better once my heart is at peace, which can only be achieved by playing till my heart's content. But I started to develop a different meaning, a meaning I hold to this day. Because everyone would always have the desire to play, one must satisfy these desires as much as possible to free themselves from them. If I were to indulge myself in these treats in intervals, nothing would ever get done. Piles of work would stack up in front me. I had to tackle life, but only after I was done enjoying it. If I did not, I would always be dreaming of "playtime."
I found the value of the companionship he gave me. I remembered the football game in the snow and the magic tricks he tried to teach me (He wasn't so great himself). I knew that he was not going to be with me forever and it was one thing to give someone joy, it was another to share it. To do so, I had to find people who shared my interests and acquire their friendship. Life is a difficult journey, but it will be much easier to take with the help of friends. Though self-reliance is a valuable trait, one cannot and will not be able to do everything alone.
As I continued to run through the list in my head, the sound of the front door ringed into my ears. As I rushed to the door, I realized it was hours before I last saw him. He was limping on clutches. As he moved toward me, he told me that he had to get stitches. Not realizing the tears running down my eyes, I said, "Joey, did it hurt?"
He just smiled and said, " Just call me bro and no, it didn't hurt."
any feedback is welcome. thank you again!
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