I chose to sellect the "Topic of your Choice" selection for the Common App Essay in order to incorporate some of my of my life's most significant events. My thesis was to provide the reader with moments of my life that helped me become the person I am today. If you could grade the essay on its clarity to the "thesis", grammar, and flow that would be really helpful!
Thanks
Life is so strange and mysterious. It is a random occurrence of simple phenomena that people overlook constantly in a given day. Take, for example, the humble handshake. A method of greeting people that seems so simple, and yet it's a quiet miracle that goes over looked. When one offers another their hand, for a brief moment both people come in contact with the markings and scars of time that exist from hard work and experience. Literally, a handshake allows both people to experience a brief time line of each other's lives. Yet many people don't quite realize the affect of a handshake. What is interesting is that though I may be young, I am still able to look down at my hands and see the many markings of my life, and reflect on the memories and moments that have led me to become who I am.
The first mark lays bellow my fingers, and they are the calluses of hard work. I've put a lot of hard work and dedication into the four years at my job. Maintaining the pool, boardwalk, and beach requires manual labor throughout the day. The hard work put forth at my job has taught me the values of discipline, maturity, and respect. With these values comes benefits, and sometimes I thank these values when I receive tips in a place that doesn't allow it. Dealing with people may not be an easy thing to do, but I have learned to deal with all sorts of people who are members at the place I work. Students say that they can't deal with a certain teacher sometimes, but I have found the ability to deal with everyone; it no longer seems so hard. I like to think that these calluses on my hands are not only the result of work, but of maturity.
There is one scar on the side of my hand that is finally healing. I can barely see the outlines that have been with me since Freshman year anymore. My right hand use to have a scar from my time in Philmont New Mexico. In the summer of 2006, I went to Philmont New Mexico with the Boy Scouts. A trip that I will remember for the rest of my life. It was a hiking trip around the Sangre de Christi mountain range in Cimarron New Mexico at a place called Philmont. For sixteen days, my troop and I hiked hundreds of miles throughout the wilderness with nothing but our backpacks. We had to take bare minimum supplies in order to hike the rugged terrain of massive up hills and trails that hugged the mountain side. My injury came on the seventh day, when a massive storm came from no where. It was like something out of a movie. The day wasn't great, it had been drizzling all day, but when we thought the worst was over a massive lightning strike hit right above us.
I remember hearing the cracking of the trees as a thunderstorm lit up the sky. It was directly above us, and it was by far the loudest noise I have ever heard. When we ran for cover, I slipped on a wet rock, and smashed my hand into the side of a jagged rock. The pain seared through me, but the desire to go on was much greater. My heightened sense of emotion and overall shock kept the pain at bay, but when the storm had passed I looked at my hand. My arm had blood running down it, and I was too shocked to say anything. When someone saw, they immediately snapped me out of it and helped me wrap up my hand. Whenever I saw the scar afterwards, It reminded me of the time spent in Philmont, but also the realization that not everything can be done alone. I needed help badly and was too shocked to do anything for myself, but luckily someone was able to bring me back to reality.
The finally mark is my life's most devastating, and occurred when I was in fifth grade. A small circle on my left wrist bears the spot where an IV was placed and left for three weeks. The marks reminds me of the time on Halloween when everyone was out trick or treating but me. I was too sick to even get out of bed. The next thing I remember was being rushed off to the hospital in my car, and waking up in the morning in a hospitable bed with balloons and flowers around me. The doctors never truly figured out what I had, but they knew I had a pneumonia on top of whatever else. I had to stay in bed for days and watch as doctors came in to try and figure out what I had. On the fifth day, I had had enough and I wanted to walk again. I felt an urge to get out of my stuffed room that had kept me prisoner for so long. So I finally did it, I stood up and took four steps, and immediately fell into my Dad's arms as he helped me to the nearest chair. I was consumed with lightheadedness and panted sitting in a chair unable to move again. The thought is startling to say that someone who ran his entire life through grammar and high school could no longer take more than five steps without toppling to the floor. The overall weakness that I went through slowly left me as I would walk across the room gaining my strength little by little. Suddenly, I even had enough strength to walk down the hall. Something so easy, and yet it would have been impossible merely days before. The scar reminds me of the obstacle that I had to overcome in order to gain my previous strength, and be able to go out for cross country the next year so that I could follow in my sisters footpaths and become a good runner.
The scars of time may be fading, but the memories will not. The lessons I have learned will be with me as long as my hands are there to guide me. I'll be able to take on new challenges, endure new pains, and conquer new obstacles with the help of my memories. Whenever life gets hard, I can always look down at my hands to remind me of all of the things I have fought through to get myself here. My life so far may be short, but each year I find myself handling life's difficulties easier and easier. So the next time you go to shake someone's hand, there might just be a timeline of their life waiting right before you.
Thanks
Life is so strange and mysterious. It is a random occurrence of simple phenomena that people overlook constantly in a given day. Take, for example, the humble handshake. A method of greeting people that seems so simple, and yet it's a quiet miracle that goes over looked. When one offers another their hand, for a brief moment both people come in contact with the markings and scars of time that exist from hard work and experience. Literally, a handshake allows both people to experience a brief time line of each other's lives. Yet many people don't quite realize the affect of a handshake. What is interesting is that though I may be young, I am still able to look down at my hands and see the many markings of my life, and reflect on the memories and moments that have led me to become who I am.
The first mark lays bellow my fingers, and they are the calluses of hard work. I've put a lot of hard work and dedication into the four years at my job. Maintaining the pool, boardwalk, and beach requires manual labor throughout the day. The hard work put forth at my job has taught me the values of discipline, maturity, and respect. With these values comes benefits, and sometimes I thank these values when I receive tips in a place that doesn't allow it. Dealing with people may not be an easy thing to do, but I have learned to deal with all sorts of people who are members at the place I work. Students say that they can't deal with a certain teacher sometimes, but I have found the ability to deal with everyone; it no longer seems so hard. I like to think that these calluses on my hands are not only the result of work, but of maturity.
There is one scar on the side of my hand that is finally healing. I can barely see the outlines that have been with me since Freshman year anymore. My right hand use to have a scar from my time in Philmont New Mexico. In the summer of 2006, I went to Philmont New Mexico with the Boy Scouts. A trip that I will remember for the rest of my life. It was a hiking trip around the Sangre de Christi mountain range in Cimarron New Mexico at a place called Philmont. For sixteen days, my troop and I hiked hundreds of miles throughout the wilderness with nothing but our backpacks. We had to take bare minimum supplies in order to hike the rugged terrain of massive up hills and trails that hugged the mountain side. My injury came on the seventh day, when a massive storm came from no where. It was like something out of a movie. The day wasn't great, it had been drizzling all day, but when we thought the worst was over a massive lightning strike hit right above us.
I remember hearing the cracking of the trees as a thunderstorm lit up the sky. It was directly above us, and it was by far the loudest noise I have ever heard. When we ran for cover, I slipped on a wet rock, and smashed my hand into the side of a jagged rock. The pain seared through me, but the desire to go on was much greater. My heightened sense of emotion and overall shock kept the pain at bay, but when the storm had passed I looked at my hand. My arm had blood running down it, and I was too shocked to say anything. When someone saw, they immediately snapped me out of it and helped me wrap up my hand. Whenever I saw the scar afterwards, It reminded me of the time spent in Philmont, but also the realization that not everything can be done alone. I needed help badly and was too shocked to do anything for myself, but luckily someone was able to bring me back to reality.
The finally mark is my life's most devastating, and occurred when I was in fifth grade. A small circle on my left wrist bears the spot where an IV was placed and left for three weeks. The marks reminds me of the time on Halloween when everyone was out trick or treating but me. I was too sick to even get out of bed. The next thing I remember was being rushed off to the hospital in my car, and waking up in the morning in a hospitable bed with balloons and flowers around me. The doctors never truly figured out what I had, but they knew I had a pneumonia on top of whatever else. I had to stay in bed for days and watch as doctors came in to try and figure out what I had. On the fifth day, I had had enough and I wanted to walk again. I felt an urge to get out of my stuffed room that had kept me prisoner for so long. So I finally did it, I stood up and took four steps, and immediately fell into my Dad's arms as he helped me to the nearest chair. I was consumed with lightheadedness and panted sitting in a chair unable to move again. The thought is startling to say that someone who ran his entire life through grammar and high school could no longer take more than five steps without toppling to the floor. The overall weakness that I went through slowly left me as I would walk across the room gaining my strength little by little. Suddenly, I even had enough strength to walk down the hall. Something so easy, and yet it would have been impossible merely days before. The scar reminds me of the obstacle that I had to overcome in order to gain my previous strength, and be able to go out for cross country the next year so that I could follow in my sisters footpaths and become a good runner.
The scars of time may be fading, but the memories will not. The lessons I have learned will be with me as long as my hands are there to guide me. I'll be able to take on new challenges, endure new pains, and conquer new obstacles with the help of my memories. Whenever life gets hard, I can always look down at my hands to remind me of all of the things I have fought through to get myself here. My life so far may be short, but each year I find myself handling life's difficulties easier and easier. So the next time you go to shake someone's hand, there might just be a timeline of their life waiting right before you.