Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
I go to the prison everyday. No, not the cliché metaphor for high school, but the physical medium security, barbed wire encased, building. A visit to the prison is actually part of my morning routine. Just like brushing my teeth and putting on makeup has become something familiar, my morning rides to school have become somewhat ordinary, at least to me.
My ride begins by pulling into the pothole riddled and muddy back parking lot of a small gas station where smokers and hunters congregate to talk about the chilly weather or the new street light that was put in down at Wal-Mart. From here I transfer myself to the "man van", a permanently dirty silver van with the ever-enticing aroma of breakfast pizza and BO never failing to waft in my direction. Three boys drool in their sleep as I try to fit my long legs into the last row of the minivan packed with lacrosse balls and football helmets. There have definitely been times when I sat in something unidentifiable that stained my white khakis forever.
About forty-five minutes later we arrive at the prison. Cold glass and sharp wires grow larger as we drive closer. Our driver, the boy's mother, promptly gets out and meets the gates every morning. The oldest boy then half asleep takes over and our trek to school resumes, only briefly paused by the killers that reside within.
For a long time I did not tell anyone about my morning rides to school because I was ashamed to be associated with all the things that it represented; My hometown, for which I was made fun of, breakfast pizza, BO, and the prison. However, I have found that the parts of myself that I tried hardest to conceal are some of the parts that made me interesting and different from others. As a high school student I may have traded Dunkin Donut runs for the prison, public for private school, and a bus for a man van, but all of this has helped to create my personality and the stories I carry with me. And while I may not continue to visit the prison every morning in years to come I will always be humbled by the morning rides with three stinky boys, my sister, lacrosse balls, and breakfast pizza.
I go to the prison everyday. No, not the cliché metaphor for high school, but the physical medium security, barbed wire encased, building. A visit to the prison is actually part of my morning routine. Just like brushing my teeth and putting on makeup has become something familiar, my morning rides to school have become somewhat ordinary, at least to me.
My ride begins by pulling into the pothole riddled and muddy back parking lot of a small gas station where smokers and hunters congregate to talk about the chilly weather or the new street light that was put in down at Wal-Mart. From here I transfer myself to the "man van", a permanently dirty silver van with the ever-enticing aroma of breakfast pizza and BO never failing to waft in my direction. Three boys drool in their sleep as I try to fit my long legs into the last row of the minivan packed with lacrosse balls and football helmets. There have definitely been times when I sat in something unidentifiable that stained my white khakis forever.
About forty-five minutes later we arrive at the prison. Cold glass and sharp wires grow larger as we drive closer. Our driver, the boy's mother, promptly gets out and meets the gates every morning. The oldest boy then half asleep takes over and our trek to school resumes, only briefly paused by the killers that reside within.
For a long time I did not tell anyone about my morning rides to school because I was ashamed to be associated with all the things that it represented; My hometown, for which I was made fun of, breakfast pizza, BO, and the prison. However, I have found that the parts of myself that I tried hardest to conceal are some of the parts that made me interesting and different from others. As a high school student I may have traded Dunkin Donut runs for the prison, public for private school, and a bus for a man van, but all of this has helped to create my personality and the stories I carry with me. And while I may not continue to visit the prison every morning in years to come I will always be humbled by the morning rides with three stinky boys, my sister, lacrosse balls, and breakfast pizza.
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