This is my common application essay. I placed it under the category of an influential person in my life. My college advisor told me to try adding some more comments about how that teacher has influenced me; however, I don't know if i can do that without making it too long. Thoughts?
My eighth grade history teacher did his best to ignore every word that came out of my mouth. Looking back, I have come to understand how difficult that must have been for him-quite a few words came out of my mouth each day in his class. My strong opinions dominated, and I was prone to blurting out every one that crossed through my head. My eighth grade mind was blown over by the brilliance of my ideas, but Mr. Cramphin was not so easily impressed. Every such utterance was met with either a frown, or no acknowledgement at all.
Gradually, I came to realize that what I thought of as making a statement, Mr. Cramphin saw as yelling out and disrupting class. I schemed and planned, and came up with a brilliant way to get my ideas recognized: I would raise my hand, and wait to be called on. Then, he would have to listen to me, right? Sadly, my plan was not as successful as I had originally hoped.
I remember sitting at my desk in the front row with my hand up in the air for what seemed like hours, and having him call on the girl sitting in the row behind me. I would sigh (loudly and obnoxiously) so that he would know how frustrated I was, and I would get a look-eyebrows raised, eyes looking over the top of his glasses-before he went on with the class.
I didn't understand it. My grades were good, he liked my writing, all of my other teachers liked to hear what I had to say-why not him? For a while, I thought he hated me. And, for a kid who wanted nothing more than to be liked by her teachers, that was a pretty scary thought. At some point during the year, though, we had a little chat about my classroom behavior, and he explained to me why I wasn't being listened to.
"I know you know the answer, and I know you have good ideas," he said, "so I don't need to hear them every day. I want other kids to get a chance to talk."
I was a bright kid, so this made sense to me. However, that didn't mean I had to like it. I wanted to talk, I wanted to share, and I didn't care all that much what other people had to say (unless it was something I could argue with). A year or so later, though, I realized the importance of what he had said. Mr. Cramphin taught my class a lot of important life lessons, as well as a lot of history. However, the most valuable thing he taught me wasn't something that he taught in class. In eighth grade, Mr. Cramphin taught me that I wasn't the only one who had anything to say. I wasn't the only one whose ideas mattered. I had done enough talking for ten kids my size; now, it was time for me to learn to listen.
My eighth grade history teacher did his best to ignore every word that came out of my mouth. Looking back, I have come to understand how difficult that must have been for him-quite a few words came out of my mouth each day in his class. My strong opinions dominated, and I was prone to blurting out every one that crossed through my head. My eighth grade mind was blown over by the brilliance of my ideas, but Mr. Cramphin was not so easily impressed. Every such utterance was met with either a frown, or no acknowledgement at all.
Gradually, I came to realize that what I thought of as making a statement, Mr. Cramphin saw as yelling out and disrupting class. I schemed and planned, and came up with a brilliant way to get my ideas recognized: I would raise my hand, and wait to be called on. Then, he would have to listen to me, right? Sadly, my plan was not as successful as I had originally hoped.
I remember sitting at my desk in the front row with my hand up in the air for what seemed like hours, and having him call on the girl sitting in the row behind me. I would sigh (loudly and obnoxiously) so that he would know how frustrated I was, and I would get a look-eyebrows raised, eyes looking over the top of his glasses-before he went on with the class.
I didn't understand it. My grades were good, he liked my writing, all of my other teachers liked to hear what I had to say-why not him? For a while, I thought he hated me. And, for a kid who wanted nothing more than to be liked by her teachers, that was a pretty scary thought. At some point during the year, though, we had a little chat about my classroom behavior, and he explained to me why I wasn't being listened to.
"I know you know the answer, and I know you have good ideas," he said, "so I don't need to hear them every day. I want other kids to get a chance to talk."
I was a bright kid, so this made sense to me. However, that didn't mean I had to like it. I wanted to talk, I wanted to share, and I didn't care all that much what other people had to say (unless it was something I could argue with). A year or so later, though, I realized the importance of what he had said. Mr. Cramphin taught my class a lot of important life lessons, as well as a lot of history. However, the most valuable thing he taught me wasn't something that he taught in class. In eighth grade, Mr. Cramphin taught me that I wasn't the only one who had anything to say. I wasn't the only one whose ideas mattered. I had done enough talking for ten kids my size; now, it was time for me to learn to listen.
