t1292 11 / 21 Nov 27, 2009 #1The essay question for ST. Mary's UniversityThe Dean of admissions is coming to dinner! What would you serve? Who would you invite and what would be discussed?Its December 25th 2009 we can see the snow falling outside thru the bay window my dad made in the dinning room. We smell the Okra soup and rice my mom made for the occasion. We hear The Temptations version of "Silent Night" on the record player my dad has had since his days in Russia. As mom walks in with the Pièce de résistance: a seasoned Turkey I grab my father's hand with my right hand and President Barack Obama's with my left. My mom places the Turkey in the center surrounded by Cornbread, Mashed Potatoes, Salad and Jullof Rice. She stands directly across from me on the other side of the table and grabs my brothers hand to the left and Michelle Obama's on the right. My brother then hesitantly grabs Mr. Chinua Achebe's hand while he proudly reaches for Alice Walker's hand, and when I see that the circle is completed with my dad and Mrs. Obama grabbing Tyrone Young's hands, I begin to pray, "Dear God thank you for the food we are about to eat and loved one's to share it with. I pray for those not as fortunate this season..."After our prayer we hesitate to sit as we watch our President. He shyly smiles and looks at me. "Jestina, may we take our seats?"I nod my head yes and we all sit down. My father carves the turkey. After the first minutes of silence, Mr. Achebe asks my dad if he and I really painted and paneled the dining room ourselves. Yes, he says, as if it was nothing. Mr. Achebe asks how we learned to and he informs him that he learned it from a book, reaching past me for another piece of Turkey. Mr. Achebe is very impressed but not as impressed as my father is with Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart. As my dad recites his favorite passage beginning "A proud heart can survive general failure because such a failure does not prick its pride," Mr. Achebe's cheeks grow increasingly red. My mother senses the awkwardness and asks Michelle Obama where she got the dress she is wearing. We have a few more minutes of chit chat when suddenly Mr. Young, admissions director of St. Mary's University, asks me what I want to do with my life. I tell him I want to be a creative writer. Alice Walker and Chinua Achebe look up from their plates with curiosity and amusement. Mrs. Walker asks me what I would write about. My brother giggles. I remember back to the day I caught him reading my diary about two years ago, in which I wrote the plot summary for what I thought would be a very good story. It was about a girl who could make all the boys at her school like her magically, and mute her parents whenever she wanted. I give him a slight smile and then turn back to Mrs. Walker. "If I was blessed to," I say, "I someday want to write a man's journey, similar to my father's, filled with set backs, courage and triumph." Mr. Obama says that it sounds interesting and that I should give him a call when I finish it, because he wants to be the first to read it. We all laugh except my father who's eyes follow each snowflake, from where it starts, to where it falls, blending in with the rest of the snow.