Common App Prompt #1: Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
Here it is, any insight is appreciated! It's definitely a rough draft but I don't think it's too bad, I think the ending is a bit rushed but alas 650 word limit.
The amount of time my family and I had spent establishing a lifetime's worth of friendships within our community? 14 years.
The amount of time a bank allocates to vacate a foreclosed home? 72 hours.
A statistic- in the most simple sense- is purely a number; that is, until you become that number. Allow me to digress, it was the first glorious day of summer after eighth grade; fresh out of middle school, I was nothing short of a big shot with nothing but the world in front of me. I was thirteen, give me a break. As per usual, I woke up that morning to the sun's meandering rays casting a shadow of the fluorescent pink roses that lay outside my room. Puberty in full swing, I raced my portly, facial-hair ridden self out of bed to inspect what my parents had prepared for breakfast that morning; however, something was different today.
I had gotten so accosted to walking into the kitchen with both my parents in lively moods that seeing them sitting down with subtle, melancholy expressions was discerning to say the least. It was then that my father sat me down and asked me in a rather nonchalant fashion where I would rather move to: Michigan or Texas. The word "move" resonated in my head for what felt like hours as I stood in disbelief. What my parents could not tell me at the time was that the recession was tough and we could not afford our house anymore. Up until this point the term, "economic recession," had not been more than a term used by the grey-haired, smart guys on CNN.
Weeks passed and before I knew it the court arranged date to leave the house had arrived. My bags were packed and I was aboard Delta flight 279. Maybe this was all some sort of bad dream, and if I could just fall asleep I would wake up to the familiar sight of the rose's shadow in my bedroom. Unfortunately, this was not the case as being in the very back of the plane came with various nuances, one of which was a dripping air conditioning unit. Perfect.
Before I knew it we were finally settled in our modest Dallas home and I was ready to begin my first day of high school. I perused through the grandiose hallways in awe of the sheer size of the school; the walls were draped with multiple state championship pennants and various other student accolades. Culture shock ensued as more and more people walked by me wearing cowboy boots, large belt buckles, and sporty shirts to match.
Where was I?
Lunch came and went, and I found myself lost not knowing who talk to or where to sit, the extrovert in me was nowhere to be found those first couple of days. About a week later, a few kids I had befriended during football practice called me over to show me a funny video on their phones. What was just a silly video to them, was a gateway to the friendship and normalcy that I had so desired since moving here.
Lunch time chats soon evolved into after school football games filled with laughter, camaraderie, and good memories. Through socializing with my new group of friends, I soon learned to accept and even embrace this southern culture that was once so foreign to me. I ate at barbeques, explored ranches, experienced rodeos, and served my community. However, the one thing that I will remember forever was the hospitality of my friends and their families.
When I lived in California waking up to the rose's shadow was a beacon of familiarity I took advantage of every morning, and after moving it was seemingly taken away from me. Although I was able to move back after 2 years, my beacon has since become my unforgettable experience in Texas.
Here it is, any insight is appreciated! It's definitely a rough draft but I don't think it's too bad, I think the ending is a bit rushed but alas 650 word limit.
The amount of time my family and I had spent establishing a lifetime's worth of friendships within our community? 14 years.
The amount of time a bank allocates to vacate a foreclosed home? 72 hours.
A statistic- in the most simple sense- is purely a number; that is, until you become that number. Allow me to digress, it was the first glorious day of summer after eighth grade; fresh out of middle school, I was nothing short of a big shot with nothing but the world in front of me. I was thirteen, give me a break. As per usual, I woke up that morning to the sun's meandering rays casting a shadow of the fluorescent pink roses that lay outside my room. Puberty in full swing, I raced my portly, facial-hair ridden self out of bed to inspect what my parents had prepared for breakfast that morning; however, something was different today.
I had gotten so accosted to walking into the kitchen with both my parents in lively moods that seeing them sitting down with subtle, melancholy expressions was discerning to say the least. It was then that my father sat me down and asked me in a rather nonchalant fashion where I would rather move to: Michigan or Texas. The word "move" resonated in my head for what felt like hours as I stood in disbelief. What my parents could not tell me at the time was that the recession was tough and we could not afford our house anymore. Up until this point the term, "economic recession," had not been more than a term used by the grey-haired, smart guys on CNN.
Weeks passed and before I knew it the court arranged date to leave the house had arrived. My bags were packed and I was aboard Delta flight 279. Maybe this was all some sort of bad dream, and if I could just fall asleep I would wake up to the familiar sight of the rose's shadow in my bedroom. Unfortunately, this was not the case as being in the very back of the plane came with various nuances, one of which was a dripping air conditioning unit. Perfect.
Before I knew it we were finally settled in our modest Dallas home and I was ready to begin my first day of high school. I perused through the grandiose hallways in awe of the sheer size of the school; the walls were draped with multiple state championship pennants and various other student accolades. Culture shock ensued as more and more people walked by me wearing cowboy boots, large belt buckles, and sporty shirts to match.
Where was I?
Lunch came and went, and I found myself lost not knowing who talk to or where to sit, the extrovert in me was nowhere to be found those first couple of days. About a week later, a few kids I had befriended during football practice called me over to show me a funny video on their phones. What was just a silly video to them, was a gateway to the friendship and normalcy that I had so desired since moving here.
Lunch time chats soon evolved into after school football games filled with laughter, camaraderie, and good memories. Through socializing with my new group of friends, I soon learned to accept and even embrace this southern culture that was once so foreign to me. I ate at barbeques, explored ranches, experienced rodeos, and served my community. However, the one thing that I will remember forever was the hospitality of my friends and their families.
When I lived in California waking up to the rose's shadow was a beacon of familiarity I took advantage of every morning, and after moving it was seemingly taken away from me. Although I was able to move back after 2 years, my beacon has since become my unforgettable experience in Texas.