I wrote this junior year for a free-writing assignment and thought it might be a good answer for the question asked in my college application to Princeton. What I'm not sure of is whether or not its a good fit for Princeton; if they'd understand it, or take me as some rebellious teen (which is NOT what I'm trying to get at!). It would be great for some feedback on your reactions to it, and what impression you think it makes! THANKS!!
PROMPT:"Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you."::
ESSAY:
""The elderly woman, stumbling under the weight of her groceries in the wide stretch between Shoppers and the parking lot, is left endangered by an oncoming truck. Luckily, a brave hero in a brown cap, steel-toed boots, fancy red neckerchief, and his signature button-up uniform, follows the call of duty and escorts her to the safety of the roadside."
Similar versions of this story had earned the camp's most imaginative kids first pick in the dining hall all week. My troop just sat quietly because once they finished talking, we could finally eat. Three times a day my troop eats last, three times a day our table is flipped, and three times a day I stand humiliated on the chair singing "I'm a little teapot" amid three hundred scouts' snorts. We stood out in Camp Buckskin because we lacked what the other troops possessed: "Boy Scout Prahd".
This trip is incomparable to the countless other journeys my troop braved to raise men. Class 4 whitewater rapids, camping without tents, and trekking the Dolly Sods, the coldest regions of the Appalachian Mountain Range in record -20 degrees and 48 inches of snow, left us tougher than any other person our age. These times with my troop were demanding, but while freezing half to death, coughing up water, and counting scars, I matured into an older brother, a fighter, and a man. So when in the summer of 2010 at Camp Buckskin I faced the "no gum" sign and an angry twelve-year-old stationed with his hand cupped to enforce this law, I decided it was time to give this scout reservation a taste of manhood.
After kitchen duty one day, I ran down to the campsite, assembled the guys, and, with bursts of laughter, we tore off our clothes, grabbed some towels, and ran barefoot toward the lake to go skinny-dipping. We passed the rifle range and volleyball court, leaving behind bewildered scouts covered to their noses with gadgets and gizmos by the wayside. By the time we arrived at the dock, word of our shamelessness had passed through walkie-talkies and we had about six scoutmasters at our pale behinds. We shoved through the blank stares, jumped the waterfront gate, sprinted across the dock, and dove cleanly into the warm lake waters. Floating on our backs in the middle of the lake was a breath of fresh air after suffocating from the dutiful-scout expectations, and a freedom I will never forget. The sound of kids shouting and lifeguards whistling with their entire lung capacity drowned as I let my ears sink beneath the surface.
That night our routine did not change. We received the same punishments; eating last, on the floor, finishing the meal singing "I'm a little teapot" on our chairs. The difference was, this time, we belted the song. We sang at the top of our lungs because that day we gained something the other troops did not have nor understand: the pride of men."
PROMPT:"Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you."::
ESSAY:
""The elderly woman, stumbling under the weight of her groceries in the wide stretch between Shoppers and the parking lot, is left endangered by an oncoming truck. Luckily, a brave hero in a brown cap, steel-toed boots, fancy red neckerchief, and his signature button-up uniform, follows the call of duty and escorts her to the safety of the roadside."
Similar versions of this story had earned the camp's most imaginative kids first pick in the dining hall all week. My troop just sat quietly because once they finished talking, we could finally eat. Three times a day my troop eats last, three times a day our table is flipped, and three times a day I stand humiliated on the chair singing "I'm a little teapot" amid three hundred scouts' snorts. We stood out in Camp Buckskin because we lacked what the other troops possessed: "Boy Scout Prahd".
This trip is incomparable to the countless other journeys my troop braved to raise men. Class 4 whitewater rapids, camping without tents, and trekking the Dolly Sods, the coldest regions of the Appalachian Mountain Range in record -20 degrees and 48 inches of snow, left us tougher than any other person our age. These times with my troop were demanding, but while freezing half to death, coughing up water, and counting scars, I matured into an older brother, a fighter, and a man. So when in the summer of 2010 at Camp Buckskin I faced the "no gum" sign and an angry twelve-year-old stationed with his hand cupped to enforce this law, I decided it was time to give this scout reservation a taste of manhood.
After kitchen duty one day, I ran down to the campsite, assembled the guys, and, with bursts of laughter, we tore off our clothes, grabbed some towels, and ran barefoot toward the lake to go skinny-dipping. We passed the rifle range and volleyball court, leaving behind bewildered scouts covered to their noses with gadgets and gizmos by the wayside. By the time we arrived at the dock, word of our shamelessness had passed through walkie-talkies and we had about six scoutmasters at our pale behinds. We shoved through the blank stares, jumped the waterfront gate, sprinted across the dock, and dove cleanly into the warm lake waters. Floating on our backs in the middle of the lake was a breath of fresh air after suffocating from the dutiful-scout expectations, and a freedom I will never forget. The sound of kids shouting and lifeguards whistling with their entire lung capacity drowned as I let my ears sink beneath the surface.
That night our routine did not change. We received the same punishments; eating last, on the floor, finishing the meal singing "I'm a little teapot" on our chairs. The difference was, this time, we belted the song. We sang at the top of our lungs because that day we gained something the other troops did not have nor understand: the pride of men."