Recently I was a finalist but not a recipient for a scholarship. It's somewhat of a quasi-merit and need based one and it doubles as a college application. You have to be poor to be considered, but you must also have excellent academics. One of the requirements is to write a biographical essay. After receiving news of my rejection I decided to look into some sample essays that the scholarship considered "good" to strengthen my application (your app is automatically resubmitted to all of the colleges you're eligible for for regular decision with fee waived) most of them seemed pretty in line with mine so I considered it merely just the luck of the draw, until I came upon this one
Now, I'm not belittling this persons suffering as I know how hard situations can be (gambling hasn't really affected my family but a host of other things has) but am I the only one who finds this a bit hammy? And by a bit I mean off the wall. I mean, my family has experienced things comparable to this, and maybe it's just the way my family functions, but we go to a 12 step program and get a support group, and when things are talked about they are talked about in a more"real" sense I guess. Not a great word but it fits. This essay doesn't sound real to me at all (I'm not calling into question its validity mind you), but I feel like this is some over the top English Paper where the author went crazy with the SAT vocab words. Now none of the other essays handled their issues in this manner, hell, the Glass Castle was purposely embellished to sell copies and it was a very believable and moving memoir.
I guess the point of discussion is, is it okay to ham up your trials to get a certain favor big or small, or should it just be said as is (although it should still be eloquently put and well written, no excuses for poor writing) and let the story speak for itself?
I was only six years old when I first witnessed the terrible power of my mom?s addiction. My parents had been arguing, and in frustration my mom went to her car and started to leave for the Bay 101 Casino. I remember my dad dragging my two brothers and me into the garage and yelling at us to lie down behind the car?s tires to keep my mom from leaving. She turned around and screamed at us, saying that if we didn?t move, she was going to run us over. Her eyes blazed with pure rage. I trembled with fear as I looked into her face?this mad, crazy woman couldn?t be my mom. My mom would never threaten her children. And yet she had, and it was convincing enough to make me jump out of the way. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I watched her car round the corner and disappear.
That incident was the beginning of a slow decline. As the years passed, my mother?s presence around the house became increasingly rare. Through it all, however, I never once hated her. I despised her gambling addiction?the real cause of her absence. She was no longer the compassionate, dutiful, and loving mother I had known. She lived only for the lights above the casino table, the adrenaline rush of a huge bet, and the roll of the dice. To feed her addiction, she committed check fraud, credit card fraud, and even borrowed money from my father, her now ex-husband.
Eventually she was incarcerated at the California Institution for Women. Visiting her there one day, she spoke words I will never forget. ?Don?t end up like me,? she said. ?I have fallen from grace, and I don?t want that to happen to you as well. Go to college, study hard, and have a successful career. But above all, be a good person; be someone I can be proud of.? I will never forget the anguish in her eyes and the emotion in her voice as she held me close and made me promise that I would never fall prey to addiction.
Sometimes sleep seemed the only solution to my loneliness, but even that did not always dull the pain. Once, I woke up in the middle of the night in a panic. Crying out, I jumped from my bed and bolted to my mother?s old bedroom in search of comfort. Then it hit me: my mom didn?t live with us anymore. At that moment she was in some small, dark cell. I crumpled down and whimpered. The noise must have awoken my father because soon I felt two strong arms wrapped safely around me. I spent what seemed an eternity in my father?s arms. Afterwards I took my sleeping bag to his room and slept there. I couldn?t stand to be alone that night.
During my childhood, what kept my dreams alive, and my thoughts focused on my future, was family?my brothers and father. I was lucky to have the love of a devoted family. But not everyone has that kind of support. They are the ones that need help the most.
With that thought and my mother?s hopes for me in mind, my brothers and I spend Saturday mornings at community runs, elderly homes, and homeless shelters, doing whatever we can to make a positive difference in the lives of others. But more than just a simple distraction, I have found a sense of fulfillment and purpose in my activities. Even if I have to sacrifice a few hours of sleep, I don?t mind waking up before the sun rises to carpool people to community service events. Those crisp, clear mornings are better spent knowing that I am making a real difference, not just dreaming about how I could or will do something in the future. In this way, I have been able to keep my promise to my mother and to myself.
The family I will raise, the job I will have, and the responsibilities I will assume leave no room for drugs, alcohol, or gambling. I don?t want my kids to come home every day after school, hoping and longing for their dad to be home. Instead, I would rather my kids have a happy and carefree childhood, the one I never had myself.
That incident was the beginning of a slow decline. As the years passed, my mother?s presence around the house became increasingly rare. Through it all, however, I never once hated her. I despised her gambling addiction?the real cause of her absence. She was no longer the compassionate, dutiful, and loving mother I had known. She lived only for the lights above the casino table, the adrenaline rush of a huge bet, and the roll of the dice. To feed her addiction, she committed check fraud, credit card fraud, and even borrowed money from my father, her now ex-husband.
Eventually she was incarcerated at the California Institution for Women. Visiting her there one day, she spoke words I will never forget. ?Don?t end up like me,? she said. ?I have fallen from grace, and I don?t want that to happen to you as well. Go to college, study hard, and have a successful career. But above all, be a good person; be someone I can be proud of.? I will never forget the anguish in her eyes and the emotion in her voice as she held me close and made me promise that I would never fall prey to addiction.
Sometimes sleep seemed the only solution to my loneliness, but even that did not always dull the pain. Once, I woke up in the middle of the night in a panic. Crying out, I jumped from my bed and bolted to my mother?s old bedroom in search of comfort. Then it hit me: my mom didn?t live with us anymore. At that moment she was in some small, dark cell. I crumpled down and whimpered. The noise must have awoken my father because soon I felt two strong arms wrapped safely around me. I spent what seemed an eternity in my father?s arms. Afterwards I took my sleeping bag to his room and slept there. I couldn?t stand to be alone that night.
During my childhood, what kept my dreams alive, and my thoughts focused on my future, was family?my brothers and father. I was lucky to have the love of a devoted family. But not everyone has that kind of support. They are the ones that need help the most.
With that thought and my mother?s hopes for me in mind, my brothers and I spend Saturday mornings at community runs, elderly homes, and homeless shelters, doing whatever we can to make a positive difference in the lives of others. But more than just a simple distraction, I have found a sense of fulfillment and purpose in my activities. Even if I have to sacrifice a few hours of sleep, I don?t mind waking up before the sun rises to carpool people to community service events. Those crisp, clear mornings are better spent knowing that I am making a real difference, not just dreaming about how I could or will do something in the future. In this way, I have been able to keep my promise to my mother and to myself.
The family I will raise, the job I will have, and the responsibilities I will assume leave no room for drugs, alcohol, or gambling. I don?t want my kids to come home every day after school, hoping and longing for their dad to be home. Instead, I would rather my kids have a happy and carefree childhood, the one I never had myself.
Now, I'm not belittling this persons suffering as I know how hard situations can be (gambling hasn't really affected my family but a host of other things has) but am I the only one who finds this a bit hammy? And by a bit I mean off the wall. I mean, my family has experienced things comparable to this, and maybe it's just the way my family functions, but we go to a 12 step program and get a support group, and when things are talked about they are talked about in a more"real" sense I guess. Not a great word but it fits. This essay doesn't sound real to me at all (I'm not calling into question its validity mind you), but I feel like this is some over the top English Paper where the author went crazy with the SAT vocab words. Now none of the other essays handled their issues in this manner, hell, the Glass Castle was purposely embellished to sell copies and it was a very believable and moving memoir.
I guess the point of discussion is, is it okay to ham up your trials to get a certain favor big or small, or should it just be said as is (although it should still be eloquently put and well written, no excuses for poor writing) and let the story speak for itself?
