In the midst of filling out college applications and scholarships (and not having ran all last week because there was an incredible pain in my foot, and not having run for the last three days because of a combination of a blizzard and wind chill temperatures, which did get me three snow days), I have realized something important. The ability to make up information to make yourself look good is underrated.
Technically, I guess it's not making up stuff, it's just writing the story in a way that makes you look better than you should. I'm not really that kind of person though, kind of like how I don't like making excuses. Because the colleges don't really want to know you, they want to know how good you think you are. And besides that, the one thing they truly care about is leadership. Which I am getting tired of real fast.
I'm sure leadership is a great quality to have, but it's not the top quality and plus someone is going to be needed to follow all these leaders. And maybe the real reason that I now detest leadership, is that I'm not really a leader. I don't do clubs or councils, they are too much like team sports, and I'd rather be doing something else. I don't organize community service activities, although I do volunteer. I'm involved in two sports that do not truly have team captains, although I can claim being a cross country captain because I participated in captain's games at our pep assembly. Licking peanut butter off of fiberglass while wearing a pirate mask should count for something afterall. I'm the oldest child in my family, which can also give me a little bit of leadership. But I don't have official leadership titles or duties. As my coach once told me, I lead by example and not by talking.
I'm sure this probably makes me sound like a loser who doesn't deserve a scholarship, but I'm really a good student. I have a 4.2something GPA, have a great ACT score, and have numerous academic awards. I am ranked 12th in my class of like 400 kids. But the answers to these scholarship applications evades me. Even when I try to write about something I actually enjoy, like running, I just don't know what to say. These people aren't going to understand it. And it won't stand out from all the others. Even if I use running as my example in my "challenging situation", it's not going to be interesting to someone not a runner. They won't really get it.
Although the leadership questions bother me, I could see the merit of asking them (except I don't think it is worth the multiple essays I have had to write on the subject). A question that really bothers me, is when they ask "do you want us to know anything else about you" or "what should we know about you". Do they really want to know anything about me? Do they really care? Because this is what I would tell them:
I love running. I dislike it very much sometimes, but it plays a huge role in who I am. The aspect of hard work, quiet determination, and perseverence are all parts of running, and therefore they are a part of me. I also enjoy the sport of professional cycling. Those aspects I have previously described can also be found in this sport. And plus, there is just something that draws me to the sport. Which is why I follow it even though I have few people to discuss it with.
I am often described as a quiet person, which I do not enjoy, because really, I'd talk more if everyone would just shut up. I also tend to take a cynical view sometimes, when not talking about what I really love. I'm not looking forward to college because I am going to have to leave a lot of what I consider me behind. I won't have any practices to go to, or teammates to cheer on. I won't get to see my friends everyday, I'll have to live somewhere else, I'll be forced to make my own decisions, I'm not going to know the teachers, and I don't even get a locker. I kind of like what I have now and am not exactly thrilled about having to change.
I am going to major in engineering because of the process of elimination of all the careers I do not like. My favorite school subject is history but there is no real career in that besides teaching. I really only like male teachers, because they treat you like adults and not little kids, and plus most kids hate history so it would not be enjoyable teaching them. One of my friends (whom I have many sarcastic, cynical conversations with) once asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up. He told me he wanted to be a migrant farm worker. I told him I wanted to be a podium girl in the Tour de France. Which is really what I'd rather do,
And now I would like to thank the scholarship commmitte for reading my essay about me. I am not the prime example of the potential of greatness of our youth. That's because I am a real person who has unique hobbies and decision making issues. And that is what you should know about me. Besides the fact that I was tired of filling out scholarships midway through my first one.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
THAT DAY
One year ago, everything changed. My dad had a heart attack. My dad, who has come to almost all my sporting events and cheers me on, who takes me to see all the politicians that come talk, who introduced me to the Tour de France, who loves to play Scrabble. Who was the subject of my greatest thanks that year, because my dad was okay.
It was to be the first day back from Thanksgiving break. Early that morning, the phone rang. It kept ringing and ringing. My driver's ed teacher told us about two weeks later that early morning phone calls are hardly ever good, because good news can always wait until morning. He was partly true.
I can still remember the phone ringing over and over again. The answering machine clicking on, and my mom's voice telling one of us girls to pick up the phone. I answered it half asleep. And then my mom told me that she had taken my dad to the hospital. He was having chest pains but he didn't want to wake me up because he thought it wasn't that big of deal. But my mom told me the sweetest words I could hear after she told me where they were at. He was okay. He was going to be okay.
I stayed up after that, waiting for the phone to ring again, and for my sisters to wake up. I remember the look on my youngest sister's face when I told her that dad was in the hospital, that he was okay, but we didn't have to go to school. That was one of that hardest things I have had to do. To tell her words that I didn't even want to hear. But he was okay. And that's what mattered.
We were allowed to visit him later on, and I don't think I have ever been so glad to see my dad. He looked weak and sick and okay. He had watched what he ate, he exercised- went on bike rides and went running with me, he did what his doctor had told him. He did so much right, and what scares me is what went wrong. There are so many fat, unhealthy, junk food eating guys out there and they weren't the ones who this happened to. They are the ones who it is supposed to happen to. But my dad has done even more since that day. He goes walking all the time and lifts weights. And he's still there at all my meets.
On that day, a year ago, I went for about a six mile run. I had been running at most like four until that day. But then I needed to run. I needed to get out of the house, and run long and deal with everything. My grandparents had arrived so I didn't need to act like the grownup anymore. I could act like the kid that I felt like through the whole experience. So I ran. I ran because it was my therapy, I could get out my adrenaline, my fear. I could be myself and didn't have to pretend when I ran. Running that day, that week, became something I wanted to do, something I had to do.
I'm not sure how my mom dealt with everything, because I was so terrified myself, and I knew from the beginning that he was okay. The way she acted has made her an even stronger woman in my opinion. One of the really hard things that week was actually going to school and sitting in class and listening to everyone's conversations. I couldn't make it matter to me, what really mattered was my family. And a year from that scary day, the same thing matters. My family matters.
It was to be the first day back from Thanksgiving break. Early that morning, the phone rang. It kept ringing and ringing. My driver's ed teacher told us about two weeks later that early morning phone calls are hardly ever good, because good news can always wait until morning. He was partly true.
I can still remember the phone ringing over and over again. The answering machine clicking on, and my mom's voice telling one of us girls to pick up the phone. I answered it half asleep. And then my mom told me that she had taken my dad to the hospital. He was having chest pains but he didn't want to wake me up because he thought it wasn't that big of deal. But my mom told me the sweetest words I could hear after she told me where they were at. He was okay. He was going to be okay.
I stayed up after that, waiting for the phone to ring again, and for my sisters to wake up. I remember the look on my youngest sister's face when I told her that dad was in the hospital, that he was okay, but we didn't have to go to school. That was one of that hardest things I have had to do. To tell her words that I didn't even want to hear. But he was okay. And that's what mattered.
We were allowed to visit him later on, and I don't think I have ever been so glad to see my dad. He looked weak and sick and okay. He had watched what he ate, he exercised- went on bike rides and went running with me, he did what his doctor had told him. He did so much right, and what scares me is what went wrong. There are so many fat, unhealthy, junk food eating guys out there and they weren't the ones who this happened to. They are the ones who it is supposed to happen to. But my dad has done even more since that day. He goes walking all the time and lifts weights. And he's still there at all my meets.
On that day, a year ago, I went for about a six mile run. I had been running at most like four until that day. But then I needed to run. I needed to get out of the house, and run long and deal with everything. My grandparents had arrived so I didn't need to act like the grownup anymore. I could act like the kid that I felt like through the whole experience. So I ran. I ran because it was my therapy, I could get out my adrenaline, my fear. I could be myself and didn't have to pretend when I ran. Running that day, that week, became something I wanted to do, something I had to do.
I'm not sure how my mom dealt with everything, because I was so terrified myself, and I knew from the beginning that he was okay. The way she acted has made her an even stronger woman in my opinion. One of the really hard things that week was actually going to school and sitting in class and listening to everyone's conversations. I couldn't make it matter to me, what really mattered was my family. And a year from that scary day, the same thing matters. My family matters.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
