The Only One Who Could Ever Reach Me

The impending deadline for undergraduate UC applications has created an onslaught of essays to edit, and has produced an overscheduling of personal appointments, during which I advise students on what--and what not--to say, and how (and how not) to say it. Along with the looming deadlines for my own applications, all this extra work has proved rather taxing. This stress is sometimes compounded by the moral dilemma of whether to help students into colleges where their placement is, at best, questionable.

As an advocate of high university standards, and an aspirant into the world of academia myself, I wonder whether it's right to coach students to say what admissions officers want to hear, or to prevent them from saying things at which the officers would cringe. I suppose it's all part and parcel of my job. I repeat this mantra on a nearly daily basis; that cliche (and many others) quench my conscience and allow me to keep on working.

On occasion I will meet a student whom I feel is truly deserving of admittance into a university, but whose entrance might be hampered by low grades or test scores. These students usually strike me as altruistic, amiable, or generally sincere; I always feel that not only would they benefit from a university education, but that they, in turn, would use their degree to benefit humanity (in some vague way--I never speculate about how exactly they will better the world).

Of the (literally) hundreds of essays I've surveyed this season, one struck me as particularly honest. I can't say that it was the best written, but it displays (what I deemed) a candid nature, free of the affectation and artifice I see in so many other personal statements. This essay doesn't overreach, or try to have larger implications than what it should. It tells what this students experienced, and how it genuinely affected him. If you don't like it, then let me show you the myriad of other, much more pretentious and boring, essays I've looked at.

The only essay to "reach me" thus far is by the son of a preacher man. What follows is his response to the third UC prompt.

"I get $20 a month," said Douglas. "I get ten a week," said another friend. Silence filled the air because I had nothing to say. In my immature mind, it seemed unfair to be a pastor's kid. I felt that everyone else had parents who were successful and admirable, but my parents only work at our small church, which doesn't make much money.
My perspective was completely changed through an experience in another church in downtown L.A. Upon going inside, I saw dusty cracks in the walls, broken down seats, and faded carpet. "Maybe my church isn't so bad after all," I thought. Although only a dozen members were present in the chapel, they were still determined to continue the service. As I sat there, I realized that although the congregation may have lacked material wealth, they were very satisfied.
After this experience, I was thankful for my church, and I realized that success isn't measured only in money. Being in the family of a pastor is something to be proud of and thankful for, because my family makes a larger contribution to the world. From my situation as a pastor's son who has to endure certain hardships, I've learned to be tolerant of hard situations and to be optimistic, even when things don't look good.