College essays that made a difference - Princeton Review 2010
Kathleen B. Blackburn
The applicants
Kathleen was the salutatorian of her graduating class and served as her high school’s yearbook editor during her junior and senior years. As vice president of the National Honor Society, she coordinated many volunteer activities for its members, including weekly tutoring of area children and multiple food drives. She was also an active member of the Spanish club and took part in five mission trips to Nicaragua with her youth group. When she wasn’t busy with schoolwork or extracurricular activities, she worked as a waitress and babysitter.
Stats
SAT: 2030 (700 Critical Reading, 620 Math, 710 Writing)
SAT Subject Test(s): 740 Literature, 790 U.S. History
High School GPA: 4.3
High School: Lord Botetourt High School, Daleville, VA
Hometown: Daleville, VA
Gender: Female
Race: Caucasian
Applied To
Elon University
Washington & Lee University
Essay
Kathleen used the following essay in her application to the schools listed above.
Evaluate a significant experience or achievement that has special meaning for you.
It was an odd feeling, riding in the back of that dump truck, a coffin right beside me. As we bounced along the unpaved, potholed, Nicaraguan roads, it would unhinge just a bit, and I could see where Papá would soon be laid. After a long ride under the oppressive sun, the dump truck full of teenagers finally arrived at the tiny home that Mamá and Papá shared, and we unloaded our somber cargo. As I walked up their rocky, dirt yard, I was filled with memories.
I had met Mamá and Papá a year earlier, while on my first trip to Nicaragua with Because We Care Ministries. Both were in their eighties and living in filth. Stray dogs would come by their shack and roll in their meager food supply, actually passing mange to Mamá and Papá. The ministry found the poor couple and began to help them, providing food and medicine, teaching them cleanliness habits, such as not to eat food after a dog has urinated on it, and even building them a real home. I remember visiting while their home was under construction. Mamá gave everyone hugs and refused to sit down in the presence of her visitors, despite her dwindling health. Papá was healthy enough to stand and thanked each of us over and over again.
And now, just a year later, we were helping Mamá make the final preparations for Papá’s death and burial. While the men lugged the coffin in and placed it in the corner of the one-room home, I rushed to the hammock to see Papá. His blank face stared back at me as he struggled to breathe. The air around him reeked of stale sweat, urine and vomit. I stroked his shriveled hand as his daughter attempted to give him a thimble full of water, but he was too ill to keep it down, and vomited it into a large pan filled with similar substances. At this point, I could not hold it back anymore, and slow tears fell down my face. It just did not seem fair. The only difference between Papá and me was where we happened to be born. Had I been Nicaraguan by birth, I would be in his situation; he would look upon me with pity. Then it was time to gather around Papá for prayer. We all held hands, and I rested my hand upon his bony shoulder. As we began to pray, it seemed as if a fresh breath of life blew into him. He began to pray with us, shouting “¡Gloria a Dios!” with the little strength he could muster. Fresh tears fell from everyone’s eyes as the dying man whispered the Spanish words to “Amazing Grace” while we sang in English. Forgetting the strict rules about sanitation and disease, I kissed his sweaty forehead and whispered, “Vaya a casa, Papá. Go home, Papá.”
The images of Papá on his deathbed praising the Lord will be forever imprinted in my mind. When I get frustrated with my blessed life in my comfortable Virginia home, I remember the amazing faith of this man. When I am disappointed, I remember the greater disappointments he faced. When I am weak, I remember how much weaker he was. And when I am joyful, I remember his immense joy, which makes me even gladder.
Papá did go home two days after I last saw him. Because of our shared faith, I firmly believe that he is in the presence of God. I cannot imagine how exciting heaven is for him. All he ever knew were the dirt roads of Nicaragua; now he walks along streets of gold. He was always ill; now he is in the presence of the Great Physician. He spent most of his life living in a trash bag; now he inhabits his own mansion. He never had quite enough beans and rice; now he has more than he could ever want. He taught me and so many others so much about life in the short time we knew him; I cannot wait to see him, wrap my arms around his thick, healthy body and say gracias.
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