儿子申请大学的短文--写的是他的一次真实经历

来源: paterman 于 2023-03-16 04:02:11 [档案] [旧帖] [给我悄悄话] 本文已被阅读：次 (46623 bytes)

回答: 这样是真的吗？由 paterman 于 2023-02-06 13:48:57

儿子申请大学的短文--写的是他的一次真实经历

来源: el98012 于 2023-03-15 09:21:27 [档案] [博客] [旧帖] [给我悄悄话] 本文已被阅读： 3294 次 (4761 bytes)

本文内容已被 [ el98012 ] 在 2023-03-15 09:25:13 编辑过。如有问题，请报告版主或论坛管理删除.

他提交前一天才给我和他姐姐看一下，我看过之后说咱要不要试试申请好一点的学校，他说forget about it。他用这个申请UW。他还申请了其它的几所，都是本地的。我们这里除了UW没什么像样的学校。

他那次的即时“演讲”真的很精彩，把在场的几十个大人和高中生都逗得一直笑声不断，幽默且富有意义。（前）市长也给予了很高的评价。

我对短文提的意见是我们在最后是不是“vision" 要大一些，要不要加两句像争取给亚裔与其它社团增进交流和了解做贡献的文字。他只是嗯了一声，也不知他改没改。

写作对我本人是非常非常大的挑战，高中时我每次作文的那（连在）一起的两节课我都写不出一点东西，最后都是胡写一些交作业了事，平均分数不及格。觉得两个孩子似乎这方面比我强不少。

I was on trial. As I shuffled to the podium to talk the jury shot me vicious stares, waiting intently for my inevitable screw-up the moment I dare open my mouth. My dad was so furious his red face could turn ice directly to steam. The judge didn't even bother looking up, for he was already as certain as I was of my guilt. I stammered. My words trembled. I secretly wished I had fallen on my face literally instead of figuratively.

I was not being tried for assault nor theft, but for being horribly, horribly unprepared. You see, I was a part of a fresh new wave of interns introduced into Mayor Lee's internship program, excited about its promise of bringing more attention towards Asian American communities and culture. Of course, with an opportunity this promising I immediately proceeded to forget about the vital introductory presentation on “what does it mean to be American”. A question so broad and vague that it was obvious that it was asking – nay, demanding – for a deeply philosophical response about the complex cultural and social values we possess in relation to America. Or in other words, a deeply philosophical response that I did not have. As if things couldn't get even worse, the first eager intern to present was immediately shot down with so much flak (from Mayor Lee himself!) that he had to drag his lead filled body back to his seat. “It's all over,” I thought to myself. A person as shy and unprepared as me couldn't even amount to a fifth of what he had to say.

The presentations went by one by one, and after a dreadful 35 minutes and 12 seconds it was my turn. With the only other option at my disposal being ejecting out of my chair straight through the second story window, something awoke within me. Something I didn’t even know I had. To my disbelief, my conscious decided that if I was going to run out of the room crying in front of the 40 young adults in the room, I was going to at least utter three sentences before I did so. I had to try.

The first few words dropped out of my mouth like stones. People were already beginning to relax in their chairs, their preconceptions of me in their minds coming true. But I kept talking. I slogged through the swamps of missing words and awkward phrases. I tripped, crawled, and stumbled all throughout navigating the jungles of finding what to say next. I trekked up the Mount Everest of finding enough courage to crack a joke.

That day I had fooled everyone (or, at the very least, myself) that I could make speeches. Regardless of how well my improvised, patchworked speech was received, all I knew that by the end of it is that I felt amazing for having my genuine opinions expressed. Sure, I could never shake off the slight guilt of foolishly forgetting to prepare for this important presentation, but it took this blunder to find my passion for speech. If it wasn’t for this stressful moment of my life, I would’ve never found the passionate, bold, and admittedly a little bit too proud self that was hiding under the layers of excessive caution and nervousness.

I love speaking now. Whether it's as nerve racking as public speaking or as calm as simply talking to a friend I always search for ways to string words together. Sure, statistically speaking the majority of my sentences will be awkward, my phrasing incorrect, and my jokes painfully unfunny. But I am still forever grateful for the day when, with my back against the wall and staring (figurative) death in the face, I found my voice.