兒子申請大學的短文--寫的是他的一次真實經曆

來源: paterman 於 2023-03-16 04:02:11 [檔案] [舊帖] [給我悄悄話] 本文已被閱讀：次 (46623 bytes)

回答: 這樣是真的嗎？由 paterman 於 2023-02-06 13:48:57

兒子申請大學的短文--寫的是他的一次真實經曆

來源: el98012 於 2023-03-15 09:21:27 [檔案] [博客] [舊帖] [給我悄悄話] 本文已被閱讀： 3294 次 (4761 bytes)

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他提交前一天才給我和他姐姐看一下，我看過之後說咱要不要試試申請好一點的學校，他說forget about it。他用這個申請UW。他還申請了其它的幾所，都是本地的。我們這裏除了UW沒什麽像樣的學校。

他那次的即時“演講”真的很精彩，把在場的幾十個大人和高中生都逗得一直笑聲不斷，幽默且富有意義。（前）市長也給予了很高的評價。

我對短文提的意見是我們在最後是不是“vision" 要大一些，要不要加兩句像爭取給亞裔與其它社團增進交流和了解做貢獻的文字。他隻是嗯了一聲，也不知他改沒改。

寫作對我本人是非常非常大的挑戰，高中時我每次作文的那（連在）一起的兩節課我都寫不出一點東西，最後都是胡寫一些交作業了事，平均分數不及格。覺得兩個孩子似乎這方麵比我強不少。

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.