Lamb To The Slaughter

Alright, alright, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to post my common app essay, and you're all going to swarm on it like the bloodthirsty sharks you are and tear it into tiny little pieces. I will then cobble the pieces together, throw them in a shoebox along with what's left of my pride, and burn them on my driveway in a quiet ceremony.

Keep in mind: While inspired by actual events, the actual events in this paper are near complete fabrications. So don't get all huffy about historical accuracy. Also I think I have some tense prollems. Also, this beast is 599 words right now, which is roughly 99 words over the limit. Feel free to rip and slash out whatever looks loseable.


Be gentle.

Prompt: Tell us about a person who influenced you in some way. How did they influenced you?

As I entered my sophomore year of high school, my confidence was at an all-time high. Ever since elementary school, I had breezed through every academic challenge the school system had to offer. Math, science, and especially writing were easy for me. My teachers fawned over my work like proud parents, often using it as an example for my fellow students. I expended very little effort but received rave reviews. Gradually, I came to assume that I was extraordinarily intelligent with unlimited potential; high school would be simple, then I would be off to the Ivy League to amaze the world’s best and brightest.

It took only one class, and one teacher, to bring me back down to earth. Mr. Wanninger was my teacher for Pre-A.P. English in 10th grade. He seemed different from my other teachers, staid veterans in tweed jackets and carefully coordinated jewelry, watching over their students with paternal concern. Mr. Wanninger seemed to belong to a different generation, our generation, swiveling about on his desk chair, cracking jokes and listening to the same music as some of his hipper students. In some ways it was nice to have a younger, more relatable teacher, but we soon discovered the other side of having a teacher as a peer. In place of the reliable encouragement of a caring, concerned parent, we had scant praise, meted out only to those who truly deserved it, by an intelligent, challenging equal. Even in these uncertain new circumstances, I was sure I could impress Wanninger with my first essay. I wrote it out, looked it over once, and, satisfied, turned it in days early.

Mr. Wanninger returned our essays a week later. The cumulative corrections on all my previous schoolwork could not have contained more red ink than the bloodstained mess that was my paper. Wanninger had found more things wrong with the paper than right with it. Indignant, I began to read his comments and corrections, fighting the urge to march into his room and present him with all the perfect grades I’d earned through middle school. He criticized my structure and style as simple and unrefined; he guessed correctly that I had written it in one night; and worst of all, he told me my writing was immature: I needed to “grow up.” All that stopped me from huffily demanding that he retract his comments and issue a formal apology was the simple realization that he was right.

My writing was poor, but it was my attitude that needed to change. I was acting like a child, doing shoddy work and expecting my teacher, like any good parent, to tell me it was wonderful. Mr. Wanninger represented a new kind of judge, one on my own level. Good or bad, he told you his real opinion. The truth hurt, but his honesty was invaluable in my quest to grow as a writer. I received top marks in English both semesters, was named student of the semester by Mr. Wanninger, and later won the school district prize for best essay.

I feel Mr. Wanninger also helped me grow as a person. My experience in his class served as a transition into adulthood. I am no longer a child to be marveled over and blindly encouraged by dewy-eyed elders. No, I am an adult; my actions will be evaluated bluntly and honestly. While this judgment may come hard and fast, it will be the truth, and with this truth as a guide I will be able to shape myself and, hopefully, fulfill some of that youthful potential from my elementary days.


P.S.: I probably won't check this blog again until Sunday, so go ahead and pile on in my absence.