Content provided by EssayEdge.com.
Put Harvard-Educated Editors to Work for You!
College Admissions Essay Samples
Personal Essay
Three times a week after school I go visit my dad. When I enter the hospital room where he
has lain in a coma since his accident, my eyes often wander to the lone golf ball my mom
placed at his bedside. Just six months ago, my father was driving a golf cart across the street
that bisects the local golf course when he was hit by a car. He suffered severe brain injury,
and the doctors have ruled out any possibility of him waking up again. When I look at him
lying in bed, frail but peaceful as if he were asleep, it's hard not to dwell on the "what ifs":
what if he hadn't played golf that day? What if he hadn't been behind the fence when the
black Camry plowed into it? What if I still had the chance to ask all those questions that
choke me up when I see him in the hospital? I can't pretend that I have developed enough
distance from the event to draw conclusions about life, but I am already beginning to see
myself in very different terms.
Ironically, through this accident my dad has given a chance to face reality head-on. Before
the accident, my relationship with him was warm but fraught with tension. He never seemed
satisfied with what I did and reprimanded me for every wrong step I took. He had strong
opinions about my hairstyle, clothes, friends, and--above everything else--my academic
performance. When I was not sitting at my desk in my room, he invariably asked me why I
had nothing to do and told me I should not procrastinate. He stressed that if I missed my
teenage years of studying, I would regret it later. He didn't like me going out with my friends,
so I often ended up staying at home--I was never allowed to sleep over at other students'
homes. All I remember from my past high school years is going to school and coming back
home. I was confused by my parents' overprotective attitude, because they emphasized
independence yet never actually gave me a chance to be independent.
In terms of career, my dad often lectured me about which ones are acceptable and which are
not. He worried incessantly about whether I would ever get into college, and he often made
me feel as if he would never accept my choices. Rather than standing up for myself, I simply
assumed that if I studied hard, he would no longer be disappointed in me. Although I tried
hard, I never seemed to get it quite right; he always found fault with something. As if that
weren't enough, he frequently compared me to my over-achieving older brother, asking me
why I couldn't be more like him. I must admit that at times I even questioned whether my dad