SAMPLE STUDENT ESSAY
CHELSEA SNIDER
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Florida State University College Essay
“Florida State University is more than just a world-class academic
institution preparing you for a future career. We are a caring
community of well-rounded individuals who embrace leadership, learning,
service, and global awareness. With this in mind, which of these
characteristics appeal most to you, and why?”
Honestly, service didn’t become a huge part of my life until I began
high school. From elementary to middle school, I was always too shy or
too scared of the strangers met while volunteering to care about the
impact of the work done or who it benefitted. In fact, it wasn’t until
my junior year of high school, through a unique opportunity wrapped up
in an odd package, that I realized the full impact of volunteer work.
We were on a family vacation to SeaWorld when my grandpa pulled me to
the back of the group as we walked between rides. "Your National Honor
Society does service projects outside of school, right?" I met his
quizzical stare with an eyebrow raise of my own and gave a slow yes.
"And as an official member, you can propose a donation, correct?" With
another yes Papa gave me a smile that furthered my confusion. He had
been a member of his own National Honor Society and already knew the
answers to his own inquires. "Your mission, if you choose to accept it,
is this. I would like you to organize a book drive to plump up the ward
library. The men need somewhere to spend time and better themselves;
neither of which they can accomplish with a library of twelve books.” In
a vain attempt to buy some time to think, I took a sip of water before
replying. Papa worked as the ward psychologist at Coffee Correctional
Facility in Georgia and I had always held fanciful illusions concerning
his profession. His ward was probably full of tough burly men who had
plenty of time to plan the demise of the small marshmallowy girl who
recommended that book they didn't care for. Mouth open and half-brained
excuse at the ready, Papa stared straight down into my eyes. The look he
gave me was more than just a man waiting for an answer; it was one of
trust, of expectation. In that gaze I saw the confidence that Papa had
in me, even if I couldn't see it in myself. So, with a heart thumping
like a piston in overdrive, I presented the idea to our branch of the
Society the next opportunity at school. To my surprise a chorus of
'yays' followed my tentative explanation of Papa's request and no one
seemed to mind that the recipients of our donation were both out of
state and incarcerated within a mental ward. With renewed spirit, the
real work of the donation began. A cardboard box was placed in each of
the English teachers classrooms and instructions for the collection soon
followed. On one hand, I knew that my school was a tight community but I
wasn't sure how enthusiastically they could fall behind a cause that
was both far from home and mildly scary if misconstrued. After fourteen
days of incessantly checking boxes, the final count wiped every doubt
from my mind. It took two trips between my house and the school, four
extra boxes, and five sweaty football players to haul all of the books
safely into my garage. Weeks later when Papa came to collect all
thirteen boxes, his smile brought tears to my eyes. I didn’t feel like
just his granddaughter anymore, I was someone who had made a difference.
Finally, with a hug and a 'job well done', two weeks of work was on its
way to Georgia. Weeks later after I had nearly forgotten about the
whole undertaking, a letter came. Inside of the envelope was a manila
folder, cut into an even rectangle and lined with yellow construction
paper. A large rose was drawn on the front of the card with the name of
an author written on each petal and delicately shaded with colored
pencils. Two puppies were playing underneath the rose and across the top
"Thank You National Honor Society" was drawn in elegant script. Inside,
each of the inmates had signed their name and those that couldn't were
helped by a friend. Some of the signatures were in perfect handwriting,
others were in a scrolling hand that you see on formal documents, and
still others were in the shaky handwriting of someone just learning
their letters. Now, at almost every family event, Papa updates me on the
status and growth of the library as well as how the men treat the books
like porcelain. Each of these conversations recalls the satisfaction of
making my grandfather proud when he had expected so much was nothing
compared to the joy brought by that letter. There is something innately
gratifying in bringing a stranger joy; no matter that person's
background, their past indiscretions, or their current situation.
Word count: 780
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