白水咖啡

儿子的故事 essay--by ND-mom

白水咖啡 (2010-08-23 06:58:05) 评论 (0)

先说明一下，这个 essay 是在 Julia 提供帮助之前 Ben 就写得差不多了，所以 Julia 没有对这个 essay 有任何指导。这个 essay 我是找了一个我认识的美国人给看过，他还给了很多好的tips，比如不要用太多的形容词，不要用 big words, don't work admission officer too hard on their brain or their eyes （ don't write long paragraphs）。这个 topic 也是在 Ben 考虑和写了不少其他的 topic 后才定下来。
虽然定下来写 music，但是到底写哪些活动（play violin, being in musical, or sing），侧重点在哪儿，又费了很长时间。他的这个 music camp 是他非常 passionate about，一周后他的感受也很多。但是essay 的侧重点也不是一下子就找到了。他想写他自己对这个 music piece 的感受，又想写 ensemble coach 对他的帮助，最后决定放在他对 leadership 的感受上（他的 stats 里 leadership 比较少，算是个补就吧）。

当然接下来的问题就是其他的活动放在 application 的哪里 present? 他的 science fair activity 是他最重要的一个活动，但最后只在给 Harvard 的 research paper 的 statement 里写了一些，没有我写的这么长，这么有意思（自夸一下）。还有就是申请 Princeton 写了一些在 Engineering essay 中。

Volunteering activity 是用 short answer 写的（好像是 150 words limit）。

我个人看这个 college 申请材料的安排，就像一个厨师面对一大堆鱼肉海鲜，各式蔬菜，还有各种酒类，你得知道怎么搭配，才能 present 一桌又好看又香气扑鼻的丰富盛宴。要是碰上像我这样不会做饭的，光把东西做熟放在那里，那结果就会差很远。我儿子的素材是不少，但是要全面安排好，把各个方面都照顾到，还是挺 challenge的。

我儿子的另一个 essay 是一个很 personal 的 essay，我就不在这里 post 了。

Tension, electricity…four chairs, four stands... four pairs of eyes meeting in anticipation of the concert’s finale: Shostakovich’s String Quartet No. 8. A moment of complete silence stills the residual shuffling of programs and chairs. And out of this silence, the cello utters a woeful call. One by one, three voices answer. The quartet begins to tell its story.

That story began on the first day of the Dakota Chamber Music Summer Camp. We were new to each other, and had only five short days to learn what we referred to as the “Shosty 8.” I was excited. I was nervous. I was worried. Although I had been “first violinist” and “ensemble leader” in various quartets for over seven years, I had always been hesitant to “command the troops.” Yet I knew that bringing a quartet successfully through such a passionate and technically demanding piece in just five days would require leadership. It was extremely clear after the first day just how far each of us had to go individually, not to mention as a group. Was I ready to lead three others through a piece I was not sure I could get through myself?

“Hey guys, I just can’t get this counting right. Any suggestions?”

I tried to spark teamwork with a nervous chuckle and a comment about something I needed to improve. After helping with my problem, the other members began pointing out spots with which they were having trouble. The rehearsal atmosphere gradually changed from reserved to open as we began to collaborate, even if sometimes the collaboration meant sacrifice.

In the second movement, when the counting of bizarre amounts of rest and the myriad staggered entrances put us in disarray, we began to rely on cues from each other to keep together. At times, we cued each other at the expense of our own playing. I remember cuing the second violinist perfectly for his entrance, only to look back at my music and realize I was completely lost. We began to care for each other and do what we could to help each other out, whether that was brainstorming a fingering together, running through the parts slowly with another, or suggesting play styles that would better fit in the group’s sound.

I was inspired by the amount of effort each member put in outside of rehearsal during those five days. I still grin when I recall someone complaining during breakfast about hearing a cello at three-thirty in the morning—from two floors below. And as each member progressed, our playing began to move beyond the notes and into the music of Shostakovich; it may have been summer in North Dakota, but as we played we began to feel the chill of a Russian winter.

Before we knew it, the camp was almost over. We accomplished so much. I realized that being a leader was not about criticizing or bossing people around. It was more about encouragement and getting everyone involved than any actual “leading.”

We were ready for the concert. Our last rehearsal told us that. As the quartet stood offstage, we looked into each other’s eyes, knowing how far we had come. It was time to perform.

The performance went by in a wonderful blur. As I held the next to the last note of the piece, I focused on the feeling of the string vibrating against my finger. I could feel the audience yearning for the chord’s tension to resolve. I held the note as long as I dared, and when my index finger lifted off the string, it was as if all the angst from the entire week was being lifted far away as well. I’ll never forget the sound of that last harmony resounding through the hall.

We made magic that week, but after the concert was over, I felt empty. Only later did I begin to understand that while our performance was over, what we had learned to do wasn’t. Four came together as one. It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t them; it was the four of us pushing and pulling and moving together up the mountain that was our piece — that was our real performance.

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