申请哈佛大学的Essay范文:Cassius Clay by Antonio J Hernandez - October 12, 2005 Common App Question 1- Evaluate a signigicant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical delemma you have faced and its impact upon you. "Cassius Clay," my father declared, "KO&apos&aposed Moore in four. I was there. Ringside." Annoyed at hearing the thousandth incarnation of this story, I rolled my eyes. My father loved telling stories. If you let him, he would talk you up all night. "Muhammad," he would say "really was the greatest. Woulda beat Smokin&apos&apos Joe too, if Frazier hadn&apos&apost knocked him down in the 15th." Friends, family, my teachers, the librarian, the mail carrier-anyone within earshot suffered the fate of listening to my father&apos&aposs elaborate stories. At best, I found these stories sufferable; at worst, simply unbearable. I came to understand later that my father&apos&aposs stories were a small fraction of his larger than life personality. No one could mistake his six-foot frame, his slicked pepper gray hair or his tortoise-shell Ray-Bans complete with Croakies. With pockets ever-full of Lifesaver mints, my father was a real character-which made it that much harder to do him justice when I spoke at his funeral. I am no stranger to public speaking. As Debate President and Student Council President, I regularly address large audiences. However, the speech I most wanted to be remembered by did not involve approving a new draft constitution or rallying underclassmen in to serving their community; it was about the man who gave me life. The speech&apos&aposs difficulty did not arise from lack of context: a year spent eating dinners under the florescent glow of hospital cafeteria lights had acclimated me to the idea that my father&apos&aposs passing was coming. Rather, its difficulty grew because it required me to synthesize a vastly complex man into a ten-minute eulogy. I knew in giving the speech, I was towing a line-I needed to express emotion without letting it overcome me. In the week leading up to the ceremony, I hashed out draft after draft of my speech, becoming increasingly frustrated with the futility of my forts to represent my father. The day bore the funeral, it finally hit me: maybe making a speech about my father was impossible. Perhaps, my best strategy would be to make a speech that conveyed part of the whole, that certain spark which made my father so unique. I arrived at Unity Temple and greeted well-wishers without showing any of the anxiety that plagued me. When all was quiet, I ascended the steps to the podium at the head of the chapel. I collected myself, removed the notes from my right lapel and took a deep breath. Then I dove headfirst into the speech that would dine me. "I am Antonio Jubencio Hern??ndez," my voice trembled as I began, "son of Eugenio Hern??ndez, and I&apos&aposd like to tell you some stories my father told me." For the next ten minutes, pausing only to ensure my composure, I delivered some of my father&apos&aposs favorite anecdotes in the same didactic tone I had heard my father use all his life. As I told them, I believe I gained some redemption from all those times I had rolled my eyes at my father&apos&aposs convoluted recitals. Although the stories that I told at Unity Temple lacked the physical presence of the Ray-Bans, they were part of my father. By delivering my speech in the way I did, I was acknowledging the fact that these stories were also part of me. As I look back upon it now, I believe that it was not I who delivered the speech. The words belonged to my father and I was simply Plato transcribing Aristotle, Jferson citing Locke, or Muhammad playing the poet. I plan to embarrass my kids with stories of boxing matches and World Series past. When they inevitably roll their eyes, I will know exactly what my father knew: a good story lasts lifetimes.

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