For the 18-year-old high school senior, who is both child and adult, the college application essay represents a time of reckoning.

For my daughter, that time is now [fall 1998]. A senior at Washburn High School, she is an excellent writer, precise and organized. I know she will do well.

Last week she handed me a draft of her first essay and asked for my comments. Her essay began:

“I was born in Iowa City. When I was eleven months old, my family moved to Minneapolis. When I was four, we lived for six months in Colchester, England, where I attended preschool. In kindergarten my dad’s job took us to France for five weeks.”

What’s this? I thought. Kate has written for the Washburn student newspaper, even had her own column for a while. I knew she was capable of writing a more engaging lead than that.

Then I read her next paragraph and understood what she was up to:

“Tomorrow I am leaving for Japan with my older brother. We will be visiting a friend in Akita for a couple of days and then touring the country on our own for a week. To add to the adventure, neither of us speaks Japanese.”

She was using her opening to introduce her theme, that “going cool places beats buying cool things” and that, to her, college represented an opportunity to seek new experiences, to go “places that take you out of your comfort zone.” As she explained later in her essay, attending college out East rather than somewhere in Minnesota would take her to “unfamiliar territory.”

Her concept was good, but her lead, at first glance, appeared to be something she did not intend it to be: It looked like an uninspired recitation of biographical facts. I pointed out to her that a college admissions officer, with 50 essays to read before lunch, might not make it to the second paragraph.

Then I asked her, “What do you think is the most interesting sentence in your opening?”

“This one, she said, pointing to the first sentence of the second paragraph, “Tomorrow I am leaving for Japan with my older brother.”

“Try starting there,” I suggested.

All she needed to do was switch paragraphs. But switching the order created a new problem: how to take the reader from the present (“Tomorrow I am leaving for Japan . . .”) to the past (“I was born in Iowa City . . .”).

“I think you need a transition,” I said.

For this Kate wrote, “It’s not as though I have always stayed in the same place.” With that sentence making the connection, the biographical information took on new meaning.

That was the only major revision I suggested. After that, her essay went on to offer a thoughtful and coherent explanation of why she wanted to experience “a place that is different from where I live now.”

And – if you will forgive a father’s pride – I think she managed a few particularly well-turned sentences along the way. My favorite: “It is important to me to see the world through educated eyes, eyes that have seen enough to make me more aware and understanding of things I haven’t experienced.”

Kate’s complete essay, as well as her brother's, appears below.

It’s not as though I have always stayed in the same place. I was born in Iowa City. When I was eleven months old, my family moved to Minneapolis. When I was four, we lived for six months in Colchester, England, where I attended preschool. In kindergarten my dad’s job took us to France for five weeks.

I feel very fortunate to have had these opportunities to see the world. I was lucky enough to grow up under the example that going cool places beats buying cool things. I am grateful for this example because I have learned that it is the experiences in life that give value and purpose to life.

Some of my dreams and goals come from these examples of values that my parents have silently instilled in me by showing me how life should work. Now, as I am carefully choosing a college to attend next year, I know that the most important things I can get from a college are the experiences. I need a place that is different from where I live now. I have learned that by trying new things and going new places especially places that take you out of your comfort zone you learn about life. It is important to me to see the world through educated eyes, eyes that have seen enough to make me more aware and understanding of things I haven’t experienced.

In selecting a college, I want to go somewhere that will stretch me to new levels and will let me see the world from more than one point of view. I know that by leaving Minnesota I will be setting myself up for a change in my lifestyle and a chance for personal growth. I will be stepping into unfamiliar territory.

Everyone asks me why I want to go so far away. In my mind I think, “How can you not go away? How can you not see that college is your chance to see another part of the country?” I have to remind myself that while this is the right choice for me, it isn’t necessarily the right choice for them. I always smile and answer, “I want something different.” No one ever responds to that. I’m not sure how many of them understand that I not only want something different from Minneapolis, but that I want something different from what they want. I want a new place, one that will help me recognize where I want to go and who I want to become.

Inside, the building is filled with smoke. It is hot, almost unbearably so. Inside, the sounds fill the small room, bouncing off the walls and assaulting the ear. Everything seems cramped and shoved into such a little space. So much sound, so much heat, so much light, so much motion all contained from the night by a few walls. To one side a fire rages. It sounds like a 747 or a herd of buffalo at a full run. Sparks jump from the glowing coals and illuminate the dirt floor. To another side there is a long trough of water to temper the forged metal. The walls are lined with steel, both completed products and unforged steel waiting its turn at the anvil.

A large man stands before the anvil. He is dressed in leather pants a heavy leather apron to shield himself from the heat. His strong arms are charred black and burned hairless from his labors. He wields a massive hammer. Taking the red metal from the fire, he places it on the anvil and beats it slowly and precisely. He forms the metal into something useful, adds to its identity and strength. And as he helps the metal to become something more, he is helped by the metal. He becomes a better smith, and he will be better able to form the next piece of steel.

This story expresses what I want from and what I think I can give to your school. I believe that college should be like the foundry, a mass of light and motion, sheltered but not separate from the outside world. The instructors and teachers should be like the smith, tirelessly crafting their trade and yet always still learning. I see myself as the unwrought steel, stubborn and needing direction, but also strong and new. I want to be molded into something more complex and better suited for specific purposes. In the process of my being educated by your school, I hope that your school could learn something from me.