申请耶鲁大学的Essay范文

申请耶鲁大学的Essay范文 by Alexander Dominitz

"Please turn off all cell phones and pagers. Thank you, and enjoy the show." As the echo of my voice subsided, I seized the walkie-talkie that lay resting on the stool and raised it to my mouth. "Justin," I whispered, "kill the lights." I had just enough time to nod to the sound crew, signaling them to start the overture, before the stage went completely black. As Mendelssohn boomed from the speakers, my fingers fumbled around in the dark until finding the curtain chord. I began to pull downward, hand-over-hand, until the curtain revealed the court of the Duke of Athens. Kelsey's voice sounded from stage right: "Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour draws on apace…"

Breathe. As I leaned against the stage door, the journey that had brought me to this moment replayed in my memory: months of planning with the school's administration—outlining goals and creating schedules; hours of meeting with the faculty—enlisting the art department to build sets and begging English teachers to postpone projects; weeks of rehearsals, preparing the kids for the rigors of "opening night"; even the video that I wrote and filmed over a marathon-like weekend in order to advertise the endeavor. And finally…all my pessimistic friends who challenged my excitement with their disbelief: "Junior high school students? Shakespeare?" Then I thought, "But just look at them now!" Nina projects on stage—the smallness of her voice ceases to inhibit her performance. Chris watches his blocking—his awkward stance a distant memory. Amber now gestures with purpose—gone are the nervous habits that once characterized each movement. Garret knows every single line by heart—no longer will I be making the 10 p.m. house calls to help him memorize. But what about Brian? Little Brian…. I just don't know. Always so quiet and shy…have I reached him?
The Mendelssohn sounded again: time for intermission. I resumed my scurrying, taking down trees and bringing on columns, fixing loosened safety pins, freshening up faded makeup, and answering questions from the crew: "When do you want the spotlight in 4:1?" "What about the throne and the benches?" "Have you seen my donkey ears?" Suddenly, I felt a tug at the leg of my jeans. I turned around, and there was Brian, looking up at me with round, brown, hopeful eyes. In his usually timid voice, I heard a tone of determination. "Was that good? What can I do better for the next act?" I hugged him, reassured him, sent him to his entrance place, and rushed behind a curtain before anyone could see my tears of joy.

End of Act 5. As the lights came up for the curtain call, the audience rose in standing ovation. The faculty advisor tapped me on the shoulder. "It's your turn…get out there!" I looked out at the stage apron from my post at the curtain, smiled, and shook my head. "No," I said. "This is their moment."

They finished their bows, and as the curtain closed, all twentyfive seventh and eighth graders jumped up and down shouting, "We did it! We did it!" Hugs, laughter, and tears gushed from everyone—actors, technicians, and stagehands alike. I just stood there and watched, not daring to disrupt the spectacle, for I was witnessing the burst of elation that only those who have just created something beautiful can know. This was my bow. I did not need the audience's reaction to gauge the impact. I could see the results for myself. I can teach. I can inspire. I can touch lives. That's all that matters.