Tuesday, October 1, 2019
Latin is Not Dead Yet! :: College Admissions Essays
My hands were brittle and numb from the biting cold. I'd been raking leaves for just under three hours in the dwindling group of Latin Club members who braved the weather for charity donations. As a freshman, I felt somewhat alone in my new club, especially since my friends had backed out on my invitation to join me that Saturday. Nevertheless, I vowed to stick with it, and someday spark more interest in the activities...even in the cold. However, with my yet-unestablished high school reputation and lone voice out of 150 members, I continued to contribute merely my attendance at the meetings and activities. Sophomore year, I found myself embracing Latin Club as a way to have fun with my friends and contribute community service. But despite my enthusiasm, the club did carry a somewhat nerdy and uninteresting image probably stemming form the name. "Latin Club? Come on. Whatta you guys do in there...speak Latin...or play dead!?" a classmate remarked. I chuckled, then informed him that the Romans were known for drunken revelry, large feasts, and ceremonial orgies. After translating that into "music, food, and dancing," I reminded him that there was a Latin Club party coming up next weekend. Needless to say, I had little trouble improving the club's popularity. Junior year arrived, and I decided it was time to make my move on the Latin Club. The name consul, the equivalent of president, jumped out from the nomination form like a lone image in a 3-D comic book. However, the presidency required a partnership-an ancient Roman safeguard carried on symbolically in our club. No problem! My friend Sankeerth and I couldn't have shared more interest. Thus, the campaign for "Court & Sankeerth" was born, but by no means an heir to the throne. Our opponents were none other than two of the biggest academic powerhouses in the senior class: Annie, who aced the SAT; and Christy, president of two other major clubs. Together they proved our valiant efforts basically futile in their shadow. "Next year," spoke the voice of optimism. Senior year brought to our campaign the confidence of a veteran TV sitcom versus a "pilot." Could anyone else possibly have wanted to be Latin Club president as much as we did? We could take no chances. The only way to win was to buy big markers.