几年前有个女孩也是被所有藤校录取了，她的文书和这个故事比较像，也是娓娓道来一路走来母亲的不易，自己的奋斗，如何变坚强，如何影响别人，将来要如何帮助别人 https://secondstarcass.wordpress.com/2019/09/19/i-got-into-all-8-ivy-league-schools-read-my-common-app-essay-here/ In our house, English is not English. Not in the phonetic sense, like short a is for apple, but rather in the pronunciation – in our house, snake is snack. Words do not roll off our tongues correctly – yet I, who was pulled out of class to meet with language specialists, and my mother from Malaysia, who pronounces film as flim, understand each other perfectly. In our house, there is no difference between cast and cash, which was why at a church retreat, people made fun of me for “cashing out demons.” I did not realize the glaring difference between the two Englishes until my teacher corrected my pronunciations of hammock, ladle, and siphon. Classmates laughed because I pronounce accept as except, success as sussess. I was in the Creative Writing conservatory, and yet words failed me when I needed them most. Suddenly, understanding flower is flour wasn’t enough. I rejected the English that had never seemed broken before, a language that had raised me and taught me everything I knew. Everybody else’s parents spoke with accents smarting of Ph.D.s and university teaching positions. So why couldn’t mine? My mother spread her sunbaked hands and said, “This is where I came from,” spinning a tale with the English she had taught herself. When my mother moved from her village to a town in Malaysia, she had to learn a brand new language in middle school: English. In a time when humiliation was encouraged, my mother was defenseless against the cruel words spewing from the teacher, who criticized her paper in front of the class. When she began to cry, the class president stood up and said, “That’s enough.” “Be like that class president,” my mother said with tears in her eyes. The class president took her under her wing and patiently mended my mother’s strands of language. “She stood up for the weak and used her words to fight back.” We were both crying now. My mother asked me to teach her proper English so old white ladies at Target wouldn’t laugh at her pronunciation. It has not been easy. There is a measure of guilt when I sew her letters together. Long vowels, double consonants — I am still learning myself. Sometimes I let the brokenness slide to spare her pride but perhaps I have hurt her more to spare mine. As my mother’s vocabulary began to grow, I mended my own English. Through performing poetry in front of 3000 at my school’s Season Finale event, interviewing people from all walks of life, and writing stories for the stage, I stand against ignorance and become a voice for the homeless, the refugees, the ignored. With my words I fight against jeers pelted at an old Asian street performer on a New York subway. My mother’s eyes are reflected in underprivileged ESL children who have so many stories to tell but do not know how. I fill them with words as they take needle and thread to make a tapestry. In our house, there is beauty in the way we speak to each other. In our house, language is not broken but rather bursting with emotion. We have built a house out of words. There are friendly snakes in the cupboard and snacks in the tank. It is a crooked house. It is a little messy. But this is where we have made our home. jajabin 发表于 2021-05-12 01:01
几年前有个女孩也是被所有藤校录取了，她的文书和这个故事比较像，也是娓娓道来一路走来母亲的不易，自己的奋斗，如何变坚强，如何影响别人，将来要如何帮助别人 https://secondstarcass.wordpress.com/2019/09/19/i-got-into-all-8-ivy-league-schools-read-my-common-app-essay-here/ In our house, English is not English. Not in the phonetic sense, like short a is for apple, but rather in the pronunciation – in our house, snake is snack. Words do not roll off our tongues correctly – yet I, who was pulled out of class to meet with language specialists, and my mother from Malaysia, who pronounces film as flim, understand each other perfectly. In our house, there is no difference between cast and cash, which was why at a church retreat, people made fun of me for “cashing out demons.” I did not realize the glaring difference between the two Englishes until my teacher corrected my pronunciations of hammock, ladle, and siphon. Classmates laughed because I pronounce accept as except, success as sussess. I was in the Creative Writing conservatory, and yet words failed me when I needed them most. Suddenly, understanding flower is flour wasn’t enough. I rejected the English that had never seemed broken before, a language that had raised me and taught me everything I knew. Everybody else’s parents spoke with accents smarting of Ph.D.s and university teaching positions. So why couldn’t mine? My mother spread her sunbaked hands and said, “This is where I came from,” spinning a tale with the English she had taught herself. When my mother moved from her village to a town in Malaysia, she had to learn a brand new language in middle school: English. In a time when humiliation was encouraged, my mother was defenseless against the cruel words spewing from the teacher, who criticized her paper in front of the class. When she began to cry, the class president stood up and said, “That’s enough.” “Be like that class president,” my mother said with tears in her eyes. The class president took her under her wing and patiently mended my mother’s strands of language. “She stood up for the weak and used her words to fight back.” We were both crying now. My mother asked me to teach her proper English so old white ladies at Target wouldn’t laugh at her pronunciation. It has not been easy. There is a measure of guilt when I sew her letters together. Long vowels, double consonants — I am still learning myself. Sometimes I let the brokenness slide to spare her pride but perhaps I have hurt her more to spare mine. As my mother’s vocabulary began to grow, I mended my own English. Through performing poetry in front of 3000 at my school’s Season Finale event, interviewing people from all walks of life, and writing stories for the stage, I stand against ignorance and become a voice for the homeless, the refugees, the ignored. With my words I fight against jeers pelted at an old Asian street performer on a New York subway. My mother’s eyes are reflected in underprivileged ESL children who have so many stories to tell but do not know how. I fill them with words as they take needle and thread to make a tapestry. In our house, there is beauty in the way we speak to each other. In our house, language is not broken but rather bursting with emotion. We have built a house out of words. There are friendly snakes in the cupboard and snacks in the tank. It is a crooked house. It is a little messy. But this is where we have made our home. jajabin 发表于 2021-05-12 01:01
几年前有个女孩也是被所有藤校录取了，她的文书和这个故事比较像，也是娓娓道来一路走来母亲的不易，自己的奋斗，如何变坚强，如何影响别人，将来要如何帮助别人 https://secondstarcass.wordpress.com/2019/09/19/i-got-into-all-8-ivy-league-schools-read-my-common-app-essay-here/ In our house, English is not English. Not in the phonetic sense, like short a is for apple, but rather in the pronunciation – in our house, snake is snack. Words do not roll off our tongues correctly – yet I, who was pulled out of class to meet with language specialists, and my mother from Malaysia, who pronounces film as flim, understand each other perfectly. In our house, there is no difference between cast and cash, which was why at a church retreat, people made fun of me for “cashing out demons.” I did not realize the glaring difference between the two Englishes until my teacher corrected my pronunciations of hammock, ladle, and siphon. Classmates laughed because I pronounce accept as except, success as sussess. I was in the Creative Writing conservatory, and yet words failed me when I needed them most. Suddenly, understanding flower is flour wasn’t enough. I rejected the English that had never seemed broken before, a language that had raised me and taught me everything I knew. Everybody else’s parents spoke with accents smarting of Ph.D.s and university teaching positions. So why couldn’t mine? My mother spread her sunbaked hands and said, “This is where I came from,” spinning a tale with the English she had taught herself. When my mother moved from her village to a town in Malaysia, she had to learn a brand new language in middle school: English. In a time when humiliation was encouraged, my mother was defenseless against the cruel words spewing from the teacher, who criticized her paper in front of the class. When she began to cry, the class president stood up and said, “That’s enough.” “Be like that class president,” my mother said with tears in her eyes. The class president took her under her wing and patiently mended my mother’s strands of language. “She stood up for the weak and used her words to fight back.” We were both crying now. My mother asked me to teach her proper English so old white ladies at Target wouldn’t laugh at her pronunciation. It has not been easy. There is a measure of guilt when I sew her letters together. Long vowels, double consonants — I am still learning myself. Sometimes I let the brokenness slide to spare her pride but perhaps I have hurt her more to spare mine. As my mother’s vocabulary began to grow, I mended my own English. Through performing poetry in front of 3000 at my school’s Season Finale event, interviewing people from all walks of life, and writing stories for the stage, I stand against ignorance and become a voice for the homeless, the refugees, the ignored. With my words I fight against jeers pelted at an old Asian street performer on a New York subway. My mother’s eyes are reflected in underprivileged ESL children who have so many stories to tell but do not know how. I fill them with words as they take needle and thread to make a tapestry. In our house, there is beauty in the way we speak to each other. In our house, language is not broken but rather bursting with emotion. We have built a house out of words. There are friendly snakes in the cupboard and snacks in the tank. It is a crooked house. It is a little messy. But this is where we have made our home. jajabin 发表于 2021-05-12 01:01
几年前有个女孩也是被所有藤校录取了，她的文书和这个故事比较像，也是娓娓道来一路走来母亲的不易，自己的奋斗，如何变坚强，如何影响别人，将来要如何帮助别人 https://secondstarcass.wordpress.com/2019/09/19/i-got-into-all-8-ivy-league-schools-read-my-common-app-essay-here/ In our house, English is not English. Not in the phonetic sense, like short a is for apple, but rather in the pronunciation – in our house, snake is snack. Words do not roll off our tongues correctly – yet I, who was pulled out of class to meet with language specialists, and my mother from Malaysia, who pronounces film as flim, understand each other perfectly. In our house, there is no difference between cast and cash, which was why at a church retreat, people made fun of me for “cashing out demons.” I did not realize the glaring difference between the two Englishes until my teacher corrected my pronunciations of hammock, ladle, and siphon. Classmates laughed because I pronounce accept as except, success as sussess. I was in the Creative Writing conservatory, and yet words failed me when I needed them most. Suddenly, understanding flower is flour wasn’t enough. I rejected the English that had never seemed broken before, a language that had raised me and taught me everything I knew. Everybody else’s parents spoke with accents smarting of Ph.D.s and university teaching positions. So why couldn’t mine? My mother spread her sunbaked hands and said, “This is where I came from,” spinning a tale with the English she had taught herself. When my mother moved from her village to a town in Malaysia, she had to learn a brand new language in middle school: English. In a time when humiliation was encouraged, my mother was defenseless against the cruel words spewing from the teacher, who criticized her paper in front of the class. When she began to cry, the class president stood up and said, “That’s enough.” “Be like that class president,” my mother said with tears in her eyes. The class president took her under her wing and patiently mended my mother’s strands of language. “She stood up for the weak and used her words to fight back.” We were both crying now. My mother asked me to teach her proper English so old white ladies at Target wouldn’t laugh at her pronunciation. It has not been easy. There is a measure of guilt when I sew her letters together. Long vowels, double consonants — I am still learning myself. Sometimes I let the brokenness slide to spare her pride but perhaps I have hurt her more to spare mine. As my mother’s vocabulary began to grow, I mended my own English. Through performing poetry in front of 3000 at my school’s Season Finale event, interviewing people from all walks of life, and writing stories for the stage, I stand against ignorance and become a voice for the homeless, the refugees, the ignored. With my words I fight against jeers pelted at an old Asian street performer on a New York subway. My mother’s eyes are reflected in underprivileged ESL children who have so many stories to tell but do not know how. I fill them with words as they take needle and thread to make a tapestry. In our house, there is beauty in the way we speak to each other. In our house, language is not broken but rather bursting with emotion. We have built a house out of words. There are friendly snakes in the cupboard and snacks in the tank. It is a crooked house. It is a little messy. But this is where we have made our home. jajabin 发表于 2021-05-12 01:01
不完全赞同。人的塑造很多是有父母的潜移默化、父母营造的环境影响。看似不管，实则是抓大放小，给孩子创造了一个独立自主、自我管理的氛围，这样的孩子反而形成自推的性格。
和被推孩子最大的区别是成功率。逆境孩子性格阳光正能量，还能把学上好的，凤毛麟角。被推孩子上学中上等的怎么也有一半了，有父母的照拂人生大多平静。所以也别羡慕也别妄自菲薄。
唐伯虎：随敢比我惨？！我死了父母，死了全家，连唯一的朋友小强都被你踩死了！ 秋香：就选你了！
同感，好孩子真是自强不息，普通孩子就一言难尽了~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
不是卖惨，但有点黑父母的意思了。话说回来，这样的父母也蛮多的，重视自己的事业，把孩子的needs放在第二位。
我觉得她是善良，眼里有光，心里有爱
我只是感慨。因为我就是个被推娃，高中就拿过十一五计划奖，但我从来不知道自己想干什么，没什么理想，当年本科毕业了，我又考了研，又找了工作，又申了出国，因为实在不知道自己想干什么。每次写申请材料的时候，都是写写套路。我知道那些真的知道自己想干什么的人是不一样的，就很感慨。
我觉得这个也算是卖惨啊。一说移民就是第三世界发展中国家农村条件差的地方出来的各种艰苦。说真的不是所有移民都是从village出身的，移民说着不太好的英语的也可能是受过高等教育的phd，在某一领域上很有才华的人。英语就是一种语言工具，那么多的码工码婆，他们的计算机语言大部分都比他们说的英语要好多了。我倒是想看看楼主说的那个小孩是怎么写的，估计不是这种卖惨的风格
感动！这样的孩子是可以改变我们的世界的，哪怕微小，哪怕没有做出什么惊人的壮举，只是眼里有母亲，有一切人，心中有光！
你说的真对。这个不给上课外班的妈妈给孩子的影响和激励，比那些一天课外班排的满满的，但送进去就是自己玩手机的强太多了。惭愧。向那个妈妈学习。
对，周围听到进大藤的亚裔孩子的例子，差不多5个女孩1个男孩的比例吧
自推娃的基因才是最难得的，我爸就是自推的，然后我完全没get到。。
给孩子创造了独立自主自我管理的氛围，孩子能形成自推的还是天生或者运气啊，好多白黑墨人家也这么养孩子，孩子最后也不能自推，落到社区大学已经算好的，吸毒混街头的父母怎么办
是的，说实话看楼主的描述我其实觉得这个妈妈有点不负责任呢。为了自己工作事业真的值得缺失对孩子的关注吗？虽然孩子进了很好的大学，好多人还说什么妈妈自强不息给孩子榜样之类的，但是对孩子来说，这真是双刃。 我妈妈就是特别关注事业的人，从幼儿园时期经常忘记去接我，好多个晚上我自己呆在传达室等妈妈来接。到后来小学中学基本的家长会都到不了。后来高三那年，最需要她的支持的时候，她出国读博士去了，爸爸又在外地工作。我一个人住校一个人扛着高考那一年的所有事情。最后报志愿都是找的舅舅姑妈商量的。后来去了很不错的大学。然后妈妈事业也非常成功。不少人认为这就是妈妈自己奋斗的好榜样。但是我跟妈妈关系很淡漠，我对她永远工作第一，家庭孩子第二的做法很有怨言。我宁愿自己和孩子都平庸点，不会走妈妈那条路
这个说的的确没错，推体育太辛苦。 团队运动平时的比赛都要拖家带口去看的，经常有几个小时外地的比赛一个周末也就进去了。 单人项目是要经常全国飞攒积分的。 上了大学可不算完的，需要继续支持的。peer pressure太大了。
更关键的是，6岁开始就努力训练参赛的大部分孩子，青春期一过发现大部分根本就不是搞体育那块料。不管小的时候成绩多好，发育太重要。
需要个人和全家都热爱体育，才能接受这些现实，也才能走的更远吧。
你这什么乱七八糟的。我至少知道哈佛的某个教授是录取本科生的评选委员会的，每年都要看一堆材料。他说，看材料就是委员会的一群人坐在一起，你说我赞同录这个，他说我也赞同，另一个说我不赞同，但大家都不会说支持或者反对的理由，因为说理由容易惹麻烦，容易政治不正确。所以他也不知道别人说录或者不录背后是怎么想的。反正气氛很小心。。。。。
因为你有个helicopter父母 把思考这种问题给你代劳了。
真是这样，我听到去这些好学校的孩子都是特别自律，自推的孩子。所以感觉靠鸡娃上藤校的应该不太管用。
同单亲妈，这么忙怎么能做到给娃找继父的？
读了能让人共情，小姑娘写的真不错
很多人觉得考上好大学就是人生终点了 其实人生路很长，更重要的是，家人彼此的亲密关系是多少辉煌的名校文凭还有事业辉煌都买不来的。
所以不要以一时成败下结论，种瓜得瓜，种豆得豆。
...
这个作文是套路，当然idea是新颖的。看过太多这种范文
我猜你同事自己也非常优秀。无论是能力上还是人品上。
Well said.
因为要跨越阶层，底层的要进中层的相对还算容易，中层孩子最惨，既要保住现在的位置，还要想再上一层，可就是很难了
你以为光破产，孩子就能写出悲惨的故事，从而感动别人？ 这么直线简单思路的模式，就算天天吃糠咽菜，也只能写出忆苦思甜样板文。
真正的好essay是晓之以理、动之以情，是用文字表达自我并且让人共鸣，而不是单纯罗列事实。
读过前两年某篇大学申请的优秀文章（一个美国女孩写的），写了家里一张凳子的岁月变迁，生了病的grandma坐在上面，到最后离世，自己在家庭人员变化中的逐渐成长。 你看，不用破产，不用父母丢工作，也能找到非常好的入题点。
大概看来，大学对高中这个年龄阶段孩子们的要求，不光要有数理化或者gpa或者音乐体育美术各种技能，还希望通过essay，了解这个孩子是否有一定的思想：对这个世界的理解、对自己人生的想法。 这一点和中国的高考确实不同，成绩是一方面，能有相对成熟的人生观念、对社会家庭的洞察理解，已经未来的抱负规划，这确实是个人人素质的另一个非常重要的方面。
这个文章没觉得怎么好，而且前面太啰嗦，后面总结的部分小，可能还是逆境点吧。
写得太好了！Words are power!
确实是不需要为了上好大学让孩子学会投其所好或是大学做为目标而选择/放弃做一些事情，尤其是普通家庭。
是的，我记得当时高三我的同桌，她的妈妈提前一年内退在家，用心陪着女儿照顾女儿。她和妈妈这么多年一直感情非常亲近。我当时简直羡慕得流泪。高三一年自己一个人，虽然加速独立成长，但是心里觉得很孤单荒凉。
你说的那个是不是很破的kitchen table那个啊？我记得是两三年前nytime选的college essay当中一篇。怎么不惨呢？记得是没有父母，是跟爷爷奶奶一起生活，一开始有姐姐还是哥哥，有sibling一起吃饭，后来有人不回家了，变成老人和她三个人吃饭，后来是奶奶去世，她跟爷爷一起吃饭。是不是这篇？
哈哈那是因地制宜，体育实在是举国都没这个基因
我看到的中层的小朋友们最大的问题是没有饥饿感。未必学到多少老外的领导才能，先把父母的吃苦耐劳有进取心给丢了。最近两次老朋友托我帮孩子修改简历辅导一下找工作，我这都是放在心里自己花时间还帮他们找我认识的其他人推荐。可是小朋友们都是忙着毕业party,主动约几次还约不到他们时间。话说毕业没工作要是没钱还不老实找工作？懒得管了。另一个小朋友毕业两年一般般的工作先买上Tesla开着,女朋友生了娃，三口借住在家里省钱。这些中产二代没有饥饿感，能保住自己不掉下去就不错。
感觉这就是高考作文比赛。题目为“为什么你该选择我”。老美喜欢看到的是成长，最好是“坏”孩子变好，然后有改变世界的愿望。明白为什么他们选小布什当总统就知道该怎么编了。就算家庭正常，也可以照这个路子写。
这个我以前看过，本身就是一个很穷的家庭，而且是移民家庭，所以奶奶一直跟她们一起住
写的感人而且她们生活本来就是sob story啊，藤校确实是喜欢这种穷人困苦的生活经历的。前面的人说的不错。
这是什么狗屁话。父母幸福，儿女上不上大藤都已经比单亲家庭小孩幸福得多了。不是卖惨申请容易，是在逆境中能成长得和同龄人一样优秀甚至更优秀，要我我也选逆境里出来的孩子。
同意！
这不是个妥妥的凤凰男吗
从给社会创造价值这个角度统计上看一般优秀的人才家里都还可以的。艺术类尤其如此。选逆境成长的孩子是为了补偿他们吗？就跟AA的精神一样？不是反对这个选法，关于程序公平和结果公平的讨论一直都存在。
赞视角
凤凰男现在好像是贬义吧，包括性格上的负面信息，我觉得单纯从比较苦的环境出来的优秀人才不该用这个词形容。如果那样的话我们在美国的中国人基可以称为是凤凰男女。
可是上了藤校有啥用 回来还是给捐钱上藤校的打工 就像板上985的在干啥
有点一语惊醒梦中人的意味。作为儿子一定是最让母亲骄傲的儿子。作为未来的伴侣或女婿，很有可能是凤凰男的发展趋势。
嫁娶当然是门当户对最好，不然的话我觉得凤凰会比豪门好不少。
你那个绝对不是教授，最多是个lecturer 或 adjunct级别的，master 学历就可以当的。除非是community college或很差的学校。一般的学校，正经Tenured或Tenure track的PHD根本不会干看高中生材料的低级活。况且还是Havard.
不太同意你的观点。 确实一个人的格局，价值观，社会责任感，领导力，沟通能力应该放在很靠前的选项，一个高尚，有道德，有使命感的人更符合人才的标准， 学术方面差不多就行。 如果一个团队技术超强，被一个道德高尚的领导者代领，出来的结果比一个只是技术厉害的领导者带领团队得出的结果，前者对社会更有价值意义也更有利。 科学，技术 VS 道德， 格局
JOBS, Zuckerberg, Musk，哪个配的上道德高尚几个字？
帮你再加一个bezos
就好像以为拿着同样的食材就能和一流大厨做出一样的饭菜一样，何其幼稚简单的想法。 而一流大厨，除了山珍海味，也能用白菜豆腐作出好的菜肴。
先不说穷苦家庭的孩子自律到相对decent成绩的不容易，这里我们先不扯这些。
再说一遍：能写出感人essay，最重要的是相对成熟的思想，对人生的思考，以及流畅的写作能力。 优秀有思想的年轻人，对人生经历的思考、突破自我局限，对未来的规划，这些特质，岂能用穷或惨来这么狭隘浅薄的划分规律。
凡是看不到这个层面的，有一点是肯定的：这个人自己是肯定写不出感人的essay（小作文）的，哪怕是用母语写。 所以就别吃不到葡萄说葡萄酸，以为写出那样的文字的人不过是因为卖惨而已，因为其实是自己没有这个思想和技能，完全无法理解别人如何能写出这样的文字。
感谢分享！
觉得感人的，我觉得是书看少了。多常见的鸡汤文学啊。
你看到的是穷。 但相信更多人看到的是那个女孩超强的思考、洞察人生的能力，以及非常高超的写作技巧，能从家里的一件家具着手，徐徐道来，家庭的变迁，人生的变换，贯穿着自己的成长主线。 记得她写grandma去世，淡淡的一句，可文字背后不舍的感情，挺真挚的，处理的非常好。
在这个年龄阶段能呈现出这样文章的年轻人，文如其人，自然会让人觉得非常优秀。
no ，和鸡汤文是两种东西，只要有眼力的人，就能看出不同。
说卖惨就能感人的，拜托，卖惨只能卖成鸡汤罐头。
当然，对essay各种不服气的人怎么也不会买账的，无所谓了，反正也不是给他们看的。
出国的华人理工科居多，也许无法理解作文为啥要加权重，毕竟中国高考，作文即使满分，对总成绩的贡献也有限。
所以是无法理解美国大学申请中essay（个人自传小作文）的重要性从何而来。
special need education
EQ才是在社会上成功的主要因素
文章感人啊
这么干 要有强大的心理素质？
哈哈 知道路数了
有好日子了 干嘛饿体肤虐心智
搞体育不容易抑郁
有利有弊 没ambitious性格 不容易得病？
没手机上网 没零食消磨时间
推自己靠谱
这个essay写的确实好，很形象
好帖，Mark！
目前大趋势是这样，不好听叫卖惨，实际上对逆境中成长的孩子，美国教育系统一般都高看一眼，当然自己要有觉悟，写出来的东西有真情，毕竟审阅教授都不是傻瓜，这种心底的东西是八股还是个人经历，一眼都能看出来。
前提是大气候是这样，实际效果是加分题。
热 科技公司大佬很多都是drop out
同觉得文章感人啊
Nerd已经在逆袭了，现在big tech创立者很多都是nerd or geek，风头最盛应该是elon吧
+jack dorsey
没有人跟钱过不去