A Push: College Admission Essay Sample

Few things rival the rigorous blend of dexterity, reflexes, and chess-like foresight that true mastery of ping pong demands. When I entered boarding school as an anxious and introverted junior, though, ping pong became more than just a thrill. It became a powerful vehicle to conquer my social inhibitions and a portal to an exuberant, inclusive community. At the tables, I found myself face-to-face with a wide array of eclectic opponents I would've never otherwise had the courage to approach. I use "opponents" loosely, though, because the social connections I forged so naturally across those tables far overshadowed any competitive element of the game. We guffawed at clumsy trick-shots and lauded well-executed slices.

I soon became more than a player. When my right arm protested a fourth or fifth game, I stood and I watched, and my identity as a spectator turned out to be much more meaningful than serving and spinning and smashing the ball myself. How profoundly gratifying it was to witness friendships bud, inhibitions dissolve, and humanity intersect across cultural and social chasms at those three well-worn tables. Divisions of ethnicity, grade-level, and social circles were unheeded. Ping pong made something happen; it empowered people, myself and others alike, to break the rigid intrapersonal partitions of norms and dorms and classrooms.

That is what I want to bring to Reed.

Already so reputably and beautifully diverse, it may seem that Reed has left little room for improvement with respect to social etiquette and acceptance. I think Reedies, in general, are among the kindest and most down-to-earth students out there, forever eager to embrace one another’s differences. Sometimes, though, expression of such eagerness is hard—especially for young people. Even the most emotionally mature and just person might have trouble getting out there. They might have trouble striking up a conversation or cracking a joke or contributing to class discussion, and how many potential friendships and chuckles and insights are then wasted. Maybe, just maybe, all they need is a push. And maybe it’s the push of a white hollow ball.

My ping pong class would be open to all. I imagine we’d divide the participants by experience levels and then play away. The less experienced players might have lighthearted rallies, maybe counting their streaks and high-fiving with each new record. The more competitive folks might compliment or critique one another’s serves or enjoy the cross-table repartee of an especially heated match. C-students might tutor honor roll kids. The third-year footballer might find an unexpected challenge in the freshman flutist. I might offer demos between games, and maybe I’d meet a handful of experts to throw some pointers my way, too. Of course, I can’t foresee exactly how the week would go, but I can tell you with near certainty that the groups would shift and coalesce, that each person who tried would improve (and have fun doing so), and that the room would grow louder in the best of ways: with laughter and prattle and red rubber paddles.