WHAT ABOUT BOB?

Author: Bob Wainwright

Admissions Essay: Please describe an experience you feel has changed your life for the better.

When I look back at the way I was before I spent last summer among the Aduhabi people in the mountains of western Hashagistan, I shake my head and laugh. No longer am I the naïve junior class president and assistant editor of the newspaper that I once was. Instead, that person has been replaced by an understanding, selfless and thoughtful young man, who also happens to be school president and editor-in-chief of the newspaper.

You see, before I boarded the plane to Hashagistan last June, my mom (Middlebury Class of 1976) gave me some advice I will never forget. She said, "Now, Jimmy, even though I know you're tired from the debate competition you won last week and your league championship in tennis, I want you to understand that the Aduhabi people aren't as lucky as us. And if you arrive in Hashagistan and find it within yourself to improve the lives of those people in any way possible, you will have accomplished the greatest feat of your life thus far, even greater than the time you played the role of Tony in "West Side Story."

So, armed with that advice, not to mention the many bags of chocolates that I bought for the Aduhabi youngsters, I traveled to a country so distant and tiny that it is rarely included on world maps. And even when it is, it is usually boxed up like Hawaii or Alaska and placed in a corner with the heading "a country somewhere in the Pacific." I did this, not because I needed a tan, and certainly not because I wanted to party in a country where the legal drinking age is 5. No, I did it because I understood that not every young man has the opportunity to graduate cum laude from one of the most preeminent institutions of secondary learning in America. And because that is the sad truth, it was my duty to help improve the everyday lives of the Aduhabi people. It did not take me long to realize that one of the greatest differences between Aduhabi culture and ours was the whole cannibalism issue. Sure, their weekly feasting on the elderly was a little disgusting at first, but it did not take long before I realized that it was not all that different from my experience working with the elderly back home. In our society, those who are too old to support themselves are given special benefits, like marked-down prices on movie tickets. And, as a member of society, I have done my part by visiting my town's elderly home once a week for the past year. Meanwhile, in Hashagistan, the Aduhabi people understand their role in society, as well. And that's why everybody learns to accept the fact that the elderly will always be served as appetizers before big feasts.

Given that I have always enjoyed a good laugh, or guffaw (to use one of my favorite SAT words), it was not long before I began to employ some of my favorite practical jokes on the Aduhabi. And while I have never been prone to boasting, I must say that if you ever do travel to Hashagistan, it wouldn1t surprise me if you were to see Aduhabi tribesmen pick upon one of their dozing friends by pouring shaving cream onto his hand and then tickling his nose with the tail feathers of the Stinkypapu, which is the country's native bird. Of course, given the vast differences between their culture and ours, I also found plenty of opportunities to invent new practical jokes, such as the one a few of my friends and I played on Adopo, who was to be served as the non-vegetarian portion of that night's dinner. Relying on my extensive knowledge of biology (one of 7 AP's I have earned), I was able to sever the semilunar lobule in Adopo's brain, thereby disconnecting its left and right hemispheres. My, how we laughed that night at dinner over how poor Adopo had kept pointing to his left and saying "Schoopu," which is the Aduhabi word for "right." No matter how hard he had tried, he just couldn1t speak the direction in which he pointed! Over the three months I spent with them, the Aduhabi people taught me more about life than I could have ever learned by reading the great works of Dickens, Shakespeare, Melville and Thoreau, which I did when I returned. For instance, they taught me how to wash my clothes in a river. And while I'm sure I will never do that again, I definitely will appreciate the washer and dryer a lot more, once my mom stops washing my laundry next fall.

Perhaps the greatest advice I received while there, however, came from my friend Chitalupa, who one day started screaming at me, "Senga fralusis camidi groulsa wembede!" I remember it clearly, because it was at that moment when I understood what life is really about. It's not about being the best at everything you do, but rather succeeding in the long run. And that is why my father has already set up interviews with Merrill Lynch and Morgan Stanley for jobs next summer. (Later on, I learned that Chitalupa had actually not been addressing me but had instead been ranting and raving about her mating ritual the following day with Lubamoto, who had not bathed in eight years and was afraid of spiders. Still, the effect of her words was not lost upon me.)