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College Admissions Essay: My Dad

My Dad

In writing about an important person in my life, there are a number of people that I could discuss. But, I feel that the person who is very special to me and one who has been the most influential, is my dad.

He is the type of person that makes me very proud to say that he is my father, and the type of father that I am most fortunate to have. My father and I have always been very close. He is both loving and caring and the type of person that always puts his family first.

My dad has always been there for me both as a parent and a friend. When I was little, my dad got involved in coaching in my little league baseball, basketball and soccer, and always made time for these father and son activities. We liked to play ball together and still do at times. My dad is a big sports fan and so am I, and I look forward to the weekends when we watch the ball games together. My dad started to take my to the ball games when I was about 5 years old, and we’ve been doing that ever since. But, playing ball isn’t all that’s important in life. My father has given me the necessary guidance and has taught me values as a person that have helped me develop from a child into a responsible adult. I want him to be proud of me too, and I know that he is.

His influence has been very strong and meaningful, as I have gone through some difficult periods where he has helped me to be more focused on my goals and trying to accomplish what I set out to do. We discuss my problems, try to put them in the right perspective and deal with them properly. As I am still living at home, with my parents and sister, I am constantly

My Father and I

My Father and I

My father and I started walking down the long, black, shiny wall. As we got closer are steps were slower. We moved with hesitation. My heart began to beat faster, and I felt an ache in the pit of my stomach. My father squeezed my hand as we approached a statue of three men cast in bronze. The Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial or “The Wall” lay just beyond, but we found ourselves unable to move. My father stood staring at the statue, afraid to go on.

Between silences, he spoke about the incredible detailed work of the sculpture, such as the towel wrapped around the neck of one of the soldiers, the M-60 machine gun and the soldier’s bandoleers of ammunition. I knew his thoughts were in a different time and a different place. The memories of the war were beginning to replace the day’s reality.

For most of my life I have heard the stories of my father’s experiences in Vietnam. He was drafted by the Army in 1967 and served in the infantry. While in the field he was engaged in numerous fire fights and combat situations and lost two thirds of his company during a four-day siege. When he returned home he encountered public opposition to the war and its Veterans. In actuality my father fought two wars, one at home and one abroad.

All of this pain that he kept suppressed was spilling over as we at last began our descent to “The Wall”. He held my hand and I could feel him tremble. I turned to him and I saw he was crying. His tears were for friends who died and lives wasted.

I took a piece of paper and I scratched the name of a soldier my father knew off the wall. Names, row upon row, thousands upon thousands, etched in the black granite made me realize the exact meaning of war. People die. The tears slid down my cheeks because for the first time, I could feel and understand my father’s pain.

The war is over for my father now but it will always be with him.

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