Compiled by Jayne Caron, ’10, former The Lens Section Editor, and Kathryn Black, ’11, The Lens Section Editor

The first week of May finds the lockers of many CCDS seniors decorated with posters of the college they will be attending. As the long college selection process draws to a close, seniors reflect that the college essay was a significant part of the application process. Here is the college essay of senior Clint Thomas who has decided to attend Elon University.

Clint Thomas’s essay:

I woke up from my nap and walked out into the family room only to find my dad lying on the couch watching TV—shirtless.  My mom sat in a chair adjacent to him waving herself with a folding fan.  My dad sat up and motioned for me to sit down next to him and join him in watching “Fatus Olus.”  My mom then walked over to the refrigerator and held up a NESTEA® Peach Tea and some type of a cherry-flavored drink in a can.  I indicated my preference by pointing and she served the tea to me, complete with a plate and straw.  I told her “thanks” as she returned to her chair, waving herself.  I sat with my parents and watched “Fatus Olus”—not understanding what I was watching.  Every now and again, my dad and I attempted a conversation, but just by using hand signals, which failed more than they worked.  My mom wasn’t one to usually join in on our “conversation” however.  Sometimes she showed me pictures of her children and grandchildren.  This time I went to my room and grabbed pictures of my family to show them.  Having completed my siesta and bonding time with my parents, I left the house to meet my friends for dinner in the village.

Every morning I woke up around 7:00 to the sun shining through the screen door that led to the deck off of my room.  I rolled out of my bed, turned off the portable standing fan, put on the same dusty clothes I had worn the previous day, and walked into the bathroom to wash my face.  I ran my fingers through my hair and picked out pieces of cement that remained there from the day before.  Walking outside onto the front porch I found that my mom had already set out breakfast for me—cereal, fresh fruit my parents grew, and water.  I ate while gazing at the tree-covered mountains in the distance and noticed the entire street was already alive.  My dad and the neighbors had already picked fruits and vegetables from the garden they shared.  My mom joined me on the porch.  Every other day, the girl—ten-years-old I think—came over and I was actually able to talk with her.  Once I was finished eating, my mom packed a plastic bag full of snacks—chocolate croissants, freshly picked nectarines, NESTEA® Peach Tea juice boxes—and handed it to me.  Then, my dad drove me—on the left side of the road—to the work site where I met my group. I only stayed with my Greek family for two weeks of my six-week trip, but I remember every detail.  Their unfamiliar customs took a while to get used to.  But even though I was eventually able to feel comfortable with the Greek way of life, I never broke through the language barrier.  My “parents” only knew a few select everyday words in English—yes, no, hello, and souvenir—so we could never have a real conversation.  I learned a couple of Greek words—ne, okhee, parakalo, efkarheesto, ya sas, poo eene, karpoozee—but by no means could complete even a simple sentence in Greek.

But one day I was finally able to communicate with my parents.  On that day, I spent the entire time with my parents in the village.  My parents were interested in taking me to Kavala, a major city in Greece—which was home to the best tasting gyros, by far, I had the entire trip.  However, I had already been to Kavala with my group and had little interest in returning.  I really wanted to go to the beach.   Now my problem was figuring out how to ask my parents.  I had two options: find a Greek who knew English to translate a conversation between my parents and me, or somehow figure out a way to ask them myself.  I decided to attempt the latter.  But how?  This was my challenge, it would be extremely difficult to use hand signals to ask them—what hand signal equates to “beach”?—so I decided to look up “Can we go to the beach?” in my pocket-sized Greek vocabulary book.  I read to myself the translation and could not even figure out how to pronounce the phonetically-spelled words in English.  In the book, I saw the words spelled out in Greek and thought to myself: “Why don’t I write it out on a piece of paper and give it to them?”  So, during my next siesta, I tore a piece of paper out of my journal and wrote down the Greek translation.  After I took my daily nap, I handed my mom the piece of paper.  A huge smile appeared on her face as she said, “Ne”—“Yes” in Greek.  So the next day, all three of us headed to the “paraleea.”