50 Successful Harvard Application Essays

S
COTT
L
AZARUS
I will be elected to the office of President of the United States of America.
I’m more than qualified—in fact, I’ve been groomed for the position my entire life. I know this
because God and the California court system have provided me with a fertile training ground—time
spent under the stewardship of a half-absentee father and a psychopath of a grandmother.
In fact, it was my father ’s absenteeism, which provided me with my first lesson in presidential
effectiveness. Every Sunday, he gave me the opportunity to practice my patience (a skill undoubtedly
necessary in dealing with Congress) as I waited at the door for his arrival. I resorted to television as a
means of passing the time, watching PBS telethons as a substitute for cartoons. I often mirrored the
volunteers on the screen, calling number after number, trying desperately to reach my father. But as
voice mails and dial tones subsided to the agonizing silence of loneliness, I succumbed to failure.
On the rare occasion that my dad remembered my existence, I would be taken to his place of
residence: my grandmother ’s home. It was there that I attended weekly tapings of The Jerry Springer
Show and learned how to wage war. Arguments began with the topic of a loan, and would often, if I
was lucky, end with a visit from the police. My father was India, my grandmother Pakistan, and
“Stupid b****!” a nuclear assault. To my family, Mutually Assured Destruction came in the form of
mutual restraining orders.
Often, I even got the opportunity to hone my diplomatic skills. Being asked to choose a side was a
special treat (though a difficult decision, as neither side offered an oil incentive), and supporting one
faction meant treason to the other. Being disowned by my grandmother was a regular occurrence, as
was someone leaving in tears. I can still feel them on my face. However, pain was of no consequence
—I believed these lessons to be worthwhile and necessary.
But these “lessons” are not what have pushed me toward Washington. I’ve gained a much greater
gift from my family’s dysfunction.
I must assure you that the first line of this essay was not one of aspiration. Nor was it written for
the purpose of shock. Rather, it is a statement of fact. A statement used both as a tool to find meaning
in my childhood and to express the only thing in my life that I know to be an absolute truth.
Ingrained within me is the need to transcend mediocrity. To give to humanity, rather than take. If
I’ve learned anything significant from my Sunday/Wednesday family, it’s that I want to do more with
my life than collect a monthly welfare check. Quite selfishly, I want to reach the Oval Office to dispel
my own fears of failure. However, the true source of my motivation lies in a deeper need to create
positive change. To know that, when all is said and done, I have left the world a better place. I won’t
settle for anything less.

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REVIEW
In his essay, Scott successfully combines a tough childhood experience with a blunt statement of his
professional ambitions. Although the personal background–lesson formula is so popular that essays
in this genre run the risk to become repetitive and boring, Scott keeps the reader engaged by
recounting sad childhood moments using a well-crafted political lexicon. This makes the description
of painful situations like the absence of his father and the family disputes fresh and original, while
drawing an unexpected parallel between those and the presidential office. Because the merits of
praiseworthy family members are a recurrent motif in personal statements, Scott’s focus on his
family’s “dysfunction” instead makes his entrance essay stand out.
The daring and pretentious-sounding opening statement is tempered by the clever use of ironic
expressions throughout the first part of the essay, as in the “PBS telethons” and the “weekly tapings of
The Jerry Springer Show.” While revealing the author ’s resilient personality, the irony does not
diminish the gravity of Scott’s experience. The “agonizing” silence and the tears underscore the pain
the applicant has endured, as does the conclusion of the essay, where Scott admits that his conviction
to become president reflects the need to rise above the “mediocrity” that his family represents. Those
who scoff at the very first line of the essay will change their mind by the concluding paragraphs,
where Scott’s genuineness and maturity shine.
—Francesca Annicchiarico

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