<p>Phoenix: I'm from Cedaredge - Delta County - south of Grand Junction. You?
deadhead - I'll post when I get home. I'm at school now.
I have that strange writer's opinion of myself. No one seems to like what I think is my best work, but they like what I don't.
My essay was about how we talk to the dog in our family. I guess it was pretty original, but sometimes I think it's really stupid. I'll put it up soon so you can decide.</p>
<p>Also, have any of you been successful at any other national essay contests?</p>
<p>Someone asked to read my essay, and here it is. It looks like I didn't make it past semifinalist - oh well. Tell me what you think about the essay. Don't spare my feelings, because it will only make me a better writer in the end. Thank you all </p>
<pre><code> DIFFERENT, BUT THE SAME
My family is “one of the weird ones.” My father and I are “official” biographers for
</code></pre>
<p>our dog, Beauregard von Rottweiler. The story thus far: Beau was the CEO of a highly
successful canine company that sold the locations of buried bones. He lost everything in an
accounting fiasco and began living with us. He studies daily for his GED (he dropped out
of school to start the company), but wishes he had a faster Internet connection in his
doghouse.
We add to this story every day (out loud to our dog). It is one among many
examples that describe how America allows us to pursue our own brand of disfunction as
far as we wish (which in my family can be quite far).<br>
My family sees the Dream as the ability to do something other than what their
parents did. I assure you, my grandparents didn’t come up with extensive narratives about
their pets! My father was raised on a six-generation family farm in Illinois, but there would
be no tractor driving for him. He became a small-town doctor. My mother was born in
Canada, but she moved to Michigan soon after. Her parents worked on a giant
automobile-production line, but Mom did something completely different. The first
member of her family to go to college, my mother is now a nurse.
She speaks of the rich smells from the cereal factories in Battle Creek, across the
street from the hospital where she worked. I like to think that some of the corn my
grandfather harvested made its way to one of these factories. This illustrates that, different
as we are, we are still connected.
So my parents, these two Midwesterners, joined the healthcare industry and built a
log home on the side of a great Colorado mountain. Will I do the same? I think not. I am
drawn inexplicably to the East. Just as their hearts pine for the fragrant beauty of snowy
mountain forests, I long to hear sharp accents and taste fresh seafood.
In America, we can be ourselves. In America we don’t have to agree with our
government or our neighbors or our relatives. We are free to make our own choices, even
if that includes fabricating strange stories about our pet’s history. America is about change
and new ideas. My family agrees on this. We know it’s not about being contrary, it’s about
following one’s heart.
On the surface, we couldn’t be more different, but we are different because of the
same principle: following our own dream. My parents did that, and now I will. The
reasons are the same; the results are different.
So, is my vision of the Dream like my parents’? Our views differ on everything
from art movements to political policy, but they are proud of me for this. It shows I am
able to pursue my own unique Dream. We have been given great freedom, and in my
family we use it.</p>