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THE “I SHOT MY BROTHER” COLLEGE ESSAY

30 November 2022

This essay could work for prompts 1, 2 and 7 for the Common App.

From page 54 of the maroon notebook sitting on my mahogany desk:

“Then Cain said to the Lord, “My punishment is greater than I can bear. I shall be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth and whoever finds me will kill me.” – Genesis 4:13

Here is a secret that no one in my family knows: I shot my brother when I was six. Luckily, it was a BB gun. But to this day, my older brother Jonathan does not know who shot him. And I have finally promised myself to confess this eleven year old secret to him after I write this essay.

The truth is, I was always jealous of my brother. Our grandparents, with whom we lived as children in Daegu, a rural city in South Korea, showered my brother with endless accolades: he was bright, athletic, and charismatic.

“Why can’t you be more like Jon?” my grandmother used to nag, pointing at me with a carrot stick. To me, Jon was just cocky. He would scoff at me when he would beat me in basketball, and when he brought home his painting of Bambi with the teacher’s sticker “Awesome!” on top, he would make several copies of it and showcase them on the refrigerator door. But I retreated to my desk where a pile of “Please draw this again and bring it to me tomorrow” papers lay, desperate for immediate treatment. Later, I even refused to attend the same elementary school and wouldn’t even eat meals with him.

Deep down I knew I had to get the chip off my shoulder. But I didn’t know how.

That is, until March 11th, 2001.

That day around six o’clock, juvenile combatants appeared in Kyung Mountain for their weekly battle, with cheeks smeared in mud and empty BB guns in their hands. The Korean War game was simple: to kill your opponent you had to shout “pow!” before he did. Once we situated ourselves, our captain blew the pinkie whistle and the war began. My friend Min-young and I hid behind a willow tree, eagerly awaiting our orders.

Beside us, our comrades were dying, each falling to the ground crying in “agony,” their hands clasping their “wounds.” Suddenly a wish for heroism surged within me: I grabbed Min-young’s arms and rushed towards the enemies’ headquarters, disobeying our orders to remain sentry duty. To tip the tide of the war, I had to kill their captain. We infiltrated the enemy lines, narrowly dodging each attack. We then cleared the pillars of asparagus ferns until the Captain’s lair came into view. I quickly pulled my clueless friend back into the bush.

Hearing us, the alarmed captain turned around: It was my brother.

He saw Min-young’s right arm sticking out from the bush and hurled a “grenade,” (a rock), bruising his arm.

“That’s not fair!” I roared in the loudest and most unrecognizable voice I could manage.

Startled, the Captain and his generals abandoned their post. Vengeance replaced my wish for heroism and I took off after the fleeing perpetrator. Streams of sweat ran down my face and I pursued him for several minutes until suddenly I was arrested by a small, yellow sign that read in Korean: DO NOT TRESPASS: Boar Traps Ahead. (Two summers ago, my five year old cousin, who insisted on joining the ranks, had wandered off-course during the battle; we found him at the bottom of a 20 ft deep pit with a deep gash in his forehead and shirt soaked in blood) “Hey, stop!” I shouted, heart pounding. “STOP!” My mind froze. My eyes just gazed at the fleeing object; what should I do?

I looked on as my shivering hand reached for the canister of BBs. The next second, I heard two shots followed by a cry. I opened my eyes just enough to see two village men carrying my brother away from the warning sign. I turned around, hurled my BB gun into the nearby Kyung Creek and ran home as fast as I could.

Days passed. My brother and I did not talk about the incident.

‘Maybe he knew it was me,’ I thought in fear as I tried to eavesdrop on his conversation with grandpa one day. When the door suddenly opened, I blurted, “Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said pushing past me, “Just a rough sleep.”

But in the next few weeks, something was happening inside me.

All the jealousy and anger I’d once felt had been replaced by a new feeling: guilt.

That night when my brother was gone I went to a local store and bought a piece of chocolate taffy, his favorite. I returned home and placed it on my brother’s bed with a note attached: “Love, Grandma.”

Several days later, I secretly went into his room and folded his unkempt pajamas.

Then, other things began to change. We began sharing clothes (something we had never done), started watching Pokémon episodes together, and then, on his ninth birthday, I did something with Jon that I hadn’t done in six years: I ate dinner with him. I even ate fishcakes, which he loved but I hated. And I didn’t complain.

Today, my brother is one of my closest friends. Every week I accompany him to Carlson Hospital where he receives treatment for his obsessive compulsive disorder and schizophrenia. While in the waiting room, we play a noisy game of Zenga, comment on the Lakers’ performance or listen to the radio on the registrar’s desk.

Then, the door to the doctor’s office opens.

“Jonathan Lee, please come in.”

I tap his shoulder and whisper, “Rock it, bro.”

After he leaves, I take out my notebook and begin writing where I left off.

Beside me, the receptionist’s fingers hover over the radio in search of a new station, eventually settling on one. I hear LeAnn Rimes singing “Amazing Grace.” Her voice slowly rises over the noise of the bustling room.

“’Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear. And Grace, my fears relieved…”

Smiling, I open Jon’s Jansport backpack and neatly place this essay inside and a chocolate taffy with a note attached.

Twenty minutes have passed when the door abruptly opens.

“Guess what the doctor just said?” my brother cries, unable to hide his exhilaration.

I look up and I smile too.

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Personal Statement Example: “I Shot My Brother” Essay

The following is a real college application essay. I am using it with the writer’s permission.

From page 54 of the maroon notebook sitting on my mahogany desk:

“Then Cain said to the Lord, “My punishment is greater than I can bear. I shall be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth and whoever finds me will kill me.” - Genesis 4:13

Here is a secret that no one in my family knows: I shot my brother when I was six. Luckily, it was a BB gun. But to this day, my older brother Jonathan does not know who shot him. And I have finally promised myself to confess this eleven year old secret to him after I write this essay.

The truth is, I was always jealous of my brother. Our grandparents, with whom we lived as children in Daegu, a rural city in South Korea, showered my brother with endless accolades: he was bright, athletic, and charismatic.

“Why can’t you be more like Jon?” my grandmother used to nag, pointing at me with a carrot stick. To me, Jon was just cocky. He would scoff at me when he would beat me in basketball, and when he brought home his painting of Bambi with the teacher’s sticker “Awesome!” on top, he would make several copies of it and showcase them on the refrigerator door. But I retreated to my desk where a pile of “Please draw this again and bring it to me tomorrow” papers lay, desperate for immediate treatment. Later, I even refused to attend the same elementary school and wouldn’t even eat meals with him.

Deep down I knew I had to get the chip off my shoulder. But I didn’t know how.

That is, until March 11th, 2001.

That day around six o’clock, juvenile combatants appeared in Kyung Mountain for their weekly battle, with cheeks smeared in mud and empty BB guns in their hands. The Korean War game was simple: to kill your opponent you had to shout “pow!” before he did. Once we situated ourselves, our captain blew the pinkie whistle and the war began. My friend Min-young and I hid behind a willow tree, eagerly awaiting our orders.

Beside us, our comrades were dying, each falling to the ground crying in “agony,” their hands clasping their “wounds.” Suddenly a wish for heroism surged within me: I grabbed Min-young’s arms and rushed towards the enemies’ headquarters, disobeying our orders to remain sentry duty. To tip the tide of the war, I had to kill their captain. We infiltrated the enemy lines, narrowly dodging each attack. We then cleared the pillars of asparagus ferns until the Captain’s lair came into view. I quickly pulled my clueless friend back into the bush.

Hearing us, the alarmed captain turned around: It was my brother.

He saw Min-young’s right arm sticking out from the bush and hurled a “grenade,” (a rock), bruising his arm.

“That’s not fair!” I roared in the loudest and most unrecognizable voice I could manage.

Startled, the Captain and his generals abandoned their post. Vengeance replaced my wish for heroism and I took off after the fleeing perpetrator. Streams of sweat ran down my face and I pursued him for several minutes until suddenly I was arrested by a small, yellow sign that read in Korean: DO NOT TRESPASS: Boar Traps Ahead. (Two summers ago, my five year old cousin, who insisted on joining the ranks, had wandered off-course during the battle; we found him at the bottom of a 20 ft deep pit with a deep gash in his forehead and shirt soaked in blood) “Hey, stop!” I shouted, heart pounding. “STOP!” My mind froze. My eyes just gazed at the fleeing object; what should I do?

I looked on as my shivering hand reached for the canister of BBs. The next second, I heard two shots followed by a cry. I opened my eyes just enough to see two village men carrying my brother away from the warning sign. I turned around, hurled my BB gun into the nearby Kyung Creek and ran home as fast as I could.

Days passed. My brother and I did not talk about the incident.

‘Maybe he knew it was me,’ I thought in fear as I tried to eavesdrop on his conversation with grandpa one day. When the door suddenly opened, I blurted, “Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said pushing past me, “Just a rough sleep.”

But in the next few weeks, something was happening inside me.

All the jealousy and anger I’d once felt had been replaced by a new feeling: guilt.

That night when my brother was gone I went to a local store and bought a piece of chocolate taffy, his favorite. I returned home and placed it on my brother’s bed with a note attached: “Love, Grandma.”

Several days later, I secretly went into his room and folded his unkempt pajamas.

Then, other things began to change. We began sharing clothes (something we had never done), started watching Pokémon episodes together, and then, on his ninth birthday, I did something with Jon that I hadn’t done in six years: I ate dinner with him. I even ate fishcakes, which he loved but I hated. And I didn’t complain.

Today, my brother is one of my closest friends. Every week I accompany him to Carlson Hospital where he receives treatment for his obsessive compulsive disorder and schizophrenia. While in the waiting room, we play a noisy game of Zenga, comment on the Lakers’ performance or listen to the radio on the registrar’s desk.

Then, the door to the doctor’s office opens.

“Jonathan Lee, please come in.”

I tap his shoulder and whisper, “Rock it, bro.”

After he leaves, I take out my notebook and begin writing where I left off.

Beside me, the receptionist’s fingers hover over the radio in search of a new station, eventually settling on one. I hear LeAnn Rimes singing “Amazing Grace.” Her voice slowly rises over the noise of the bustling room.

“’Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear. And Grace, my fears relieved…”

Smiling, I open Jon’s Jansport backpack and neatly place this essay inside and a chocolate taffy with a note attached.

Twenty minutes have passed when the door abruptly opens.

“Guess what the doctor just said?” my brother cries, unable to hide his exhilaration.

I look up and I smile too.

@tardisandeducation

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Last Updated On: March 16th, 2021

Ethan Sawyer has been helping students tell their stories for more than ten years and is the author of the Amazon bestseller College Essay Essentials , the #1 book on college essays. He has reached thousands of students and counselors through his webinars and workshops and has become a nationally recognized college essay expert and sought-after speaker. He is a graduate of Northwestern University and received an MFA from UC–Irvine. Check out our blog on Choosing the Right College for You or read more about our College/AP services .

Raised as a missionary kid in Spain, Ecuador, and Colombia, Ethan studied at seventeen different schools. He’s worked as a teacher, curriculum writer, voice actor, grant writer, theater director, motivational speaker, community organizer, and truck driver (true story). Ethan is also certified in Myers-Briggs® and hypnotherapy.

He is an active member of NACAC, WACAC, SACAC, OACAC, HECA and IECA (feel free to Google those) and lives with his wife and daughter in Los Angeles. For more information, visit www.collegeessayguy.com .

1.) Can you tell us a little of how you came to be “The College Essay Guy”? Sure! I studied screenwriting in college at Northwestern and after graduating I got a job as a college essay coach and realized many of the principles of screenwriting applied to college essay writing. So I started teaching my students screenwriting principles and voila! Some of them wrote really amazing essays and were accepted into some great schools. I enjoyed counseling so much that I went out and got two counseling certificates, started working on a book, started posting content from that book online and after my friend read some of my content she said, “You could be like THE college essay guy.” So I saw that no one else already was and I thought, “Oh. I guess that’s me.”  (Ethan can be found at www.collegeessayguy.com )

2.) Can you share any success stories? Yes – I had a student named Ahra who was really shy growing up until she joined her school’s Debate Club, which helped her come out of her shell. Eventually debate helped her not only develop personal confidence, but it also improved her personal relationships and she went on to win an international award. She used the narrative structure to tell her story , and, thanks to her awesome grades and SATs, she’s now at Stanford. Another student of mine, Julia, had no idea what she wanted to study, but knew she loved scrapbooking. So she used scrapbooking as a focusing lens to write an awesome essay that tells about lots of different aspects of her life. She just graduated from Amherst.

3) What is your philosophy for the essay writing process?  I believe we’re all storytellers. Telling stories is how we make sense of our lives, how we give shape to the chaos. And what I particularly love about the college essay is that it requires students to take stock of their past, present and future–which is a lot–and to turn it all into a one-page statement. It takes time, but it’s totally possible and the experience can be fun, therapeutic, and in some cases life-changing.

4.) Can you give us a few quick tips? Sure.  First, in the vast sea of college prep activities, some people overlook the college essay. It’s true, GPA and course load (tough classes) are what colleges tend to care about most. Then, generally speaking, standardized test scores. But if your GPA and test scores are close to someone else’s, the essay can make the difference. Parke Muth, former associate Dean at UVA, has written more about this here . Second, some students make the mistake of thinking a personal statement can be written in one night. I find it takes on average 15-25 hours to write a really fantastic personal statement.

5.) What is the best college essay story you’ve ever heard and why? The best college essays stories I’ve read are the “I Shot My Brother” essay , about a student who shot his brother, and the “ Dead Bird” essay , about a student who tried to save a dying bird. Here are four qualities of these amazing essays (and notes on what students can steal from them).

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College Essays Should Be Personal. For School-Shooting Survivors, the Question Is How Personal.

A generation of American students has become tragically familiar with mass shootings. Many of them describe the life-changing experiences in their college applications.

By Nicholas Bogel-Burroughs and Patricia Mazzei

To make their college admissions essays stand out, high school students have always written about their biggest personal hardships. For those who have survived mass shootings, ducking under desks and witnessing unspeakable horror, the big question is whether to recount the bloodshed to get into college.

With school shootings now a part of the fabric of America, college admissions officers regularly find the tragedies they watched unfold on television being grappled with in the pages of the applications before them.

Students recall their terror. They describe their transformation from quiet pupil to outspoken activist. For those who are willing to relive those awful days — and not all survivors are — the tragedies are life-changing.

We Want to Hear From Students Affected by Mass Shootings

“I kind of struggled with that a little bit, because I never really knew what colleges would look for,” said Taylor Ferrante-Markham, who graduated this spring from Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Fla. But then she learned admissions officers liked to see evidence of personal growth.

“Of course, it was the first thing that popped into my head,” she said of the February 2018 massacre at her school, which left 17 people dead and another 17 wounded. She applied only to St. John’s University in New York — her dream college, she said — and edited her essay until she felt it was good enough to win her acceptance.

It did. Ms. Ferrante-Markham, 18, said she plans to study journalism and criminology.

Writing about that day has become a little easier over time, she said. Her essay recounts her feeling of apathy before the shooting and how the massacre angered her and made her look outside her own circumstances.

“I now care about much more than just my little world around me,” she wrote.

I hated waking up for school and going to any class that challenged me. My only concerns were my friends and our afterschool plans, boys, and how far away the next holiday break was. I did not care about what was happening in my community, my state, or even my country. All I wanted to do was finish my spreads for yearbook and go home or out. That is pretty much how my life went throughout the majority of high school. I was never expecting anything to change, that was, until February 14, 2018. … I did my research, which showed nothing has been changed to protect students. So I decided to walk in the March For Our Lives in Parkland with my friends, for our safety, to make change. I now care about much more than just my little world around me. I am ready to move forward onto my next chapter, furthering my education, bringing my new desire for change wherever I go throughout college, into my future career, and for the rest of my life.

The majority of college-bound students from Stoneman Douglas who were juniors at the time of the mass shooting wrote about it in their college admission essays, according to Sarah Lerner, an English and journalism teacher at the school who taught many of those students in their senior year.

“Some of the kids didn’t want to write about the event because it was too much already, but others did, because it truly shaped them and they wanted to talk about it,” said Ms. Lerner, who compiled stories from shooting survivors into a book called “Parkland Speaks.” “I was very honest with them. I said, ‘If you want to do it, do it. If you don’t, don’t. Nobody is going to accept you because you write about it or not.’”

One Stoneman Douglas student who wrote about surviving the massacre was accepted to Harvard in the spring, only to have his acceptance rescinded this week because of racist screeds he wrote months before the shooting.

Another, Spencer Blum, who moved into his freshman dorm at the University of South Florida on Tuesday, wrote about his fear on the day the shooting unfolded, when he initially struggled to get hold of his sister, a freshman at the school who was not hurt.

Mr. Blum, now 18, said in his essay that Feb. 14, 2018, was “the day I would become an activist.”

As we kept walking down this narrowing path behind the school, things started to become suspicious. For starters, we were still going; it seemed a bit over the top for a drill. Then, a cop car pulled up behind us on the field and came out in a full bulletproof suit and with an extremely long rifle. As some students began crying and screaming “THIS IS REAL!” the thought that this was just a drill began to fade. … Every morning I wake up and think “what if it was me?” Then, I think about how it could have been me. … That’s why I lobbied in Tallahassee. That’s why I marched for my life. So I can wake up, hug my mom, dad, brother, and sister, an not worry about how it could have been me.

At Great Mills High School in southern Maryland, Alana White said she heard gunshots on the day in March 2018 when a 17-year-old student at the school fatally shot his ex-girlfriend and injured another student before killing himself.

Those memories came back months later as she wrote her college essay, focusing on the events that had shaped her view of her hometown. She wrote about suddenly not feeling safe in the tree-lined rural community where she had grown up, and about attending protests and rallies and working on a memorial mural.

“Whenever something bad happens in my life I tend to keep it in and not talk about it,” said Ms. White, who is heading to Brown University next fall. “I’m not the type of person who shares my problems with the world. Writing it down helped me come to terms with what I was actually feeling.”

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking for the whole day. I suddenly didn’t feel safe in the one place where I had spent so much time, where I had met some of my best mentors, where I had spent so long working towards my passions. Where a bright girl’s life had ended. My doubts resurfaced. But my community helped pull me up. Through our protests and rallies for unity, I realized I loved my school more than I ever thought I could, and that there was nowhere I would have rather become the person I am.

Imprints of school shootings are visible in other writings by student survivors, even after they arrive on college campuses.

At Northern Kentucky University, Mo Cox, 19, decided to write an essay for her freshman creative writing class about the day in January 2018 when a teenage gunman killed two classmates at Marshall County High School in rural western Kentucky .

“It was supposed to be 1,000 words, but I went over,” Ms. Cox said. “I kept writing. I just had to get all this out.”

She said she wanted to help other people understand the initial waves of shock and heartbreak, but also the lesser-discussed echoes of trauma: How she failed Algebra III, for the first time. The frustration of getting nowhere with calls for tougher gun laws. How people just stopped talking about what had happened.

Patricia Greer, the principal of Marshall County High, said that when they were applying to colleges, many of her students chose to tell admissions officers about their community’s success, not just its tragedy.

“We don’t want to be defined by the shooting, and our students don’t either, so a lot of times that’s not what they choose to share,” Ms. Greer said. “They’re proud of their school, they’re proud of the community for their resilience, but that’s not something they want to be defined by.”

Rachel Blundell, the principal of Santa Fe High School in Texas, said this year’s graduating class worked hard to reclaim their senior year after a 17-year-old shot and killed 10 students at the school in May 2018 .

In her letters recommending seniors for college admission and scholarships this year, the first since the shooting, Ms. Blundell has made sure to mention their resilience. She said she has written about how student council members looked out for younger students. How the football team returned to the practice field just a few months after two players were killed. How students packed this year’s prom.

Jim Jump, a former president of the National Association for College Admission Counseling and the author of a weekly column on the ethics of admission, said he hopes admissions officers will not become numb to students’ pain.

“As more kids, unfortunately, encounter that kind of experience,” he said of school shootings, “I worry that college people will lose sight of the individual that’s behind that essay.”

Jack Healy contributed reporting.

Patricia Mazzei is the Miami bureau chief, covering Florida and Puerto Rico. Before joining The Times, she was the political writer for The Miami Herald. She was born and raised in Venezuela, and is bilingual in Spanish. More about Patricia Mazzei

Gun Violence in America

Background Checks Expansion: The Biden administration has approved the broadest expansion of federal background checks in decades to regulate a fast-growing shadow market  of weapons sold online, at gun shows and through private sellers that contributes to gun violence.

A Grieving Mother’s Hope: Katy Dieckhaus, whose daughter was killed in the 2023 Covent School shooting in Nashville, is pleading for compromise with those who see gun rights as sacred .

A Historic Case: On Feb. 6, an American jury convicted a parent for a mass shooting carried out by their child for the first time. Lisa Miller, a reporter who has been following the case since its beginning, explains what the verdict really means .

Echoing Through School Grounds: In a Rhode Island city, gunshots from AR-15-style weapons have become the daily soundtrack for a school within 500 yards of a police shooting range. Parents are terrified, and children have grown accustomed to the threat of violence .

The Emotional Toll: We asked Times readers how the threat of gun violence has affected the way they lead their lives. Here’s what they told us .

Gun Control: U.S. gun laws are at the center of heated exchanges between those in favor and against tougher regulations. Here’s what to know about that debate .

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Throughout our lives, we grow up thinking that we know about some things, but up reading and doing research; we either confirm our notions or find out that they are misplaced. John Henslin, in his book ‘Sociology; A Down to Earth Sociology’ shares the social realities that shape the world around us. Our interactions with people enhance our knowledge and get different perspectives into issues that affect us each day. In this paper, I will discuss some notions I knew about culture, social class as well as bureaucracy. I will also discuss the things I never knew.

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Good essay on brother.

My brother, an African-American lad eight years younger to me, has been very close to me since his childhood. He has been my playmate, wrestling buddy, friend all through these many years. Still in his school, he has taken after me quite a lot owing to our bond. I find it to be really interesting to gauge his moods and reactions as I feel that I know him inside out. He is a wonderful person embodying an innocent soul with the zing of the ultra-modern generation.

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