THE WRITE WAY
/an Galperin wrote this personal narrative for a college essay. Because it is a poignant memoir, it serves as a model for college essay writing.
MY GRANDFATHER
By IAN GALPERIN
My grandfather was a simple man with a big heart. He collected me from school every day, no matter the weather. Day after day I routinely emerged from my elementary school and into the bright sunshine of my grandfather's smile. As I stepped into his immense figure I would instinctively blink and arch my head as far up as possible, only to find him staring down at me with a look of sincere pleasure on his face. Even though this act lasted only a few seconds, it seemed as if minutes passed. Then without so much as a "hello" we would turn our back to my school and start walking towards home. I felt safe in his presence.
It is on these walks home I noticed his peculiar posture. He would wobble and bobble his way up the street and across the park. He always leaned forward about half a foot and held his hands together behind his back. He was bow-legged and so was I. The desire to be like him was so strong that I emulated him as best as possible, but it was no easy task. In addition to overcoming the posture issue, there was also the fact that I barely reached up to his waist. He stood no less than six feet from the pavement! I always imagined being that tall. Even though I was always the tallest kid in the class, I never dreamed it was possible to actually be that height. It was more of a fantasy to one day stand up and look him eye to eye, man to man, as equals.__________________

When we would step into my home, he would quickly address me in Russian to start my homework. I would rush to my room with my schoolbag, and I would hear my grandfather open the tap in the kitchen sink. At that point I knew what was coming.
My grandfather was not just an average cook. He was an exceptional chef. His house was full of shiny cooking utensils that mystified me. Watching him prepare a meal was like studying a magician as he dazzled the crowd. The only thing he loved more than preparing exquisite meals was watching his audience savor his culinary masterpieces. I was addicted to his cooking and had to have my daily fix.
I thought things would never change. The sun was supposed to shine forever, but little did I know that dusk was approaching. During my junior high school years, we seemed to drift apart. I still visited him every day but it was not the same. Something was changing. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something was wrong. Then one day, my father came home with tears in his eyes. He had just found out his father had cancer.
From that day on I tried to spend as much time with my grandfather as possible. I came home every day and played chess with him. It seemed appropriate; after all, he was the one that taught me how to play the game during the early years of my life. We played in silence, studying each others moves until I was finally able to say checkmate. I felt a strange surge of emotions at that moment. I didn't know whether to be happy that the apprentice was finally able to defeat the master, or to be sad that the master was too weak .

to defeat his apprentice
As time went by, I noticed that his condition grew worse. He was unable to walk and had to be pushed in a wheelchair because he was undergoing chemotherapy and various surgical operations. He eventually became bound to a bed and a
personal attendant. Seeing him in this state was harder then anything I had imagined. There he lay, bald, shriveled, and weak. He was a shell of his former self. I felt as if we were torturing him, but there was no choice. He had fought his cancer for over three years now but it was a battle he would not win. My family did not know what to do. Then, on a chilly October night, at 11:28P.M. the phone rang. After half a minute of silence my father hung up the phone and rushed out of the house. My mother soon followed him.
My grandfather died that night. I felt so strange, nothing like what I thought I would feel. I did not cry. I could not comprehend that I would never see him again. I was glad that the bond between us was meaningful and strong. Even though I finally grew to be as tall as my grandfather, I realized that my dream was not yet complete. In order for me to be completely and truly equal to my grandfather, I would have to develop the same passion for life that he once had. He loved doing his job. In fact, to him it was not just a simple job, it was his love. The choices in life that I make now will help me become just as happy and complete as my grandfather was. Now I have a new dream. My dream is to enter the medical profession and help as many people as I can so that nobody will ever feel as helpless as I did. I now know how important and fragile life is. I know I want to save lives.