#TBT: My College Essay

Now that I'm back in school, I've been revisiting a lot of my old writing (If you're feeling nostalgic too, I would highly recommend you visit my other two blogs, clickable right there ^^). The other day, I came across my college essay, which only me, my college counselor and the admissions officers at Georgetown ever got to read. It seems like a waste considering how much time I spent on it (ok, not a  total waste because it helped me get into college) so I've decide to share it here. Plus, the whole thing is about how my name sounds like a penis, so it's kind of funny.

It has always felt to me like “Weiner” is the most commonly mispronounced name in the English language. As an elementary school student I used to dread any activity that involved roll call, knowing that the announcement of my name would precede uproarious laughter. Whenever my last name was called over the loudspeaker at summer camp, I cringed, fully aware that 300 girls were giggling at me from their bunks. I wished nothing more than to change my name to something normal, something that could not be mispronounced as a dirty word. I begged my parents to let me take on a new name, to put me up for adoption, anything that would separate me from my title. I spent hours testing out different surname combinations: Zoë Hepburn, Zoë Clinton, or my personal favorite “Her Royal Highness Princess Zoë.” As a discontented twelve year old, I made it my personal mission to detach myself from my embarrassing label.

Now, five years later and with peers who are slightly more mature, Weiner has come to be much more than a name. It is the embodiment a strong family history and the continuation of a legacy. It is a representation of the American Dream, as seen by my ancestors who left Lithuania for Ellis Island to pursue new opportunities on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. It is my connection to great relatives from Eastern Europe who suffered through and survived the Holocaust.  It is my inheritance from my grandfather, Irving, a man who came from nothing and worked himself to death as a pickle salesman in the hopes that he could provide a better life for his family. It is my father, Mark, a cancer survivor whose name, in our small state of Rhode Island, is synonymous with philanthropy. It is my mother, Susan, who since marrying into the Weiner family has become the quintessence of our family values: dedication, compassion and trust. It is my sister, Cathy, a woman who has always given me someone to look up to. It is my older brother, Steven, who despite having Aspergers syndrome has joined the world of professional wrestling as Steven “The Turtle” Weiner. It is my younger brother, Richard, who is on the road to becoming a professional golfer. It is me, a world traveler who is terrified of heights and dreams of becoming a rock star. It is my future nieces and nephews who will one day be born into this world to carry on the family name. The name Weiner is the binding force that connects me to the people I care about, a single title that has come to determine my unconditional love for all who share it.

Although we are no longer wine makers in Europe, we still carry the implications of our name set forth by our predecessors. My last name represents the courage and strength of those who carried it before me. It stands for my family’s Jewish roots and has bred the traditions of a Hanukah Tree and a Passover puppet show. It has provided me with recipes for brisket and noodle kugel that have been passed down throughout generations and are used without fail at every birthday, holiday and special event. It has given me my dark features and coarse hair, which often cause people to question where I come from. It is the reason why I say things like “Oy Vey” and “Meshugannah.” It was my motivation to study for eight years and become a Bat Mitzvah. 

The name Weiner is a distinctive part of who I am: a product of my family and my heritage. My last name has provided me with a support system, without which I would be lost. I tried for so long to be independent of my embarrassing label that I overlooked how important my ties to it truly are. After years of torture, I am finally proud of who I am. I am a student, a singer, and a passionate debater. I am an animal lover, a community activist, and a world traveler. I am a lot of things, but above all I am a Weiner.

A Few Thoughts:

• HOW did Georgetown accept someone who used the phrase “Her Royal Highness Princess Zoë” in her personal statement
• Weiners still drink a lot of wine, it wasn't just a thing our ancestors did
• My brother never became a professional golfer
• My only nephew's last name isn't Weiner 
• "Terrified of heights and dreams of becoming a rock star" Shut UP 17 year old Zoe. Just, shut up. 
• I have no idea how to make brisket or noodle kugel
• My motivation for studying for my Bat Mitzvah was part religious, part the promise of being allowed to make a grand entrance on a swing in front of 300 people
• I can't believe I ever described myself as a "passionate debater"
• Or a "singer," "animal lover" and "community activist" 
• I've stopped correcting people on how to pronounce my last name. It's too hard. I am now, officially, Zoë WEENER.
• Even though the Weiner family sometimes drives me nuts, I love them even more now than I did 6 years ago. I just probably won't be writing a cliché essay about it anytime soon. 
• I WROTE MY COLLEGE ESSAY ABOUT HOW MY NAME SOUNDS LIKE A PENIS. WHO ALLOWED THAT?!?!