I spent this morning at the SF Giants Fanfest over at AT&T Park. I went with Jeff nearly 5 years ago and met all sorts of people. I went with my dad this year and we did take a picture with Russ Ortiz and Kevin Frandsen. We were about 45 minutes late to getting pictures with JT "The Hunk who saves little children" Snow and Matt "Don't call me Chuck" Morris. Once Snow left, the line shrunk because all the girls left disappointed. Either way, it was pretty cool. Ortiz was very friendly. I was disappointed with Frandsen. He just sat there and barely smiled. He's probably more concerned about making the team than meeting Chinese guys. I will post the picture when it arrives. The one complaint I will have about Fanfest was that it was way too crowded. There were 20,000 people, which is half the attendance of a real game, but all the events were concentrated in certain areas so people were pushing and shoving. The line just to get autographs was almost 2 hours. I'll get my autographs during Spring Training via snail mail.

One of my new favorite shows now is Psych. It's on Friday nights on USA after Monk, which is also a good show. Psych is like a mix of Monk meeting Ace Ventura. There's only one episode of Psych over on YouTube but I'm sure there are some episodes online.

My computer has been extremely slow as of late, so my brother recommended I go through stuff and delete some programs. I found all sorts of neglected things like prom pictures, video games I haven't played in years, and a bunch of old essays I wrote as far back as high school. I was amazed to even find my personal statement that I sent to colleges 4 years ago to this date. It's weird to read something you wrote 4 years ago. It's like going back and reading old diary or journal entries. Even though the emotions are somewhat gone by now, you can still see traces of yourself that make you go "Oh yea, that is me writing this." So here's my personal statement:

Sophomore Year
“Allan,” boomed the voice of my Latin teacher across the room. I pushed myself out of my seat, strolled over to his desk, and yanked the corrected test from his hand. I retreated to my chair and stared at the giant “C” written at the top of my paper. I crammed the test into my backpack and continued to doodle on the cover of my notebook. It was late May, and my sophomore year was coming to an end. I was used to the C’s by now. In fact, it was months since I last received an A on a Latin test. It was just too difficult of a language for me to master. I dreaded this class, and I could not wait for the escape that summer would bring.

Latin, however, was not the only class I was struggling in. My geometry class was also destroying my grade point average. At times, it seemed as if I was the only student who was not raising his hand to shout out the answer. I just told myself to hang in there and that the year would soon be finished. I would heave my sophomore year of high school into the back of my brain along with the memories I would like to forget. Yet, my parents were always gracious enough to remind me of my troubles. “Son, you need a tutor,” my father declared, as if I was not aware of what my report card looked like. I pleaded my case to him. “I can improve my grades. Just wait for the next report card.” I was too stubborn to ask for help. I did not want my parents to congratulate the tutor when my new grades arrived in the mail. I wanted them to congratulate me.

When my sophomore year ended, the summer gave me three months to reflect on the struggles I had just faced. Those struggles shattered the confidence my parents once had in me. My parents no longer eagerly decorated the refrigerator door with my report cards. Instead, they shoved them into a file cabinet and hid them deep within, never to see daylight again. I was angry. For the first time in my life, I felt that my parents gave up on me. My failures became their failures. I wanted another chance to prove them wrong and bring home a high school report card worthy of being displayed.

I saw my junior year as the opportunity for a second chance. I decided to study Spanish as my foreign language and vowed to be more vocal in my Advanced Algebra class. Determined to be successful, I buried myself in books and homework. During my free breaks between classes, I headed over to the library to begin my work. I cut down on the hours of television I was accustomed to watching, and instead, spent the time studying Spanish verbs and math equations. I made an effort to be more confident and to speak out in class. The first report card finally came in the mail, and when my parents saw the improvement, their faces made all the effort worthwhile.

I can look back and say there were times when I failed. These challenges, however, shaped my personality into something I am proud of. My sophomore year was rough, but it made me stronger. I know I will encounter hardships in college, but I am willing to learn from my mistakes and do what it takes to be successful. Henry Ford once said, “Failure is only the opportunity to begin more intelligently.” I may have felt discouraged when I struggled academically during my sophomore year, but the opportunity for me to rebuild into a more disciplined and focused individual is the result of my successes over my previous failures. I look forward to the challenges of college because I know that through them, I will emerge a better person.