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Stories from our Seniors | Select College Essays
Stories from our Seniors
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Each of the 53 boys in the Class of 2021 has a story. More than one, certainly—stories of family and of friendship, stories of joy and of grief, stories of failure and of triumph, stories of things to come.
Many of Roxbury Latin’s seniors share their stories as a critical component of their college applications, of which—added to the myriad accomplishments, recommendations, test scores, and transcripts that comprise an application—a student’s essay is often the most revealing and humanizing element. Here we share the stories of eight of our graduating seniors, whose select essays have been printed with their permission.
Frankie Lonergan
In the 1980s, my grandfather, George Lonergan, marched to his neighbor’s door, hat in hand, and offered to paint his house. An economic recession had seen him lose his office job. With no way to provide for his family of six children, and unable to justify accepting unemployment benefits that could help somebody in more dire need, George decided that he’d employ himself as a painter for the time being. He had no training and very little equipment. What he had was a growing family and the mindset that you need to work to get by.
My mindset decades later allowed me to leave my bike outside overnight to get stolen. As I obviously didn’t value my possessions, my parents told me I didn’t deserve a replacement. A family friend, Dave McCrossan, who owns a painting company in my hometown, caught wind of my situation. The owner of the house he was currently painting had an old bike that would “fit me just about right,” he said. If I worked a week, I’d be paid with a new old bicycle.
Painting couldn’t be that hard, I thought. Turns out, I had no idea just how much washing and scraping and sanding I would have to do before I even touched a paintbrush. The week was full of splinters, sunburns, and profanity, but I pedaled away at the end of it.
The following Monday, when my dad came downstairs, he asked, “Why aren’t you at work?”
“I already got my bike,” I responded.
“Well, then you can use it to ride to work. Better hustle—it’s getting hot out.”
So what started as an idiotic mistake blossomed into a fullblown job spanning the next four summers.
Dave promptly gave me my ladder training, but it was obvious that I wasn’t going to be up there much. I was the rookie, relegated to the ground level. My coworkers, José, José, and Speedy, were far more skilled than I and thus got the ladder work done. They were all from the Dominican Republic, and my only authority came when, in the absence of the Josés, I would use my Spanish to translate for Speedy, who didn’t speak English. From the ground level, I learned about each of my coworkers’ backstories. The common trend was the money they each sent home to their families and their towns. Even when the younger José won $50,000 on a scratch ticket, he bought groceries for everybody in his housing complex,
Frankie Lonergan
Quinn Donovan
gave some cash to José and Speedy, and sent the rest home. His selflessness resonated with me, especially alongside the lessons I was learning about work ethic and earning what you make.
These three guys and Dave get to a job site at 7 a.m. to beat the sun, work manual labor for hours upon hours, and then don’t even keep a great portion of the money they make. If nothing else, this job has taught me what a dollar really costs—just how much effort goes into making a living in America, especially for immigrants like José, José, Speedy, and Dave, who is from Ireland.
But the job has also challenged my thinking regarding my own place in life. To that point, my success both academically and athletically had served as affirmations of my own talent and status. Especially having come from a Catholic elementary school, every day of my life had taught me that I was a part of some sort of special plan or destiny. To be placed at the bottom of the metaphorical and physical ladder for four summers reoriented me, but also granted me a sense of freedom in the form of self-determinism. Dedication to hard work was obvious to my grandfather when he decided to paint houses in his neighborhood. It took the same job to teach me that very same lesson. //
Quinn Donovan
My job at CVS has taught me all about the wonders of retail. With a plethora of customers who will scream at me when their coupons won’t work, there’s never a dull moment at CVS. By now, hundreds of customers have made sure to tell me all about the memes that make fun of our receipts being used as wallpaper or reading material; consequently, I’ve mastered my fake laugh.
At the onset of this pandemic, however, everything changed at CVS: lines wrapped up and down the aisles with customers seeking the ever-so elusive hand sanitizer; fights broke out over the exquisite Charmin toilet paper; and any product with the word wipe on it became a hot commodity (yes, even baby wipes). The entire town had ransacked our inventory, and my months of practice stocking shelves finally paid off. Every Friday, I had to control the mob awaiting our delivery by creating a socially-distant line
“the finish line, I was taken in an ambulance to a nearby hospital only to learn that our team had lost by 1 point. and satiating their desires with an update on the status of the Lysol Wipes. Faced with these unprecedented I hope to create worlds, stories, and characters that make people feel understood and seen. Colson Ganthier circumstances, CVS had to adapt to succeed. Faced with adversity, I was only further motivated to adapt. I trained for another week for the New England
In turn, my job at CVS has taught me a lot about myself. Championship race where I finished sixth overall, and our
Anytime I am called upon to promote a new program or team won the NEPSAC title. Although I ended up in the train an employee, the store asks me to adapt and give hospital for the second week in a row, that time around I more effort. As a result of that effort, I now know my was there as a NEPSAC champion. sales pitch on our loyalty program by heart, and our store functions more efficiently with well-prepared cashiers. In At school, I employed that same adaptability to be the only these instances, I was challenged at work, and I adapted student in my grade to make the jump from Latin 2-3 to AP to overcome the difficult circumstances—just as the store Latin 5. I also made a jump in math, enrolling in the honors adapted to a major and unexpected obstacle. section at RL despite being underprepared by my previous public school education. Not only did I make these jumps,
I have begun to realize this quality of mine, adaptability, but I succeeded in the fifth year Latin class with only two is one I have been honing in other aspects of my life as years of Latin background, and I fostered a love for calculus well. At the start of my sophomore year, I was asked to my junior year because of my risk-taking. switch from my life-long sport of soccer to cross country to help RLXC. Not only did I make the switch, but I put Now as a senior, I am working to help others cultivate their our team in a position to compete for the ISL title. That adaptability as the lead organizer for the new freshman year I finished the ISL championship race with my vision mentor program, captain of the track and field and cross blurry and a raging migraine. After collapsing as I crossed country teams, and captain of the jazz band and jazz
combo. I have come to realize that I’ve applied that same adaptability that CVS displayed to every facet of my life. I not only succeed for myself, but I ensure that others can readily procure their own success. I intend to bring out the best in not only myself but in others as we encounter new solos, races, or environments. And if I ever doubt myself when facing a challenge, I simply recall that I stocked the toilet paper shelves at CVS mid-pandemic. //
Colson Ganthier
I have always wanted to be a writer. This motivation keeps my heart up at night while my mind slumbers. It is the desire to leave something that will outlive me and need to love those I will never know.
I am a Haitian American man, and I cannot say my story has been told. I have had to study the Odyssey, Macbeth, and The Great Gatsby while the stories about people like me are hidden in the shadows of electives. I think those stories need to be told, because they have value. I have the unique opportunity and gift to have this identity and the ability to share it with the world through writing. I hope to write stories about people like myself, so others like me may find shelter in my words.
I want my work to be a part of someone else just as much as it’s a part of me. I want someone to love the words I have written and for those words to love them back. I hope to create worlds, stories, and characters that make people feel understood and seen. I know firsthand the feeling of loneliness; I know what it is like to have only fictional friends as comfort. I write to give someone that chance to love my art like an old friend that will never leave them. This was the comfort I felt with the anime character Naruto, with whom I spent many afternoons when I was feeling particularly alone in the world. Just as the author Masashi Kishimoto did for me, I am motivated by my desire to share a sliver of my soul with the world.
The greatest writers of all time have not died. The words of Cicero, Shakespeare, and Ernest Hemingway live on in the consciousness of society. No matter the years, the era, or the language, their existence on the planet has not been erased. I am not certain life after death exists, but I
David D’Alessandro
“On my first day... I had made it through one sheet before my hand started cramping and sweat was dripping onto the paper. I hadn’t “ even begun working with wood and was already feeling the scale of the project.
am certain that bookshelves are the closest thing to heaven on earth. I have lived a life that could possibly be ignored by the future regardless of how hard I loved and lived. It haunts me that as meaningful as my life is, I could, like all people, be forgotten as if I never lived at all. For me it is not conceit that drives this fear of mortality, but hunger. I hunger to connect with the souls of the future. I hunger to have my words provide comfort in the hearts of the unborn and respect to those that have passed. I hunger to love and to be loved by people I have never met. I hunger for legacy. If I am known by one person who finds my dusty words 200 years into the future, then that will be enough. //
David D’Alessandro
I have vivid memories of waking up during a week-long visit to my grandfather’s house in Florida and immediately asking him if we could take the boat out. If he responded with a grin, we were out on the dock, rigging rods, prepping bait, and getting the boat ready before breakfast. Soon after, we would head out the Intracoastal into the Atlantic Ocean and troll for hours following the birds. Even if the ocean got rougher, and we both started to get a little seasick, we would steer the boat into the waves, hoping to hear the zzzzzz of a reel.
When I decided to build a boat during the summer of my 10th grade year, I immediately thought of fishing with my grandfather. Of course, I couldn’t construct a vessel capable of surviving the Atlantic Ocean, but I thought anything small that I could put an outboard engine on would work. I spent hours Googling “wooden powerboat plans,” until finally I found a design rated for a 15-horsepower outboard that wasn’t overly complicated but had deck space for fishing.
By mid-July, I had ordered six sheets of marine plywood and made a trip to Home Depot to buy the minimum number of tools needed. I printed out the full-size templates at Staples, and I was ready to begin. Soon, half of the garage was filled with a makeshift wood shop. Saw horses and a band saw quickly made the garage feel cramped.
The first step was cutting out the six 10-foot paper templates with a tiny Exacto knife. On my first day of boat building, I had made it through one sheet before my hand started cramping and sweat was dripping onto the paper. I hadn’t even begun working with wood and was already feeling the scale of the project.
When the fall of 11th grade began, SAT studying, football practices, and homework took up most of my time, and I struggled to find time to work on the boat. I put the boat away for the winter and was happy to forget about the project for a while.
After school shut down, I re-set up my “woodshop” in the garage and began to work with a newfound enthusiasm. I layed the frames on the deck and secured them with square battens and epoxy. To make the transom, I cut out three pieces of half-inch plywood with my low-power band saw knowing that I would have a sander to help fix mistakes when I glued the three pieces together. Soon after, I had to make another trip to Home Depot to buy a much more powerful sander because mine did not have enough power to correct my mistakes.
The boat was taking shape, and once I had secured the hull and side panels I was ready to fiberglass the bottom. With one YouTube tutorial of experience, I began the most crucial step of the whole process. I layed out the threefoot sheets of fiberglass across the entire bottom and up the sides of the boat, getting rid of any air bubbles. I then brushed epoxy over the entire bottom of the boat in a thin layer to prevent it from bubbling in the hot July sun.
After three coats of paint, and a 20-horsepower motor, I was ready to launch the boat. I headed to a small, shallow lake with an accessible shore (I wasn’t taking any chances if it sank). When the boat slid off the trailer, I immediately looked down to make sure water wasn’t seeping into the bottom. While the cove connecting the main part of the lake was much calmer than the Hillsboro Inlet, and the bass I would reel in did not fight as hard as Florida dolphin, I had completed my yearlong project and was ready to take my grandfather on my boat. //
Nolan McKenna
Every day over the summer, I take the train downtown, get
Nolan McKenna
“I hope I can apply the same work ethic and mentality I have with sailing and family life to college. I want to be able to navigate my own “ boat in the busy harbor of a college community. I will do my best to support and better whoever gets in my boat along the way.
on a ferry to the Charlestown Navy Yard, and spend my day sailing in the Boston Harbor with Courageous Sailing, a nonprofit community sailing program. I started learning there when I was six, and every summer since I have spent the majority of my time in the Harbor with some of the biggest ships in the world. My tiny little sailboat and I have sailed with thousand-foot LNG tankers, yachts worth hundreds of millions of dollars, and 300-foot Coast Guard cutters. All of this variety, this chaos, is why I enjoy being on the water all day. I love the responsibility of navigating my sailboat throughout the Harbor. I relish the idea of being a tiny little speck in the middle of the chaos in the Boston Harbor.
These ideas of responsibility have been especially important these past few summers, when I began working at Courageous Sailing as an instructor. Now I am responsible for about 25 small children, not just myself. These kids, some as young as eight, almost never have prior sailing experience, so I need to teach them everything from rigging a boat to how wind works. This added responsibility requires me to work under extreme pressure, but all of the complicating variables that come into play on the water are what I love most about my job. I would rather sail on an extremely windy, rainy day than on a quiet, sunny one. The chaos of the rainy day invigorates me.
Being at the helm of a ship has taught me many lessons about being a leader. This idea of being at the helm has translated into my family life. My parents are divorced, and I live with my mother. My parents’ divorce thrust me into the position of “man of the household.” I now have responsibilities that I never had before. I help my family get to places on time, do extra chores, and sometimes cook dinner. In addition to this, I’ve become a secondary father figure to my little sister, Kelly. Since we don’t see our dad every day, I’ve started to become the one who hangs out with her, teaches her different lessons, and guides her in the right direction. We’ve grown incredibly close due to these circumstances. As amazing as my mom is, she can’t do everything by herself, so these responsibilities have fallen on me, especially as my brother moved to college. I look forward to seeing how new challenges will shape me in the future.
anything from my past years of sailing, it’s that I need to make sure my boat is sailing smoothly, so all of the other boats in the harbor can also sail without issue. I plan to take care of myself in college, so the rest of the community can function. //
Esteban Tarazona
“So I have come down to deliver them from the power of the Egyptians, and to bring them up from that land to a good and spacious land flowing with milk and honey.” — Exodus 3:8
Esteban Tarazona
My parents read this Bible passage in their home in Colombia, as they contemplated moving to the U.S. after my dad lost his job. Their savings were dwindling and they had a daughter to take care of, and this passage was, they were convinced, a message from God. They set off for the U.S. immediately, following a job offer from a friend in Miami. When they arrived, though, their friend wouldn’t answer their phone calls, and they had to rely on friends for a place to stay as my dad frantically looked for work. After a month, my parents booked a flight to Boston, where they fell in and out of homelessness as my dad continued his job search. Finally, they found stability; my dad found a job as a parking lot supervisor and they moved into the apartment in which I was raised. The “milk and honey” my parents were promised in America has presented itself as the tremendous opportunities offered to me throughout my life. I began my education in Boston Public Schools. I was then fortunate enough to attend Roxbury Latin on a full scholarship for four years. That is a total of $138,200—no small deed. My time at an academically excellent institution like RL has truly been a blessing, and I owe it to my parents and their immense struggle before I was born. I have always seen my parents as role models because of their hard work and resilience through their struggles, and I strive to be like them. Additionally, they are always so humble about it all. They work in silence, but “ “ The “milk and honey” my parents were promised in America has presented itself as the tremendous opportunities offered to me throughout my life. I hope that I can apply the same work ethic and mentality
I have with sailing and family life to college. I want to the results of their hard work manifest through all of be able to navigate my own boat in the busy harbor of a the opportunities provided to me. For them, I believe college community. I will do my best to support and better I have a responsibility to take advantage of these many whoever gets in my boat along the way. If I’ve learned opportunities. I have always been eager to join as many
“clubs and extracurriculars as I can and to try new things. I never back down from a challenge, because I know that no challenge could be more difficult than what my parents went through, and I know that no matter what, with hard work and determination, I’ll be able to get through it and perform excellently. Despite my strong work ethic and determination, I have still had my fair share of struggles. I found myself drowning during the beginning of my time at RL, struggling to adapt to the academically rigorous environment. But as time passed, I learned the importance of being proactive and asking for help, something I had never
I know the importance
done before. With that new way of dealing with challenges, of a strong work ethic I have seen great improvement through my years at RL. I will always be thankful for RL for helping me grow and and know that it is my for preparing me for my future. I am still searching for what I want to do with my life, but I know that as more responsibility to be there opportunities come up to try new things, I will take them and, soon, I’ll find what I truly love.
each day.
My parents went through trauma that no young couple should experience. Even now, they are taking care of four children and barely making enough to feed us all. Every day, I strive to make their journey to the U.S. worthwhile. I want to help my parents retire when they are older and live a peaceful and beautiful life, one that everyone wishes to have. When they got married, living by the skin of their teeth, they did not have the “ideal life.” But hopefully through my hard work, I will be able to provide for them a life full of milk and honey, for however many more years of life they have to live. //
Sam Stone
Sam Stone
For the past decade, my family has run a small sweet
corn business out of Lovell, Maine: Sweet Kids Corn. Every summer from early August through Labor Day, my family heads north to the peace and quiet of Lake Kezar, not only to enjoy the solitude and beauty of the lake and mountains, but also to harvest the six acres of sweet corn that had been planted in early May. Since I can remember, I would wake up bright and early to hop into the pickup truck and head off to the field with my mom and dad. In my younger years, while my parents picked the day’s haul, I would simply put on my boots and run amok through the fields exploring the intricate rows of corn, eagerly awaiting the return trip home to where I knew my grandmother’s pancake breakfast was waiting. As time has passed, my role and responsibility in the business has grown exponentially, and for that I am grateful.
I started by slowly learning the process of picking the corn, carrying the barrels, and stocking the stand. Before I knew it, I was a key piece in what made this well-oiled machine function. I’m responsible now for hauling all of the barrels of corn from the field onto the truck in the morning and then driving it all to our farm stand in town. What I love most about our small business is that we run an “honesty” stand. Lovell is a very small, rural town in western Maine, and our stand sits on the side of the road that runs through the town. Locals and veteran tourists love that they can stop by and pick up what they need and then can just drop the money into our honesty box.
It is quite common to see an IOU or handwritten note explaining that someone would stop by later with the money. This summer we actually received a note from a traveler from Biloxi, Mississippi. He wrote: “I recently drove here, and I have never seen a stand like yours. The corn is excellent, but the honor system you use reminds me that this is still America. I really am impressed to see such a thing.” Hearing comments like this from distant travelers, and echoed by the locals, reminds me of the importance of integrity and honesty. Often when we are loading the stand, people will strike up a conversation and ask about where the corn is planted, or how much we plant, but more often than not they ask if people are honest. The residents of Lovell take great pride in how our stand is run completely on honesty, and they feel very strongly that people should honor that. I am often humbled when I see the pride that others take in our stand, and I feel a sense of responsibility to always maintain this tradition.
This job is one that I hope to continue for years to come; eventually, I want to carry on this work by taking over the business. I truly appreciate what this work has taught me. Thanks to this job, I have a greater appreciation of the work of laborers in our country. I understand that even when it is pouring rain, I have a responsibility to go and pick corn. I might prefer to get a few extra hours of sleep, but I know the importance of a strong work ethic and know that it is my responsibility to be there each day.
It is amazing to be a part of a community that values honesty, hard work, and respect. The corn stand is a symbol of all that is good and true about our world, and I am so glad that I get to be a part of it. //
Eric Auguste
Understanding who I am hasn’t always been easy. I grew up in a mildly religious Puerto Rican and Haitian family in which certain expectations are held. From a young age, I’ve been told that I would go to school, marry a woman, and have children. For a long time, that seemed perfectly normal to me, and to everyone else it was expected. But as I grew older and I began to understand the world around me better, I learned that my sexuality didn’t align with those same ideals. I saw that I was different from everyone else around me, and the thought of being different in another way aside from my race terrified me. I was just starting at a new all-boys’ private school, and I didn’t want to be seen as an outcast. So, I held onto my secret.
By not letting such an important part of my identity develop, I was met with anxiety, loneliness, and, unfortunately, depression. But ironically, it was that same anxiety that helped me come out to my parents: the first big step in my journey. The summer before freshman year was my lowest point emotionally; one day, pushed solely by my anxiety, I approached my dad, ready to tell him. It took several minutes for me to find the words—the confusion on his face made it difficult to find the courage—but finally I was able to blurt out: “Dad, I’m gay.” Immediately, a tension
Eric Auguste
filled the room, and I could clearly see the discomfort in his awkward smile. He was shocked and confused but he still told me that he would accept me no matter what. I was so thankful for his reaction, and from that point on I slowly began letting people know who I truly was.
Though I didn’t come out to my friends until tenth grade, they were starting to sense that something about me was different. As they began to talk about girls I shrank into the shadows, trying to appear invisible so I didn’t have to lie all the time. Or when a conversation about the football game the night before arose, I was afraid I would be called out for not being “masculine enough” to know what they were talking about. Hearing “that’s gay” as an insult was difficult to ignore. I couldn’t connect with anyone on a personal level; I felt defeated. It wasn’t until one random day at lunch during my sophomore year that I came out to all my friends at once. I still remember the happiness their support and praise gave me.
Ever since then I’ve been steadily coming out to more important people in my life. And I can say that my relationships have only gotten stronger. I was lucky to be accepted, and consequently I have become more “me” than I ever have been. I no longer have to censor the way I talk or stop myself from acting in a way that goes against the standard of masculinity. I can be flamboyant or feminine and dress how I want to without feeling shame from my friends. However, that doesn’t mean everything is perfect. I have yet to come out to my grandparents and extended family. And, even though I have my friends supporting me, I still feel lonely. There isn’t much representation for gay men of color at school or in the media. The fact that my friends made such a big deal out of my coming out, although satisfying, also contributes to the idea that “coming out” or being gay is not normal. I still deal with anxiety and I’m still alone at school. I’m still waiting to meet people like me, and that is why I am excited to live on a college campus. There, I hope to meet others who have lived through the same experiences as me. //
