The Personal Statement

Sam and Elizabeth, two college seniors majoring in Mathematics, were sitting in the kitchen of Sam’s apartment, working on their homework. In the background they could hear his son and daughter in the living room arguing over which game to play. His wife was out food shopping.
“Is it possible to train your kids to be a little less noisy?” asked Elizabeth, who was twenty-one and single.
Sam, who was thirty-one and had joined the marines to see the world when he was eighteen, laughed. “Can you count to infinity?”
“Of course not,” replied Elizabeth.
“You can’t make them to be less noisy either. You get used to it. They help me to concentrate.”
“I’m not sure their helping me.”
“Let’s start with our Algebraic Topology course,” said Sam. “I can’t figure out question number 3.”
“I think the equation Y equals sine of one over X where X has a limit going to zero works,” said Elizabeth.
“There’s a discontinuity there,” said Sam “but wow, I’d love to see that function graphed.”
“Remember, we have to finish applying to our preferred graduate school,” said Elizabeth. “I haven’t even started on my personal statement yet.”
“Me either. Let’s look up the requirement.”
Elizabeth read: “Requirement – A Personal Statement that says why you want to attend our university, what you hope to accomplish and how you will use your degree to help make the study of mathematics more diverse and equitable.”
“The first two are easy,” said Sam. They have the best program and we want to get our doctorates. It’s the third answer they’re probably most interested in.”
“You’re right,’ said Elizabeth, “we have to convince them we’ll help those who don’t have access to mathematical study.”
“97 percent of students would probably drop math altogether if they could,” said Sam.
“That’s an exaggeration,” chuckled Elizabeth. “It can’t be more than 95 percent.”
Sam laughed. “Are we supposed handcuff them and force them to study math?”
“You can’t write that,” said Elizabeth. “You have to convince the university you’ll dedicate yourself to diversity and equity.”
“How does a personal statement guarantee that?”
“It’s not a guarantee,” said Elizabeth, “but the statement can show you’re sincere.
“Sort of like just meeting a girl and saying you’ll marry her next year if she’ll have sex with you tonight?”
“Yeah, sort of like that”, agreed Elizabeth
“Suppose I say I’m very sincere and the next person says, I’m very, very sincere and the third person says, I’m very, very, very sincere. This last person gets the gig, right?” asked Sam.
“That’s probably how it works,” agreed Elizabeth. “But you’re being a bit cynical here. There aren’t as many women studying Mathematics and part of the reason is accepted gender rolls. I’d like to help other women.”
“I buy your sincerity,” said Sam, “ because I know you. But if I just read something you wrote, I’d think you might be faking it. You know the old statement, ‘Don’t trust those who speak much of their honesty.’’’
“We have same grade point average so we probably have about the same chance of getting in. I’m going to write a personal statement to blow their socks off with my sincerity to help others.”
“I’m going to have no part in that BS. I’m going to take an original approach.
“What are you going to do?” asked Elizabeth.
“Haven’t figured that out yet.”
“I bet I get accepted over you.”
“Time will tell,” said Sam. His two kids were no longer arguing. He went to make sure they weren’t in any real trouble. Sam’s wife came home and said that Sam had to drive their son to basketball practice.
“Let’s open our acceptance decision letters from the University together,” suggested Elizabeth.
“Sure,” said Sam. Sam’s son yelled, “Hurry dad. We’re late.” Elizabeth, Sam and his son left.
Two months later, Paul, the faculty advisor for the Mathematics Doctorate Program and Linda, from the admissions office were going over the final two applications.”
“We’ve only got one spot left and two perfectly balance applicants, Elizabeth and Sam,” said Paul. “We should read their personal statements for a second time.”
“I don’t need to read them a second time,” said Linda. “It’s clear that we should accept Elizabeth and reject Sam.”
“Let’s not be hasty. Read me Elizabeth’s again.”
“Here it is,” Linda began reading, “I am totally dedicated to using mathematics to solve the pressing problems of our day. Because I’m a woman, some people have suggested I become a high school teacher instead of pursue my doctorate. This attitude needs to be fought. This assumption and the lack of availability make it difficult for a woman or a minority to pursue this career. I’m supremely, sincerely; specially dedicated to using my supreme savvy to bring mathematics education to less served communities who absolutely crave this opportunity. There is not one applicant in a hundred as dedicated to this noble task as I am.”
“That inspires my heart,” said Linda. “Sam’s is crap.”
“Read it out anyway,” said Paul. “I forgot exactly what it says.”
“Here goes,” said Linda. “What are ten thousand personal statements thrown into a bonfire? Don’t ignore my question. Answer me! I’ll put the answer on the next page so you have time to think.”
“Not your average personal statement,” chuckled Paul. “Reminds me of an old joke about lawyers.” Linda scrolled to the next page and continued reading.
“Ten thousand personal statements in a bonfire are ten billion too few! Burn them all!”
Paul started to cackle and held his hand over his mouth to try to stop himself from laughing. Linda continued reading.
“Mathematics demands absolute honesty. Demanding promises of future conduct is blackmail and should never be required. It only encourages lies. Please tab to the next page.”
“He does have a point,” said Paul.
“Accusing us of using blackmail” said Linda. “How dare he! That disqualifies him.”
“It continues,” said Paul. “”I will tell anyone who will listen about the glories of mathematics. Of fractal worlds of infinite beauty and complexity. Of the beauty of the weather equation that is so sensitive to change that the beating of a bird’s in California can change next week’s weather in New York. Of one infinity which infinitely larger than another. Of numbers so immense that if we used every atom in the universe we still couldn’t write them down. Mathematics in infinitely beautiful and studying it will enhance any individual. The numbers zero to nine do not discriminate. Neither will I. I will help any person who asks me for help.””
“We asked how he’d help disadvantaged communities,” said Linda. “He says he won’t. That statement disqualifies him.”
“I don’t know,” said Paul. “What’s the biggest asset in solving tough mathematical problems?”
“Hard work and discipline,” said Linda. “If the person craves helping society, they’ll tough it out.”
“Hard work’s important but it’s creativity and joy that makes the difference. Looking at a problem from a different angle and smiling when you fail. Which of these two statement shows more creativity and joy?” asked Paul.
“I’m still going with Elizabeth,” said Linda.
“I’m with Sam. Besides, he’ll excite people about mathematics. That will draw people who never thought of studying math. And he sounds like a hoot. I’d love to have him in one of my courses.”
“You’re nuts,” said Linda.
“I plead guilty,” agreed Paul. “Let’s compromise and accept them both.”
“There isn’t room.”
“Maybe some of the others won’t come here,” said Paul. “Let’s give Sam a chance.”
“What if other administrators read his statement and criticize us for accepting him? asked Linda.
“We’ll tell them that they can make the tough admission decisions next year,” said Paul.
“That’ll shut them up,” said Linda. “Who would want to do this job? I give in. We’ll accept them both.”
Two weeks later, Sam and Elizabeth were in Sam’s kitchen. Sam’s wife and kids were out. Sam was making a cake for after dinner.
“We promised to open our application answer letters together,” said Elizabeth. “I’ve got mine.”
Sam went to his bedroom and came back with his unopened envelope.
“You first,” said Sam.
Elizabeth opened her envelope and started to jump up and down. “I got in and got a fellowship too.”
Sam looked at his envelope and shook it. “It doesn’t make any noise,” he said.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Elizabeth. “Go ahead. I’m sure you got in too.”
“I’m not so sure.” Sam opened his envelope and said, “Wow. I got a fellowship too.”
“You must have sent them an ordinary personal statement.”
“Like hell I did,” said Sam.
“What did yours say?” asked Elizabeth.
“Forget it. We’re in.”
Sam went back to mixing the cake, adding cinnamon.
“Now comes the even harder part,” said Elizabeth, “our homework.”
“Let’s start with the Laplace Transformation,” Sam said. “It’s baffling.”
“Yeah,” agreed Linda. “Now even I can tell the truth. At least 99 percent of the population would avoid this equation.”
She looked over at Sam and asked, “You’re adding peanut butter to your banana cake?”
“Just a spoonful. Adds some zest.”
Sam put the cake in the oven. “Stay for dinner?”
“I’d rather get a drink later this week,” said Elizabeth.
Sam’s wife returned with their kids. “Did you open your acceptance replies yet?” she asked.
Elizabeth shouted, “We both got in and got fellowships.”
“That’s so wonderful,” Sam’s wife said. There was loud shouting in the living room. Sam went to see what was happening.
“I have to thank you,” said Sam’s wife. “He’d never have made it without you.”
“Are you kidding?” asked Elizabeth. “I’d have never gotten through if we hadn’t done our homework together.
“Stay for dinner and celebrate with us.”
Elizabeth stood there, not knowing what to say. Finally she said, “Why not? The kids can’t be harder to deal with than a Laplace transformation.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” said Sam’s wife, “but I wouldn’t trade them for a hundred tons of gold.”
When she tasted the cake, Elizabeth said, “This cake couldn’t have been made by anyone but Sam.”
Sam’s daughter shouted, “Last week, I made a cake with anchovies.”
“That was the best damned cake ever made,” said Sam.
Elizabeth started to laugh, soon joined by the rest of the table.