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For years, I shunned them. And then, as a sophomore in high school, with my eyes on Yale University, I panicked. And I almost did the unthinkable: I almost joined them. And I almost became -- don't make me say it -- a resume padder.

You know who I'm talking about;  

resume padders

  are the kids who visit nursing homes and spoon out soup at churches with all the enthusiasm of Paris Hilton at The Salvation Army. They sign up for six AP classes instead of music and art electives -- although they actually want to be the next Matisse or Madonna. They join soccer, basketball, and lacrosse and then pray they'll stay on the bench every game.

I can hear you right now: So what? They're also probably at Harvard and Yale as we speak. After all, it takes a full load of extracurriculars to get you in anywhere these days. And colleges can't possibly tell how passionate you really were about them. All they see is your resume.

Not so fast. That's what I had thought, too. But I stood firm, at least at first. I spent the bulk of my high school years, if not shunning the resume padders, then irritated by them. How hypocritical, I would think to myself, watching students join 10 community service activities, attend none of the meetings, and cheerfully admit it was simply to slap them on their college resumes.

And so, as a freshman, I resolved to do only the things I was passionate about. If that meant I didn't get into a top-tier college, and the other students did? Well, then I didn't want to attend. I wanted a school that would accept me -- not somebody I'd made up on paper.

Then sophomore year struck, as did my lust for Yale University. I began to panic. I had high grades. I had ambitions. But I also had only a handful of extracurricular activities. My peers had loaded up their plates long ago, and even though it was with meaningless memberships and positions, it was more than I had.

Even as I looked around at my impossibly busy friends -- my stomach sinking and my dreams of Yale slipping away -- I was too embarrassed to turn back. I couldn't start joining clubs I didn't care about. I couldn't start pretending I thought being ghostwriter to the undersecretary to the vice president of the Honor Society was a big deal. But I soon realized the truth. I could be more involved. I should be more involved. I simply had to make something concrete out of the things I did care about.

One of my passions is writing. It was something I did privately, penning reams of stories and poems in my room, no critics in sight. Yet, I realized, Yale would never see all these stories and poems. Their only idea of my writing ability would come from my College Essay. I had to make my passion more concrete. I started right away. I queried a local newspaper, asking if they'd hire me as a columnist. I thought they'd laugh and brush me off. They had a circulation of 60,000 and rarely hired kids right out of college, never mind 15-year-olds. Instead, they gave me my own column. Motivated, I began entering writing contests - and winning. By the time I applied to Yale as a senior, I had three years of columns and dozens of writing awards under my belt.

Did all of that look good on my resume? You bet. But did I take up writing just for that reason? Of course not. And, I have to say, I respected myself a lot more for it.

Now I'm a sophomore in college. And I know a few kids here who pursued nearly every activity they came across in high school -- because they loved every single one. But I know far more students who had only one passion, or a handful, and pursued those few, consistently and intently, throughout most of their lives. These activities run the gamut. One friend has stuck with slam poetry for years; he now has his own CD out and has won numerous prestigious competitions. Another friend has always loved singing; now in a renowned a cappella group, he also has signed record deals with companies in New York City. Other students have a passion for computers, chemistry, acting, or activism. Not only did they foster these passions throughout high school, but they are continuing to do so here, as well.

I've realized that my school isn't necessarily looking for all well-rounded students; it wants a well-rounded student body. Even more importantly, it wants a passionate student body. And, somehow, it must be able to see through those applications brimming with half-hearted activities and meaningless positions.

You see, I don't know a single resume padder here at my school: Yale University.

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