Cross the Rubicon比喻背水一战或孤注一掷，与汉语“义无反顾”或“不是鱼死就是网破”相似。典故出自古罗马历史。公元前49年，凯撒引兵渡过罗马以北的Rubicon河，使其谋反之举成为定局，决心不顾一切地干到底，所以产生了 cross the Rubicon.
回首过去，我又想起了那个象征着“无数惊喜和奇迹”的年头：车道上玩棒球的场景、父亲在一旁BBQ我和哥哥一起玩摔跤的场景、一个戴着眼镜扎着马尾的女孩总是寸步不离的跟在我后面的场景等等；再往前想，我甚至能记起院子里回荡着的音乐摇滚Joe Cocker在乐队的伴奏下嘶吼的声音。我回忆着无数个夏天的午后和酥软的杏仁黄油三明治，但是，总有一个清晰的烙印提醒着我在西部中学冬天发生的故事。那时，我正好9岁。
那个时候我决定报名竞选四年级的学生会主席，虽然竞选结果已经浮出水面了，但我还是不死心。像一个真正的政治参选人员那样，我给每一个人的除了承诺，承诺还是承诺。午餐时分，我和大家一起喝巧克力牛奶；课间休息的空档，为了安抚民心，公平起见，我拿着粉笔仔细谨慎的在黑板上做着每一笔记录；一天下来搞得我头昏脑胀，还要负责将孩子们顺利安全的送回家。来来回回，往往复复，我被老师不知道逮过多少次！我发誓，他们一定无法体会到当神秘的小纸条在手中传阅时，心里的那种紧张和兴奋感；我发誓在宣读结果的那一刻没有一双眼睛不是瞪得大大的盯着我（“No Eyes Closed”）（原引1934年公平老公法案里的句子）；我发誓要在原有的考试准备时间上再缩短大概1/3的时间，腾出更多的时间给万圣节游行，我相信传统节日会给秋季学期增添更多的亮点。“又是一个美好的一天”，通常在选举结束前我都会这么说，而我的“选民们”会穿着魔术贴运动鞋通过踩脚的方式进行“灯光秀”投票。
当选举日渐临近，我自信满满的踏着每一个脚印，假想自己即将成为一名真正的政治家，一名真正的政客。我会提供比John Tyler（约翰·泰勒，美国第十任总统，辉格党人）更多的热苹果酒。我和杰克逊（Adrew Jackson，美国第7任总统）一样平凡，比肯尼迪还要知名。我在校车上写的演讲稿好过林肯在火车上撰写的。当我走在校园里时候，三年级的美女会兴奋到晕厥，五年级的男生们会向我点头以示尊敬。和谁交谈，取决于我是谁。一会儿我是罗斯福（FDR），一下子又化身为尼克松，简简单单的几个字结束。我是学校的校长，我是迈克叔叔（Uncle Mike），我是阿尔法与欧米茄（本词语源出于《新约启示录》，意思是说上帝是万物的根源亦是万物的归宿；Alpha是希腊字母中的第一个，Omega是最后一个）。
多年后，第99届校园辩论会“自由气球日”的证人会滔滔不绝的讲述我是如何在周围一片寂静，底下人群中交头接耳的环境下百般挑剔假设存在严重缺陷的经济体制来对抗我的对手。他们说我本可以赢的更多群体的投票而不仅仅是停留在单一的学生群体里。
“祝贺我们四年级新的校学生会主席的诞生，他就是Michael O’Leary”。校长骄傲的在家长会（P.A., Parents’ Association）上大声宣布我的名字。我的“人民”都是真实存在的。我必须再次感谢那天班上的88位同学，是他们成就了不一样的我，同时，我的手里掌握着88个心愿。
象征着中学生协会里的种种心计、诡计现在都必须停止：各个党派之间的勾心斗角已经无法阻止民主前进的脚步。这里没有重男轻女思想，没有长幼尊卑的界限，更加不会有不平等的现象发生。我甚至做到了减少荡秋千的时候避免脚碰触到水塔的几率，这样的几率比躲避米歇尔夫人的疯狂球要小得多。我对校园学生活动财政管理的精细度和里根经济学[1]那套不负责任的行为实在不是一个档次的。在我管理学校期间，旷课率一直很低。对于“战争”，我的态度一直很冷淡。“懒惰”根本就不可能存在。
就在我积极的准备扫除一切黑暗的阴霾，清理出一片大好未来的时候，抵制声爆发了。有的人说我是一个不折不扣的独裁者，他们呼吁要限制我的权利，要求我退位。没有人支持我重启“罗伯特议事规则”[2]。我不知道是我这样一个“方向舵”失去了民心还是他们不需要我这个舵，但是目前我能做的就是不作为。我的伟大蓝图只剩平庸无奇。我的热气球就像“兴登堡号”[3]一样葬身火海。
在这个学年即将结束的时候，曾大声向全校宣布我姓名的校长残酷的表态：学期末，我必须辞职。“你的任期已经结束了”她说，瞬间我忽然觉得我的命运在开始早已注定，我觉得这一卸任并不正大光明，好像做了什么亏心事一样，但继我之后，还会有下一个人继续扮演凯撒大帝。我曾经以为自己会飞得很高，好像我站在一对融化了的蜡烛与羽毛上一样，轻飘飘的，但现实却如此残酷，像肥皂泡“噗”的一下全部破灭了。
这一次我没有站起来为自己赢得第二次的机会，恢复自己的地位，而选择了“弃械投降”。这样，我还保留了一点自尊与骄傲。
十几年后，相信很少会有人记得我的选举经历，就像不会有人记得继我之后是3个还是4个人曾和我一样竞选主席一职一样。毕竟，历史是给成功人书写的。也许，我的竞选经历是存在瑕疵的，是不完美的，但是，它是真实存在的，这就是现实。蒂姆·奥布莱恩(Tim O'Brien,著名的美国越战作家)会为我骄傲，再见Joe Cocker，再见学分！
ESSAY赏析
这篇ESSAY选取的话题角度很别致，在个人简历里也并未说明，尤其是其巧妙的讽刺的写作手法实在是绝。作者通过引用文学、政治、电视中的政治选举过程记载了自己在中学时期的竞选经历。写作处处透着幽默感。
通过偏题材的轻松的写作手法，作者向读者展示了童年生活中印象深刻的一个经历。通过描写和政治竞选类似的竞选誓词、党派之争、荣誉以及最后的倒台，展示给我们平常生活中最易看到的但却很少有人触及的话题。文中，作者引用了很多政客以及典句，虽然没有直接告诉我们个人对政治的热爱，但是，从字里行间会轻易的看到。
就文章整体来说，还是有提升的空间。作者虽然重笔墨的描写整个竞选过程，却没有告诉人们这个经历为什么是难忘的深刻的。从文章的质量来看，毫无疑问是篇优秀的ESSAY，但是，作者没有说明选取题材的原因，但是就文章质量和作者个性描写角度来说，这篇文章已经堪称佳作。
—Athena Jiang
释义：
1.里根经济学，指里根总统执政期间实行的经济政策，其主要经济措施包括削减政府预算以减少社会福利开支，控制货币供给量以降低通货膨胀，减少个人所得税和企业税以刺激投资，放宽企业管理规章条例以减少生产成本。由于里根经济政策尽可能大幅度减低高收入者和 大企业的所得税率，又大幅度减少各项社会福利开支，故有人指责该政策“劫贫济富”。
2.罗伯特议事规则的内容非常详细，包罗万象，有专门讲主持会议的主席的规则，有针对会议秘书的规则，当然大量是有关普通与会者的规则，有针对不同意见的提出和表达的规则，有关辩论的规则，还有非常重要的、不同情况下的表决规则。
3.兴登堡号飞艇，航空器注册编号为D-LZ 129，是一艘德国的齐柏林飞艇，同期的姊妹号是LZ 130 Graf齐柏林飞艇II号，全长240米、高41米，重220吨，其长度足足有波音747的三倍半、只较泰坦尼克号短少24米而已，是当时世界上最大的飞行器。1937年5月6日，在一次例行载客飞行中从法兰克福飞往美国新泽西州的雷克霍斯特海军航空站。准备着陆的飞艇在离地面300英尺的空中起火，船体内的氢气和易燃的蒙皮导致大火迅速蔓延，飞艇在34秒内被焚毁，造成飞艇上的97位乘客中的36人及地面上的1人死亡，这成为当时航空界最惨重的灾难之一。
参考全文
(20)MICHAEL O’LEARY—“CROSSING THE RUBICON? CHILD’S PLAY”
The further back I look, the more my life reminds me ofthe opening of The Wonder Years—silent clips of WIFFLE ball in the driveway, wrestling with my brothers while Dad barbecues, even that girl with glasses and pigtails who trailed （follow）my every step. I’m pretty sure if I look back far enough I can even hear the faint murmur of Joe Cocker’s chorus echoing in the background. But when I reminisceabout endless summer afternoons and crustless peanut butter sandwiches, nothing shines more clearly than what happened one winter at West Elementary School. I was nine.
When I decided to run for presidentof the fourth-grade class, the die was not just cast, it’d already turned up a winner. I acted the politico part with promises, promises, and more promises. My bread and circuses would be chocolate milk at lunch, chalk at recess (to appease the four-square contingency), and enough dizzy-izzies at Field Day to get any kid sent home green. Having been caught too many times, I vowed that teachers would lose their right to read notes passed between secret admirers. I promised an end to the “No Eyes Closed” rule during reading time and, citing the 1934 Fair Labor Standards Act, I vowed to cut standardized test preparation by more than a third while more than doubling the length of the Halloween parade, the cultural high point of the fall term. “It’s morning again in West School,” I told them, and before I could even finish my first campaign speech the assembled electorate rose to its collective feet in a light show of stomping and flashing Velcro sneakers.
As voting day approached, I walked on proverbial air. I was becoming a real politician, a real huckster. I offered more hot cider than John Tyler offered hard. I was more common man than Jackson, more Camelot than Kennedy. I wrote better speeches on school buses than Lincoln on a train. When I’d walk the halls, third-grade girls would swoon and fifth-grade boys would nod in respect. Depending on with whom I spoke, I was left of FDR or right of Nixon all with a single word. I was the Father of the School, I wasUncle Mike, I was the Alpha and the Omega.
For years after, witnesses of the Great Schoolyard Debate of ’99 recounted in hushed murmurs how I picked apart the deeply flawed economic assumptions in my opponents’ “Free Balloon Day” campaign promise. They said I could win more votes with a single raise of an eyebrow than most could do with a Tupperware container of chocolate chip cookies.
“And congratulations to our new fourth-grade president, Michael O’Leary,” the principal finally announced on the PA. My people had stayed true. I must’ve thanked all eighty-eight classmates that day twice-over. I held the will of the student body in the palm of my benevolent hand.
The shenanigans that had characterized the elementary school student council now came to an abrupt end. No longer were the convoluted cogs of democracy clogged with partisan politics. I bridged the boy/girl gap, the third-/fourth-grader gap, the Pokémon/Digimon gap. I even bridged the gap between the swing set and the water tower that had turned more ankles than Mrs. Mitchell’s gym-class games of dodgeball. The finesse with which I managed the school’s activity fund could’ve made Reaganomics look fiscally irresponsible. Under my reign, truancy hit all time lows. I both started and ended a War on Apathy. And indolence? Not on my watch.
But no sooner had I begun to usher in this dawn of a golden age than dark clouds formed on the horizon. Clashes among representatives broke out. Some called me a dictator. They called for restrictions on my powers—for my resignation! No heavy-handed clap of my gavel could hope to reestablish Robert’s Rules of Order. I’m not sure if my rudder lacked a ship or their ship lacked my rudder, but my New Deal became No Deal. My Great Society became merely mediocre. The hot air of my campaign balloon had caught fire and turned disastrously reminiscent of the Hindenburg.
As the school year drained to an end, the very principal who’d announced my victory as president now told me that I would have to leave office when summer dawned. “Your turn is over,” she said, as if my limited tenure had been fixed from the start! I felt it was a furtive move, yes, but someone had to play Brutus to my Julius Caesar. I had flown high, perhaps too high, as I now stood in a pile of melted wax and feathers, my literary allusions becoming more cliché by the minute.
Instead of rising up with an army of mudslinging preteens and reclaiming my “rightful” place, I recognized the rueful hand of Providence in my demise and stepped down, clutching at least my dignity and my honor.
Most of my peers recall nothing of my presidency a decade ago, nor do they recall the weeks-long tenure of the three fourth-grade presidents who preceded me or the four who followed. But I do, and that’s what matters most. After all, history is written by its victors. And while the reality of my reign might be called into question, it stands apparent that my story is truer than true, that its so-called “reality” transcends mere facts or events. Tim O’Brien would be proud. Fade in Joe Cocker. Roll credits.
COMMENTARY
This essay stands out by portraying a relatively minor event that took place many years ago and would certainly not find its way onto a résumé, especially with its witty, satirical style. Chronicling the political process as it existed in elementary school,the writer frames his experiences using references from literature, politics, and television.His writing shows a sophisticated sense of humor.
By choosing a less-common topic and taking a lighthearted approach, the writer turns his childhood experience into a memorable story for his readers. The parallels the writer draws between fourth grade and real world politics—in terms of campaign promises, partisanship, glory, and finally, the fall to reality—demonstrate a unique perspective that many others with the same experience might not have captured. By frequently referencing political catchphrases, the writer is able to convey his interest in and knowledge of politics without directly saying so.
On the whole, this essay is quite compelling but could be improved by a few tweaks. Though the piece avoids the common mistake of attempting to deliver a moral in a heavy-handed way, it would have been strengthened by an explicit explanation forwhy this was such a noteworthy experience. As the essay stands, it does credit to the author in terms of the quality of the writing, but it is unclear why he chose to evoke memories of this subject in particular. Adding a few details about the meaningfulness of his experience would be helpful in this regard, while preserving the overall feel of the essay. However, these points do not detract from the quality of the writing or the personality of the writer, both apparent from reading the essay.
—Athena Jiang
