Charles B. Brazelton Memorial Scholarship

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.