Coty Crisp Memorial Scholarship

I’ve always been a quiet, timid kid who kept to himself. But people looking for someone to target with their hatred always seem to find a way. I grew up with a single mother who worked long hours just to provide for us. Because of that, certain conversations like the birds and the bees never really happened. I had to learn about things like that from other kids, including what it meant to be gay. For a long time, I didn’t understand the word. But in third grade, I was given a new nickname: “the gay kid.” Even though I didn’t yet know what it meant, I could tell from the way they said it that I was supposed to feel ashamed. From third grade until the end of high school, I endured name-calling and taunts. It became so normal that I learned to keep it all in and not show how much it affected me at least on the outside. On the day of graduation, I sat next to my best friend who also happened to be gay. In front of us sat a group of students who, without hesitation, called us both slurs as we stood up. For the first time, I felt a sharp anger not at them, but at myself. I was angry that I had let it happen again, this time to someone I cared about deeply. As I got older and began to explore the world beyond my small rural town, I realized that this kind of discrimination wasn’t just a local problem it was everywhere. I saw people like me being mistreated in schools, public spaces, and even healthcare settings. I knew I wanted to be someone who could help others feel safe, accepted, and cared for. I just didn’t know how yet. When I started taking college classes, my path became clearer. I felt a strong pull toward healthcare not just because of the science or the service, but because it was a way to make a difference. I realized that by working in healthcare, I could do two things at once: provide quality care and create a safe, welcoming space for those who are often excluded or mistreated. That’s when I discovered my passion for dental hygiene. Growing up, one of the things I was bullied for aside from being gay was my teeth. Getting braces changed more than just my smile it gave me confidence and a sense of strength. It allowed me to face the world with more courage. If I can give that same sense of confidence to someone else, especially someone who has also been made to feel less than, then I’ll feel like I’ve made a real difference. Even if my role is small, I believe that helping people feel seen, respected, and cared for—especially in a place as personal as a dental office—is one way I can fight against discrimination. And that, to me, is more than a career. It's my purpose.