Ed and Flora Pellegri Scholarship

I know what it's like to be a child sitting in a classroom, feeling completely alone. Everyone around you seems to be consistently moving forward, overcoming obstacles with such ease and grace, while you're silently struggling just to keep up. When I was in elementary school, I was diagnosed with bacterial meningitis. At the time, I didn't fully understand what was happening. I just knew that I was very sick, in pain, and unable to keep up with the world around me. Bacterial meningitis is a life-threatening infection that causes inflammation of the brain and spinal cord. I spent so much time in hospitals and at doctors' offices, and even more time recovering at home, that I missed out on crucial time at school, with friends, building connections, and experiencing the normalcy of childhood routines. Returning to school was arguably more difficult than being away. I felt out of place, behind in every subject, and unsure of how to reconnect. My classmates had moved forward, but I was stuck in the aftermath of something they couldn’t see or understand. The emotional toll was heavy, and at that young age, I didn’t have the words to explain how I was feeling or the confidence to ask for help. What got me through this time were the teachers who saw me—who were patient, gentle, and encouraging. They didn’t just help me with math or reading; they made me feel safe. Their kindness helped me regain my footing and, eventually, my confidence. That experience planted my love for education and teaching future generations. Today, I am an undergraduate student at the University of New England, pursuing a degree in Marine Science and Education. I want to be a teacher because I know firsthand how powerful an educator's support can be. I want to be the person who notices when a student is struggling, who understands that a child's challenges in the classroom often reflect struggles happening outside of it. I want to make space for every student to feel seen, supported, and encouraged to grow at their own pace. Beyond the emotional challenges I have faced, I have also experienced ongoing financial hardship. Paying for college has meant balancing multiple jobs, handling student loans, and applying for every opportunity I can find to stay on track. It hasn’t been easy, but I have never lost sight of my goal. These hardships have taught me resilience and deepened my passion for teaching, as I know how important it is to have someone who believes in you when life gets hard. The Ed and Flora Pellegrini Scholarship would not only ease the financial burden of furthering my education but also allow me to focus more fully on becoming the teacher I am determined to be. I am not just pursuing a career; I am following a calling shaped by genuine passion and real experiences. I want to be the kind of teacher who leaves a real, beneficial impact on lives, because I know what it feels like to have your life changed by someone who cared.

Hearing gunshots throughout the night, watching drug exchanges occur right in front of me, or seeing another teenager on the news deceased due to gang violence was my regularity. As a child, I grew up below the poverty line, relying on government assistance to live. In the community I lived in, crime was normalized, and I became accustomed to it from a young age. It made it worse that I never had a father figure growing up because he was in jail throughout my whole childhood. When I was ten years old, my mother broke out of the poverty cycle and moved us to the suburbs to get me and my older brother out of the violent area. It was already too late for my brother as he had joined a gang and was taking part in criminal activities. Being in this crime-ridden community made me realize that I wanted different for myself; however, seeing my father and brother take part in it first-hand fueled a fire in me for change. After moving, I remember never really fitting into the primarily white middle school that I attended. No one had curls that coiled naturally like mine or melanin in their skin. Even though this was a challenge, I knew I wanted to show everyone around me how intelligent I was. My mother got her high school diploma while raising my brother, who she had at sixteen. My father was born in Puerto Rico and dropped out of middle school in sixth grade. This is why I always put my best foot forward in school. Despite people making fun of me for looking different, I knew they could not take my wits away from me. In high school, I was my class's salutatorian and participated in various clubs and activities, including DECA, Medical Careers Club, National Honors Society, and was a varsity volleyball captain. I took steps to become a well-rounded individual, the opposite of what I saw growing up. As the first member of my family to go to college, I am proud to be furthering my education. It is my responsibility to break the cycle in my family. I knew I wanted to make a difference in the criminal justice system as I watched the very city I grew up and my family all be sucked into the cycle of crime. I just completed my first year at Anna Maria College, majoring in forensic criminology. In a world where crime rates continue to pose significant challenges, the importance of forensic criminology cannot be overstated. Forensic criminologists are crucial in identifying perpetrators, preventing future crimes, and promoting societal safety and security. This field not only satisfies my intellectual curiosity but also aligns with my commitment to making a noticeable difference in the world by contributing to the understanding and resolution of criminal matters. I aim to build my way up as an investigator and eventually be a detective for cold cases. I will use scientific developments to help the loved ones who have lost someone and have not received justice. In addition, I plan to create an organization dedicated to exonerating wrongfully convicted individuals through DNA testing and other scientific advancements. I want to reform the criminal justice system, prevent future injustice, and leave my mark on people’s lives with what I do with my future career. I cannot wait to make a difference in my community and build the life I crave for myself despite the many challenges I have faced.

It may not look like much, but my chair was my "home away from home." It was a chair at Boston Children's Hospital's Infusion Center. When I was ten, I noticed my right knee was suddenly the size of a grapefruit. Soon, my other knee, wrists, and ankles were swollen and painful. I was referred to BCH's Emergency Department. I still remember the pop of the J-Tip as I received my first IV, the procedures, countless tests, and my fear. After an admission at BCH, I was diagnosed with Polyarticular Juvenile Idiopathic Arthritis with Systemic features (JIA). In basic terms, my immune system attacked my joints, causing them to swell from inflammation. This was the day my life changed forever. I saw myself as a lost cause after several medications failed. But then I sat in my chair, where I had two-hour IV infusions, every three weeks, for the next six years. My chair saw the highs and lows of my life; coming from a full school day, straight off the field hockey field and basketball courts, hysterically crying, laughing and celebrating birthdays. It took me a while to accept my diagnosis. My chair is where I experienced the spark of passion for my life’s mission. Looking back, I wouldn't change a thing. Sitting in that chair helped me to spread awareness about JIA, advocate for myself and others, fall in love with a future career, and grow closer to my grandparents. Sitting in my chair, I decided to volunteer with the Arthritis Foundation. I have a different life than most kids. When looking at me, you might not guess that something is wrong. Most people don't know that kids get arthritis too. When I explain my disease to kids my age, I compare it to older people. I dislike constantly explaining JIA to people, but raising awareness is my mission in life. In 2017, my father ran, and I raised money for the Arthritis Foundation at the NYC Marathon. In 2021, I was the Youth Honoree for the Arthritis Foundation's Massachusetts Jingle Bell Run, and since 2022, I have been one of the Co-Chairs. To date, I have raised over $13,000.00 for the Arthritis Foundation. Sitting in my chair, I learned how to advocate for myself and others. I have served on BCH's Teen Advisory Committee (TAC) for three years, collaborating with staff and doctors to enhance the quality and quantity of programs and practices that affect teen patients at BCH. Being a part of TAC has helped me embrace my JIA, knowing I am helping myself and others like me. Sitting in my chair, I fell in love with my future career. It gave me a front-row seat to watch every nurse's care and compassion for their patients. My biggest dream is to become a Nurse Practitioner and work in pediatrics. I can't thank my nurses enough, and I hope to pay it forward to other kids when I become a Nurse Practitioner. Sitting in my chair allowed me to grow closer to my grandparents. For years, my grandparents would drive me to my infusions. The time I spent with them in the car and sitting in my chair was priceless. I know they won't always be here, and I cherish the time we spent together and their selflessness. My JIA sometimes makes my life challenging because it's an "invisible illness." The time in my chair helped me understand that everything happens for a reason. I am grateful for my JIA and look forward to making a difference for kids in the future.