Holden William Bettis Memorial Scholarship

From a young age, I’ve been deeply sensitive to the struggles of children who grow up without stability, safety, or the unconditional support every child deserves. As I got older and learned more about the challenges faced by kids in foster care and families headed by single mothers, I realized that I wanted to dedicate my life to making a difference in their lives. That’s what led me to pursue a career in family law—not just as a profession, but as a purpose. Family law isn't just about legal paperwork, custody battles, or court hearings—it's about people. It’s about protecting the vulnerable, advocating for justice, and helping rebuild lives when families are fractured or at risk. I am especially drawn to cases involving foster care and single-parent households because these situations are often overlooked or mishandled in the legal system. Children end up feeling lost, unheard, and powerless. I want to be the person who stands beside them, who listens, who fights for what’s right—even when it’s difficult. The foster care system, in particular, is full of good intentions but too often falls short in execution. Many children cycle through homes without ever finding stability or the love they need to grow into healthy adults. They may feel invisible, confused, or angry—not because they’ve done anything wrong, but because the system failed to protect them. As a family lawyer, I want to be a steady advocate for these kids. I want to ensure they have someone who sees them as individuals, not just another case number. I’m also passionate about helping single mothers—women who, in many cases, are doing everything in their power to give their children a good life, often while facing judgment, financial strain, and limited legal support. Too many of these mothers are overwhelmed, misunderstood, and underserved. I’ve seen how the legal system can intimidate or dismiss them. I want to be the kind of lawyer who helps them understand their rights, navigate the system confidently, and come out stronger on the other side. My passion for family law is rooted in empathy, but it’s driven by a desire for tangible change. I’ve volunteered with children’s organizations, participated in mentorship programs, and sought out opportunities to learn about the real-life impact of legal decisions on families. These experiences have only strengthened my belief that the law can be a tool for healing and empowerment—when it’s wielded by someone who cares deeply about the people behind the cases. Becoming a family lawyer isn’t just my career goal—it’s my mission. I want to be a source of hope and clarity for kids in foster care, a fierce ally for single moms fighting for a better life, and a compassionate advocate who helps families find stability when everything around them feels uncertain. In a world where so many people go unheard, I want to make sure they are not only heard—but truly seen, understood, and protected.

Our past is the foundation of our future. Even when our history is hidden or untold, it wants to break free and remind us of who we are and where we came from. My name is Chloe McKay, and I was raised in a true Alaskan household with roots in the Scottish highlands. I held up my first catch when I was 4, and helped pack my first moose out of the mountains when I was 11. My dad, uncles, and grandpa all have flaming red hair and beards, built for the cold, and my sisters are gorgeous green-eyed beauties. I am an Alaskan and a McKay, through and through. Before my name was Chloe McKay, though, I was Chloe Hernandez. I was the adopted first daughter of my father, who took me in when he was 23 and single. We've always had a special connection, and I think he knew that from the moment he heard that I needed a home. Though we didn't have much money, we had the relationship and family that I was nearly unknowingly denied. I was never told I was adopted, but the past comes back to haunt us. It haunted me in the way my little sisters shared my dad's green eyes and freckles, my brown skin that "took after my well-tanned aunt," and the harmless jokes between sisters about how I look so much different than them. A slow, hidden trickle of doubt grew in me, building on a fact I already knew deep inside. My dad told me one week after my 16th birthday. "The McKays never lie to each other," he said, "but I haven't told you the whole truth for a long time." The mixed emotions that followed were a devastating mix of betrayal and confusion. But most of all, I felt a deep feeling of rightness. Ultimately, it never mattered that I wasn't Scottish by blood; he was still my dad, I still had two little sisters, and I still belonged to a family with an overflowing love for one another. I left that conversation with a new knowledge of my Hispanic (Puerto Rican) identity and the curious mind of someone with a new outlook on what culture and community mean. History always wants to be told, and I realized that as I thought back to my 4th grade project on the Mayan empire or my self-led Spanish lessons in middle school. Soon after that conversation, I started my first year in the Middle College program, where I studied at UAA as a high schooler with full funding from the school district. I dove into new classes in history, international studies, Spanish, and everything in the library I could get my hands on to catch up on the 16 years I thought I lost. Now, I'm 18 years old. I'm closer than ever with my little sisters, who also know and had a million jokes to make once the dust settled. My dad and I have bonded in new ways over how I came to be in his life, and learning about my past alongside me. I earned my associate's degree through Middle College, and I'm continuing my bachelor's at UAA in history and Spanish studies. I want to continue to embrace the history I didn't know about and become a teacher to educate the world about the people who came before us. No matter the decade or side of the world, families will always find their way to each other. And no matter how long it's hidden, our history will always come to light.

My name is Serenity Stamm. I was born in Palmer, Alaska, and currently live in Kenai, Alaska. Throughout my elementary school years, I was bullied mercilessly. Most of it was because I smelled bad, wore dirty clothes, and my hair was matted because it was never washed or brushed. I come from a very low-income household and now I am a single-person household as my parents have both abandoned me. I've had 4 jobs and am currently working at a grocery store as a produce clerk. Recently, I was accepted into college as a Pre-undeclared intended bachelor's student because my GPA isn't high enough to go straight into elementary education. My freshman year of high school was rough. Both of my grandpas had died, my friend died in an ATV crash, and both of my dogs were shot and killed. All of that on top of the pandemic made me lose almost all motivation to do anything. I would sit in my room in the dark on my phone for hours every day and talk to nobody. I told myself that there was no point in life if it was going to be this cruel. Then, in my sophomore year of high school, when everything started to get better, I had a sudden burst of motivation. I told myself I wasn't going to let myself fail the same way my parents did. Neither of my parents has a job and haven’t had a job for as long as I can remember. I want to make something of myself and give myself a chance at a better future. My grades still weren't as good as I was trying to pick up the slack on top of doing 4 credit recovery classes from the year before, but they were improving immensely. It was all thanks to my teachers and the way they treated me and motivated me to be the best version of myself. The one thing that has kept me going throughout my life is my teachers and the way they treated me like everyone else despite the obvious differences. They always knew I had potential and never doubted me even when I was failing. I believe that GPAs should not reflect the way we view people's intelligence. I know that I have the drive to make my dreams a reality. I want to change the lives of kids the same way my teachers changed mine.