James T. Godwin Memorial Scholarship

One of my favorite memories involving my dad is the day he came home from his deployment in Afghanistan. It was near the end of my first grade year, sometime in late May of 2015. I was about seven years old, and even though I was really young, that moment is still very clear in my mind. I remember walking through the fifth grade hallway at my elementary school for some reason. I honestly don’t remember exactly why I was there, maybe I needed to go to the office for something, but I do remember how cool I felt walking through that hallway. The fifth graders were the oldest kids in the school, and when you’re little, the older kids always seem like the “top dogs.” As I walked toward the office, I could see the front desk area from down the hallway. Standing there was a man wearing an army combat uniform. The moment I saw his face, I immediately realized it was my dad. Without a second thought, I ran straight into the office and yelled “Dad!” I jumped into his arms and hugged him so tightly. He lifted me up and held me there. My mom was there too, recording the whole thing on her phone. My dad had brought a teddy bear for me. After being gone for almost a year, it felt like the best surprise ever. At one point I remember telling him that I had to go back to class, but the school ended up letting me stay with him until recess. When recess finally came around, I felt so proud and excited that my dad was there. I remember wanting to show him off to everyone. A bunch of kids gathered around us because they thought he looked really cool in his uniform. Some of them asked him questions, and others just wanted to hang out with us. My favorite part of that whole day was when we walked out to the track just beyond the playground. My mom was still nearby filming everything. I held my dad’s hand while we walked around the track, but at some point I would run off with the other kids and then come back again. At one point I even convinced him to run with us for a little bit. I remember feeling so full of energy and excitement just because he was finally back. My dad had been gone for a whole year, and at six or seven years old I didn’t fully understand the kind of danger he was in. I just knew that he was far away and that I missed him a lot. While he was deployed, he would send letters and we would talk on Skype whenever we could. I remember we’d often have bad connection and I would just stare at a frozen picture of him waiting for it to connect again, hoping it would connect again. Even now, every time I hear that old Skype ringtone, it instantly brings me back to that time in my life. I can picture myself sitting at the desk in my mom’s dining room with the warm overhead light on, waiting for my dad to answer the call or for the ringtone to stop and his face to appear on the screen. It’s strange how certain sounds can trigger memories so strongly. That whole period of time, and especially the day he came home, is something I will always remember. It reminds me not only of how much I missed him, but also of how proud I’ve always been of him.

My sweet great-granddaddy died one morning peacefully in his sleep. He was 93 years old, and had celebrated his 70th anniversary with his bride just two weeks prior. He called me "Princess," loved to sing and dance, was a jokester and a lover of life. He'd let me ride beside him in his Cadillac and steer the wheel. As I got older, he let me push the gas pedal, too. He gave me Butterfinger candy bars at my piano recitals, and everything I played was just "the best song he'd ever heard me play." Every song. His favorite was Greensleeves. He loved Lawrence Welk and golf. He would rock me and sing, "Little girl, little girl, where did you sleep, where did you sleep last night?" And when we asked him what we were having for supper, he always told us we had to eat a ham-ram-bare-buffalo-beef-sandwich..... with a stalk of bananas. He loved Long John Silver's, Little Debbies, peanut brittle, and Fig Newtons. He taught me to play dominoes and our favorite card game, "Oh Hell," the name of which I was always hesitant to say out loud. He made everyone mad when he'd lead with a heart, and every time he'd innocently grin and act surprised. He kept a black comb in his shirt pocket and a handkerchief in his jeans. He had a long career in the Air Force, and upon retirement went on to work for the Police Department, serving 20 years and retiring from there as well. One might assume that meant he was a tough man, a man who'd seen many painful things in his careers, who'd been hardened through experiences that come with jobs such as those. And maybe he was to some. But to me, he was the tender granddaddy who placed my feet on top of his and danced me joyfully across his living room floor, even when my feet grew way too big for him to do so comfortably. He was the one who sat on his porch waiting for us to walk up his front sidewalk. And the one who walked us out and stood on that same porch watching us get back into our car to go home. Every single time I came into his house or left it, he met me on the front porch. He was there when I came in, he was there when I left, and he stayed there waving until our car was out of sight. As he grew older, he struggled with dementia, but even then, he was still Granddaddy. He would pat my young, tender hands with his crinkly, calloused hands. He'd let me curl up with him in his rocking chair. He still sang the same old songs while we rocked. We have one of his old, rickety rocking chairs sitting in my little brother's bedroom now. There is tape wrapped around one of the spindles that holds the base of the chair together, and often it is filled with my brother's clothes or army men or baseballs. But I empty it out, pick up my brother, and rock him in Granddaddy's rocking chair just like my granddaddy rocked me. Granddaddy never got to meet my little brother. He would have loved him fiercely and delighted in his boyish ways. But I still think there was just something he loved most about the tenderness that came from being a little girl's granddaddy. I'm so glad he was mine. And every time I rock in his chair, I can still hear him singing, "Little girl, little girl, where did you sleep..."

"Transformation takes pressure. And pressure is often painful, but it also reveals who really wants it." - My daddy Growing up as a military brat was hard, but it also came with so much insight and perspective. My father, Nathan Benischek, served for over 20 years in the US Marine Corps. And was on active duty for 15 years of my life. When I reflect on my childhood, the thing that fills my heart the most is thinking about my dad coming home each day in that uniform. My little brother and I would run out the front door each time he came home with an elated "DADDYYYYYYYYYYY!" To this day, I use his example of steadfastness, dedication, and discipline to help guide me in my life. Not many people can say, "My dad was a drill instructor", but I can. I witnessed my father serve three years on Parris Island at 3rd Battalion, India Company. He was gone before the sun came up and didn't come home till past my bedtime. My mother would always let me stay up so I could see my dad for just a couple of minutes and get my goodnight hug. Those hugs were the most exciting part of my entire day and meant the world to me. It was hard to watch my father work so tirelessly and with no days off. My mother knew his training schedule by heart and would occasionally pack us kids in the car and do secret drive-bys so we could at least see him from afar. We weren't allowed to draw attention to ourselves as the recruits were not supposed to know the drill instructors even had a family, not until graduation day anyway. I will never forget when I was 4 years old, and I just couldn't understand why I wasn't allowed to say 'hi'. So unbeknownst to my mother, I rolled my back window down, took a deep breath, and hollered as loud as I could, "Hiiiiii DADDYYYYYYYYYYY!" as I waved generously from the road. Eighty-six recruits and my father all turned their attention towards our car as I stood in my seat and waved. I still smile to this day as I recall the look of surprise on my father's face as he sheepishly waved back and chuckled, "Hey, baby" with the warmest smile. My father was tough, proud, and as smart as they come. He served with honor and was distinguished amongst his peers. But one thing was certain: he loved his family with his whole heart, and I believe that was what helped push him forward on the hardest of days. Aviation has been part of my life since childhood. Growing up near MCAS Cherry Point, the sound of helicopters and jets overhead was as normal as hearing birds. I think I grew up longing to be a part of my father's world, and the sights and sounds overhead certainly planted that seed. This foundation has instilled in me the drive to become one of the 6% of women in air transportation worldwide. Today, I am enrolled at Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University, where I have obtained my pilot's license and am working toward my instrument ratings. I aspire to be a Medical Evacuation Aviator because helping others, animals, or people has always mattered to me. That same sense of purpose is why medevac flying feels like the place I’m meant to be. It’s aviation with a heartbeat.  I’m on my way to making a meaningful difference. And most of all, I hope to make my daddy proud.

Boy do I ever have a story for you, because in my family, the best military stories did not come from a tall man in uniform but from my five foot nothing great grandmother, Virginia Mills Vogel. Otherwise known as Big Grandma. Big Grandma served in the Women’s Army Corps during the Korean War, stationed in Germany during the occupation, and she was truly one of a kind. If you were lucky enough to sit at her table, you were in for a treat, and a story that somehow grew bigger every time she told it. Big Grandma did not join the service out of a call to defend our country, or for a life of adventure. She joined because her older brother wanted to serve desperately, but because of a physical disability, he was not allowed. So she simply went in his place, carrying his dream with her. That sense of loyalty and family has echoed through generations, and it is one of the reasons her story still matters so much to me. Her military escapades began almost immediately at boot camp. She loved telling the story of being ordered to dig a latrine that was six feet wide and six feet deep. Convinced that no one would actually check, she dug it just shy of the mark. To her surprise, the drill sergeant pulled out a tape measure, and not only was she ordered to redo it but she had to start from the beginning. She was shocked, but not discouraged and knew that the second attempt would be easier because there was no way that the drill sergeant would measure again. However, once again the tape measure came out and she was just a little short. Digging for the third time was the moment she knew she was in trouble. She would laugh so hard telling that story that it was impossible not to laugh with her. It was a lesson she carried proudly. Do the job right, because someone is always measuring. While her military stories were unforgettable, so were her tales of growing up in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Between stories of snowdrifts taller than houses, running away at 13 to be able to go to high school, and hard work being a way of life, she painted a picture of resilience that felt larger than any history book. She was tough, funny, and full of heart, and she never let her size define her strength. One of the most meaningful parts of her legacy is the bond she shared with my dad. Though decades separated their military experiences, they connected in a way no one else in the family quite understood. Their conversations felt timeless, like service had created its own language. Watching that bond taught me that military service is not just about one generation. It is a thread that weaves families together through shared values, stories, and pride. Being part of a military family has taught me that service comes in many forms. Sometimes it is wearing the uniform. Sometimes it is honoring someone else’s dream. And sometimes it is passing down stories that remind future generations where they come from. Big Grandma gave me more than funny memories. She gave me an understanding of courage, sacrifice, and the power of a good story told from the heart. Everyone should be so lucky to have someone like her in their family. If you are interested you can hear from Big Grandma here where she was interviewed by the news during her Honor Flight, and the caption talked about her million of stories! https://www.facebook.com/share/v/18zLVPjmRu/?mibextid=wwXIfr

My big brother, Gavin, is in the Coast Guard, and he always seems to come home with a new story to tell. Most of them are funny, but the ones that stick with me the most are from boot camp, because wow, they really do run a tight ship. Gavin told us that anytime someone farted, the drill sergeant would yell “VACUUM!” and all the recruits had to start sucking in air like they were trying to pull all the oxygen out of the room. I completely lost it when he told us that, and it has been a running joke between me and my friends ever since. Another story he told was about how the recruits had to shower in what he called a “conveyor belt of men,” and as they walked through, they were required to yell “SCRUB, SCRUB, SCRUB” the entire time. What gets me the most about these stories is that if anyone was caught doing something as small as smirking, they could be reverted a whole week. I still don’t understand how anyone could go through that without laughing. One of my favorite stories he shared didn’t even come from a phone call, it came in a letter. While he was in boot camp, Gavin secretly started an underground chess club with some of the other recruits. In his letter, he wrote that they only managed to play one game before they were to scared they'd get caught, and that the board he sent me was the one they used. He explained how “every second of our day is monitored,” and that if you even get caught smiling or laughing, you can get in a lot of trouble. Reading that made his funny stories feel more real. It wasn’t just jokes, he was actually living in a place where even small things could get you in trouble. He also wrote that he wasn’t in trouble yet, which made me laugh, but what really stuck with me was the end of the letter. He asked me to send pictures, stamps, drawings, “anything really”, and then said he missed me and couldn’t wait to see me. When I opened the package and saw the chess board he made, I just stared at it for a while. The lines were uneven, and the paper was worn, but that made it better. It was something he made during one of the hardest times of his life, and he chose to give it to me. Even though he didn’t intend for his letter to carry any deep advice, it did. It gave me motivation to keep pushing forward, and it reminded me that no matter how hard life gets, the good moments, both big and small, make it worth it.

One of the most influential figures in my life has been my father, a dedicated veteran who served in the military with unwavering commitment. His stories of service, discipline, and resilience have not only shaped my perspective on life but have also instilled in me a deep sense of respect for those who dedicate their lives to serving our country. Among the many lessons he has taught me, one particular memory stands out as a defining moment in my understanding of perseverance and duty. When I was younger, my father shared a story from his time in the military that left a lasting impact on me. He recounted a grueling training exercise in which he and his fellow soldiers were pushed to their physical and mental limits. The conditions were harsh—freezing temperatures, limited rations, and exhausting drills—but quitting was never an option. He spoke about how the experience taught him the value of resilience and teamwork, emphasizing that success was not about individual strength but about supporting those around you. This lesson resonated with me throughout my life. I carried it with me as I balanced academics, JROTC, work, and family responsibilities. There were times when exhaustion and stress made me question whether I could handle everything on my plate, but I always remembered my father’s words. His example reminded me that true strength lies in perseverance and the willingness to push forward, even when circumstances seem insurmountable. Beyond his stories, my father’s actions have spoken volumes about the values he holds dear. He has always led by example, demonstrating self-discipline, integrity, and an unwavering commitment to his family and community. His service-inspired work ethic influenced my decision to join JROTC, where I embraced leadership roles and committed myself to community service. Completing over 400 hours of volunteer work, mentoring younger cadets, and assisting at local events were not just activities for me—they were ways to honor the values my father embodied. One of the greatest lessons my father taught me was the importance of giving back. Despite his demanding career, he always found time to support fellow veterans, volunteer at community events, and encourage me to do the same. His dedication to service influenced my own aspirations, reinforcing my desire to pursue a career in oncology. Just as he served his country, I want to serve others by providing compassionate medical care and advocating for those in need. Looking back, I realize that my father’s military background shaped not only his character but also the person I am today. His sacrifices and values have given me a sense of purpose, reminding me that no challenge is too great when faced with determination and a strong support system. This scholarship would allow me to further my education and continue his legacy of service, ensuring that I can make a meaningful impact in my chosen field. In honoring my father’s dedication, I strive to embody the resilience, discipline, and compassion that he has always exemplified.

My grand father Doug served as an MP in the Vietnam War. He has been an incredibly important person in my upbringing. He babysat me, gave me work to do as a teenager, and has helped me throughout my life to overcome many different issues, as well as taught me how to better manage myself, and my relationships. He has been an incredible support pillar in my life, as well as the lives of all my uncles, aunts and cousins and siblings. It was only recently I started to take more of an interest into his upbringing, and It has fascinated me. Looking at how different life was for him when he was my age is just crazy, and the fact he had soon to be classic cars driving around all the time is just awesome to think about. But after learning more about his upbringing, and how he had to work incredibly hard to get to where he is, especially after going to war, it has inspired me to get my life in order, and work towards living the life that I want for myself. When he came back from Vietnam, he became a therapist, and without realizing it he has been teaching me methods to help myself throughout my life. How to be more introspective, more receptive to others criticism, get over heart break, and how to deal with day-to-day frustrations in a much more productive manner. Almost every time I talk to him, I end up learning something that will help me and my relationships with other people, myself, and help me with my future. He has been someone I have always looked up to as an example of excellence in both character and work ethic. The stories of his youth and the hardships he has endured with school, family troubles, the war, and with health issues now in his old age, he has been and always has been a shining example of a provider and pillar of a family, and a great example of what it is to be a man. He has played a much larger role in my life than other grandparents, and even the grandparents of my friend’s families. He has helped mold me into the person I am today, and will continue to do so, even long after his passing (hopefully not for a long while) and I will continually look up to him as a guide for the kind of compassionate, caring and hard working man that he is.

My maternal grandfather was a member of the federally recognized Gros Ventre tribe at Fort Belknap, Montana. He was the youngest of five boys and one girl, and the last to enlist in the Armed Forces. While all his brothers joined the military, he didn’t want to follow in their footsteps, so he enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps. All of his brothers fought in Vietnam, and he lost one brother during this war. One of his brothers served in the U.S. Air Force, U.S. Army, U.S. Navy, and U.S. Coast Guard. After graduating from boarding school on his reservation in Montana, he enlisted before the Vietnam War began. In the U.S. Marines, his role was that of a journalist. He was an excellent writer who could tell a story with vital details. He was intelligent and encouraged continuous learning. He was the first person to give me a book and teach me the significance of words. The first book I owned, which he gave me, was a complete collection of the Brothers Grimm. He also nurtured my love of learning, analyzing, and researching. My maternal grandfather helped raise me while I grew up in his home. My parents didn’t raise me; my maternal grandparents did. I was raised in a strict household that admired the Armed Forces. My grandfather fought in Vietnam and documented events while sharing stories from the battlefield. He eventually retired and developed a deep love for history and literature, which he shared with me. He stayed active throughout his life and embodied the values he gained during service. From a young age, I recognized his deep connection and respect for the U.S. Marine Corps. One Christmas, I bought him a miniature sculpted replica of the iconic planting of the U.S. flag by six Marines during the Battle of Iwo Jima on Mount Suribachi. I had never seen my grandfather shed a tear until he received this gift. He told me it was the best gift he had ever received. His love of country and his belief in respect, justice, and rights for all inspired me to enlist in the U.S. Army. He was a remarkable man who walked up to seven miles daily into his 80s and maintained a healthy diet. He taught me the importance of daily learning, healthy eating, holistic self-care, resilience, and striving to lead a fulfilling life. He also encouraged me to pursue higher education and attend college to earn the highest degree possible and achieve a successful career. My grandparents raised me to be ambitious, authentic, creative, motivated, and caring toward others. Although both have passed away, their values resonate with me. Their beliefs and upbringing have kept my desire for education alive. Despite the many obstacles life has presented and the challenges I faced, what they taught me has motivated me to move forward. My grandfather ignited a fire within me to pursue education, honoring both my grandparents, who rest peacefully, and my family, who believe in my abilities. I dream of fully applying myself and pursuing my Master of Business Administration degree.

My Opa has qualities similar to Mr. Godwin and he is a Retired USAF Senior Master Sergeant. He is not just a storyteller; he has become the historian for our family since his retirement. The funniest story that comes to mind is one he and my mom tell about his return to Willow Grove NAS after Desert Storm. He had been overseas for months, living in "tent city". Finally, their unit was headed home. They stopped overnight in New England before the welcome ceremony outside Philadelphia. Opa called my mom that morning, before she left for the base, to let her know his head was bandaged and looked worse than it was. He wanted her to know he was OK. The crowds had gathered; signs, flowers, and loved ones were everywhere. The planes approached in the distance; the excitement was building. They landed, crews disembarked, and reunions began. Off came my Opa in his flight suit, tan from the desert sun, smiling with his entire face and with bandages wrapped around his head. Attention from so many shifted to him, this poor soldier wounded and returning home. People were emotional: concerned for him, swarming him, thanking him for his service, praying for him. I believe there was even a nun who made the sign of the cross, laid hands on him, and prayed for him. He graciously thanked them and just kept trying to get to his family without any fuss. He was in a hurry to leave the base and get to the family gathering. That was where he revealed the cause of his injury. The night before, in New England, he had tripped on a tent stake and sustained a pretty significant gash on his head. It wasn't the wartime injury everyone assumed, and he was embarrassed by all the attention. My Opa isn't flashy; he doesn't thrive on attention, so this story is just very funny to me. I learned so much about his time in the service when he turned 75 two years ago. My mom reached out to as many former Air Force buddies as she could and had them all record a video message wishing him a Happy Birthday. These were guys he hadn't seen or heard from in decades. Each one my mom connected with had story after story they shared, and my mom kept a notebook with notes from the various tales. She and I drove down to Florida to surprise him for his birthday. We took him for a burger on the big day. Little did he know that my mom had found his best friend Chris, whom he had lost touch with years ago. Chris drove 8 hours to be part of our surprise and just happened to walk up to our table and ask if he could join us. At first, Opa didn't recognize him. Then, when it clicked, he was stunned! It was amazing to be part of such a genuine surprise. My mom wanted to give him the gift of memories and friendship. We still have the video of all the tales and birthday wishes, as well as some great old photos. Chris came back to the house, and the storytelling continued into the night. My other grandpa is Retired US Navy CW04; he told me he wished he could have had a tape recorder to record all the war stories his grandfather told. When a loved one passes, all the stories that aren't recorded go with them, yet it's the stories and memories that keep them alive. I couldn't agree more and love hearing the stories.

My father was a teacher, then a retired Air Force veteran, and once again a teacher. He was always thinking of ways to test me. On the funny side, two events come to mind. The first was about cherry pie. Our family liked pies—Rhubarb for my brother and apple for my mother and sister. Cherry was for Dad and me. One Thanksgiving I was to have a lifelong pie lesson. I complained about how big of a slice he took out of the new pie. He turned to me and handed me the slice of pie. Then he took the rest of the pie and ate it. Point Dad. Not long after that came you have to be smarter than ___ lesson. I was a pretty good football player in high school and he always said I had two speeds, not moving or too fast. When leaving the house I would run through the kitchen and out the door to the carport. I had it timed perfectly. I was turning the doorknob, pulling the door open, and sliding through in one motion. He was sitting at the kitchen table when I came through a warp speed when I pulled the door and it was locked. I hit the wall so hard that I damaged the drywall. The lesson was two-fold. I learned to repair drywall and as my dad pointed out I only had to be smarter than the door. Two points Dad. I could also write about my amazing brother. He is a Navy combat veteran with a silver star and 2 purple hearts. But my last dad's story is about when he told me not to be ashamed of washing out of Army Rotary Wing flight school. He crashed two planes be he moved into AirForce intelligence. He was so proud when I did not fail flight school and became a warrant officer with a medivac specialty. But this story is about a Medivac pilot (me) who loved my service and went on to 35 years of Healthcare software sales. However, that is not the ending to my story. I am blessed with great health and mental acuity so I wanted the last part of my career to be as important as my first years in the Army. Like my dad teaching is my last goal. Many years ago, I began teaching business classes at Rutledge Junior College. Most of those students had a rough life and wanted to learn to make their lives better. I loved it and wanted to help since I knew how much my family helped me. More recently I started being a substitute around COVID-19. My daughter who has now taught special education for 22 years, asked me to be a substitute teacher because of the teacher shortage. I got the teaching bug. Why ask for a scholarship later in life? There is a huge shortage of Special Education teachers so I am pursuing a master’s in special education. The goal is to be certified to teach children with mild to moderate disabilities. This is an expensive venture. More so when you raise two wonderful granddaughters. All scholarships matter. I will start teaching special education in the fall on a provisional certification. That way I can effect change faster and add years to my teacher impact. Thank you for your consideration.

Four years ago, my older brother wanted to enlist in the military. Always seeking a challenge, he chose the Marines as his branch of service. Soon, he realized he would have to overcome obstacles before completing basic training. He was then faced with his first challenge, losing weight. Together, I and my brother began eating what we described as “turtle food.” From literal lettuce to fruit salads, we jokingly ate like herbivores to support his diet. Even at restaurants, we’d be sure to each eat a salad, which favored his weight loss. Combined with his consistent workout routine, my brother drastically began to lose weight. The next challenge faced him. He needed to make the most of his hometown before he left. This challenge was partially complex since COVID-19 was among us. My brother was stationed in California and wouldn’t return to New Orleans until four years later. Knowing this, my brother and I became tourists. We visited places like Canal Street as if it were our first time in the area. We ate king cake as if we didn’t buy it every year. Yet, it wasn’t the sites or the king cake we wanted; it was the memories we solidified. My brother had then overcome another challenge. The most complex challenge yet had then faced my brother. My brother, Bernard, had to leave. He had graduated high school, lost weight, and made memories. Knowing he had to cut his hair, he let me take the first action. I cut his dreadlocks (very poorly) before he received his actual haircut. They cut the rest relatively short, looking clean and formal. We drove him to his recruiters and took many photos before formally saying goodbye. While at basic, my family and I sent my brother letters and often called him to encourage him. Despite losing the opportunity to congratulate him on his transition from basic training to the military (due to COVID), we were proud of the state of Louisiana. Now, I am facing my challenge. It’s been four years since my brother left. I’ve gone from a first-year student to a senior in high school, and now I’m leaving. While I attend college, my brother will return home to continue his life outside the military. Despite his return, I sadly won't be seeing much of it. I’ll now be facing my challenges and my endeavors. Hopefully, he’s here to help me the way I hopefully helped him.

When I think of Cannon Beach, I think of my mom. My mom served in the Navy as a Lieutenant. She was a doctor and traveled to many states for her work. My favorite memory of my mom is of our first trip together. I was 12 years old and we drove to Cannon Beach, Oregon. We spent two days exploring the beach, biking, and drinking coffee. When we arrived at Cannon Beach, we headed straight for the ocean. The first time my mom had the opportunity to visit the ocean, she was 16 years old. She had never seen the ocean before this because she grew up in Missouri. We reached the beach during low tide and so we walked to Haystack Rock. By the rock, we saw coral reefs, starfish, crabs, sea anemones, and much more. We watched the sunset and the next morning we watched the sunrise from our bedroom window. That morning we waded into the water and soaked up the sun. We observed people fly their kites and we relaxed in the sand. The ocean is our favorite place to be. The hotel we stayed at included complimentary bikes. After low tide, we borrowed two bikes and biked to the beach. My mom’s bike was light blue and mine was black and red. We spent an hour or two biking on the shore. It’s the only time we biked together. When the sun started to set we stopped biking, took off our sandy flip-flops, and sat down on the beach. We viewed the sunset and talked. My mom shared a memory of when she was a teen that biking had reminded her of. When my mom was 15 years old, she threw her brother’s bike down a hill by their house because he had shot her in the forehead with a BB gun. Then we biked back to the hotel. My mom and I love to be active, and biking together is one of my earliest memories of exercising with her. My mom’s love for coffee has influenced my whole family. She introduced my dad to coffee when they first started dating and my mom let me try her cappuccino when I was 11. Cannon Beach has many exceptional coffee shops, so we decided to have a coffee tour. The first coffee shop we sampled was Sea Level Coffee. Sea Level had a cute, beachy aesthetic. At Sea Level, my mom told me about her first date with my dad. They met at a coffee shop. My dad was late and when he arrived he said, "Sorry I was late. I was sailing." We laughed about that. Next, we tried Insomnia Coffee. Insomnia had delicious coffee and pastries. Later we discovered Insomnia has locations close to home. Lastly, we visited Sleepy Monk Coffee. Sleepy Monk had specialty mochas, bagels, and many types of beans. We both ordered specialty mochas and instantly fell in love. To this day, Sleepy Monk is our favorite coffee shop and every time we go to Cannon Beach it is our first stop. Over the years, my mom and I have continued to visit coffee shops together and chat over Americanos and mochas. My favorite memory of my mom is the first time we went on a trip with just the two of us. We got to share our love of nature, sports, and coffee. We had so many deep conversations and I learned a lot about her life as a teenager. Cannon Beach is my favorite place to be because of all the memories I made with my mom there.

My grandpa served during Vietnam and is one of the most respectful, kind, helpful, and patient people I have ever known. He has taught me a lot about life and has taught me skills as well. He has a perfect marriage with God included. I strive to be like him. One story that stands out to me happened when I was around 16 years old. My grandpa wanted to show me how to drive a stick shift car. It was a hot summer day, and I was getting frustrated becauseI struggled to switch gears smoothly. I remember him always saying “Take your time.” He continued to encourage me until I eventually started to get the hang of it. This lesson taught me a lot about patience and persistence which has stuck with me throughout my life. Grandpa's influence goes beyond practical skills; he has also shown me the importance of kindness and respect. He always treats people with the utmost respect, no matter who they are or what their background is. This is something I have tried to carry into my own life, whether it is through my studies in civil engineering at Grand Rapids Community College or my part-time jobs as a coach, lawn care worker, irrigation technician, and asphalt lab technician. In each of these roles, I strive to be kind and respectful, just like my grandpa. One of the most valuable lessons my grandpa taught me is the importance of having strong values and living by them. He has a perfect marriage with God included, and this has shown me the importance of faith and commitment. I try to apply these values in my own life, whether it is in my relationships or my work. For example, when I am coaching ultimate frisbee, I always emphasize teamwork, respect, and perseverance. These are values that I learned from my grandpa, and I believe they are essential for success in any area of life. Despite my high school GPA of 2.7 and my current college GPA of 2.76, I am determined to work hard and improve. My grandpa's teachings about persistence and not giving up have been a great source of motivation for me. I know that with hard work and dedication, I can achieve my goals and make him proud. In conclusion, my grandpa has been a significant influence in my life. He has taught me valuable lessons about patience, kindness, respect, and the importance of strong values. I strive to be like him in everything I do, and I am grateful for the impact he has had on my life. I believe that these qualities make me a strong candidate for the James T. Godwin Memorial Scholarship, and I hope to continue to honor my grandpa's legacy through my studies and future career in civil engineering.