RonranGlee Special Needs Teacher Literary Scholarship

Why I’m Passionate About Special Education & How I Help Students Discover Their Presence By Chloe Williams Professor Harold Bloom once said, “I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence.” To me, this quote captures the very heart of what it means to be an educator—especially in the field of special education. To experience a “sense of presence” is to become aware of your worth, your power, and your place in the world. It means knowing you matter, even if your learning path looks different from others. It means walking into a room and knowing you belong there. For many students with special needs, that kind of self-awareness doesn’t come easily. Too often, they’ve been told—directly or indirectly—that they’re “too much,” “not enough,” or “a problem.” My mission as a future special education teacher is to undo that damage. I want to guide my students toward the truth of who they are: capable, brilliant, unique, and worthy of love and learning. My passion for special education isn’t academic—it’s personal. I know what it’s like to be overlooked, underestimated, and labeled as a statistic. I grew up in the foster care system, bouncing between homes and schools, never feeling grounded or truly seen. Then at sixteen, I became a mother, navigating high school, part-time work at AMC Theatres, and motherhood all at once. I wasn’t expected to succeed—but I did. And I did it because, somewhere along the way, a few educators saw something in me and refused to let me fade into the background. They made me feel present. That feeling changed everything. That’s the kind of educator I strive to be. In the classroom, I believe in meeting each child exactly where they are—no shame, no judgment. I use strategies grounded in empathy, structure, and creativity to help my students build confidence and skills at the same time. Whether that’s breaking down a lesson into manageable steps, using visual aids, or celebrating even the smallest victories, my goal is always the same: to help each child discover their strengths and recognize their value. Presence, for some students, might look like raising their hand for the first time. For others, it might be reading aloud with pride, taking the lead in a group project, or advocating for what they need. No matter how big or small the moment, when a child begins to realize they matter—that’s when the magic of teaching happens. Outside the classroom, I’m working toward completing my degree in sociology and entering a master’s program in special education and literacy. I’ve been a paraprofessional for over 15 years, and I’ve had the honor of supporting students with autism, learning disabilities, anxiety, and more. I’ve also raised a now-17-year-old son who I’m sending off to college soon. Every experience has taught me something new about patience, adaptability, and the importance of showing up with your whole heart. I plan to use this career not just to teach, but to build—programs, safe spaces, community partnerships, and eventually, a learning center in Harlem that focuses on literacy and individualized support for children with special needs. I want my legacy to be one that says: “Every child deserves to feel seen, supported, and significant.” ⸻ Optional Fairy Tale: “Chloe and the Classroom of Hidden Stars” Once upon a time, in a bright and bustling village called Harlem, there lived a woman named Chloe. She wasn’t born into royalty, nor did she have a fairy godmother or a castle to call her own. She had something better—grit, love, and a dream. Chloe had once been a child who felt invisible. She wandered through forests of uncertainty and crossed rivers of rejection, never quite sure where she belonged. But one day, she stumbled upon a mirror in the woods. When she looked into it, she didn’t see weakness. She saw strength. She saw a mother. She saw a teacher. She returned to the village and built a small school made of warmth, books, laughter, and hope. It wasn’t fancy, but it glowed. And soon, children from all corners of the village arrived—kids who didn’t fit in other schools, kids who spoke in different ways, moved at different speeds, or felt like their magic had been overlooked. Chloe greeted each child like they were royalty. She gave them capes made of courage and tools made of trust. She taught them to read, to count, to speak their truth—but more than anything, she helped them look into their own mirrors and see themselves fully, powerfully present. Word spread, and soon, other villages began to send their teachers to learn from Chloe. But she never left her school. Because every day, as she watched a child shine in their own unique way, she knew she had already found her happily ever after.

The Quiet Power of Presence: A Journey Through Tutoring and Self-Awareness The room smells of faintly sharpened pencils and old books, the air thick with a silence that seems to press in from all sides. Elijah sits across from me, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the desk, lost in a world that I can’t yet see. Outside, the world spins on, unaware of the stillness within these four walls, where time doesn’t rush but lingers. Here, in this quiet space, I’ve learned that the most profound lessons are often unspoken—lessons that aren’t about what we do, but about who we are, exactly as we are. Elijah, nine years old and living with autism, had been labeled as “withdrawn” by his teachers, his learning described as “non-compliant.” He was the kind of student that others thought they had figured out, a “difficult case” who didn’t fit neatly into the box of conventional education. When I first met him, the challenge was clear: how do you teach a child who refuses to speak, who doesn’t engage with the material in the way other students do? The first few sessions, I found myself constantly trying to break through the silence, looking for ways to coax him into interaction. But nothing worked—not at first. In the quiet of those first meetings, I learned something I hadn’t expected: Elijah wasn’t silent because he was disengaged. He was silent because he was present—deeply, fully present, but in a way that was unfamiliar to me. As I watched him sit there, fingers tracing the edge of his desk, eyes distant yet alert, I realized that the challenge wasn’t to get him to speak or respond the way others expected. The challenge was to understand his form of presence—to meet him in that silence, not as a void, but as a space full of meaning, a place where his mind was alive in ways I could not yet grasp. The stillness of that moment reminded me of something I had been learning in my own life: presence cannot be forced. It must be allowed. I had been practicing the meditations of Byron Katie, who teaches that we find peace not by changing what is, but by embracing what already exists. Her process of self-inquiry, asking "Is it true?" and "Who would I be without that thought?" had helped me learn how to release the pressure of expectation, how to allow the present moment—however quiet or unassuming—to be enough. I hadn’t realized it yet, but Katie’s wisdom was shaping the way I worked with Elijah. Just as I had learned to sit with my own thoughts and accept them without judgment, I needed to learn to sit with Elijah’s silence, to stop seeing it as something that needed to be filled, and instead, see it as part of his own unique process of learning. This was the first lesson in understanding presence: that silence isn’t absence; it’s a different kind of communication. I remember the day Elijah looked at me, without a word, and slid a drawing across the table—a picture of a forest. The lines were messy, the colors bright and chaotic, but the image was clear. I didn’t need him to explain it. I didn’t need him to say a word. His drawing spoke for him in a way words never could. The forest was a map of his thoughts, a quiet testament to the fact that he had been present with the material all along. I just hadn’t known how to see it. I am passionate about special education not because it is easy, but because it is one of the few fields that truly forces you to reimagine what it means to learn, to communicate, to be human. Teaching special needs students is not about conforming them to a standard; it is about recognizing that every person has their own unique way of interacting with the world—and that way is valuable. There is a profound beauty in helping students like Elijah find their voice, not in the conventional sense, but in the way that makes sense to them. Byron Katie’s teachings about self-inquiry and acceptance of what is resonated with me deeply as I began working with Elijah. Through her meditations, I had learned that resistance to what is—whether in my own life or in my tutoring—only creates suffering. And this, in a way, paralleled the work of Harold Bloom. In his writing, Bloom argues that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to their own sense of presence—to lead them to an awareness of their own being, without judgment, and to help them see themselves as they truly are. While Bloom focuses on the relationship between student and text, and Katie focuses on the relationship between the self and its thoughts, both of them point toward the same truth: to truly learn, we must first learn to be present with ourselves, in the moment, as we are. This idea struck me in a profound way. In tutoring Elijah, I realized that my role wasn’t to teach him facts or techniques in the traditional sense. My role was to help him see that he, too, existed in this world in a meaningful way. That his mind, his silence, his drawings—all of it—was a form of presence, a way of interacting with the world that was just as valuable as anyone else’s. It wasn’t about making Elijah conform to an academic standard. It was about helping him find his rhythm in the world. The parallels between Bloom’s theory and Katie’s self-inquiry seem clear looking back on my work with Elijah. For Bloom, teaching is about creating the conditions in which a student can come into their own sense of self, to feel the presence of their own unique mind. For Katie, presence is found by letting go of resistance, by embracing the thoughts, the feelings, and the experiences that arise in the moment. Both approaches value the process of self-discovery over the external goal of achievement. And in my work with Elijah, I began to see that my job was not to “fix” him or to teach him to behave differently. It was to help him understand that his way of being in the world was already enough. Over time, Elijah’s presence in our sessions shifted. He began to engage more—not in the way that I had expected, but in a way that felt entirely his own. He would draw pictures, write short words, and sometimes, just sit quietly beside me, listening intently. His learning was slow, gradual, but it was real. And as I sat beside him, I began to realize that I, too, was learning. I was learning how to accept the quiet moments, how to value the process rather than the product, how to sit with a student and witness their presence without feeling the need to rush or fix. One afternoon, after weeks of these quiet, unspoken interactions, Elijah looked at me and said, “I don’t need to talk. I know what it means. I just... know.” The simplicity of those words hit me like a revelation. It wasn’t about what he could verbalize—it was about the deep, unspoken understanding that had always been there. He was learning in ways I had never anticipated, not through words or actions, but through his presence. And in that moment, I understood that the true power of tutoring, and teaching in general, isn’t about molding a student to fit a predefined mold. It is about helping them recognize that they already possess everything they need within them. It’s about being present with them, just as they are, and helping them see that they matter, just as they are. Elijah never became the student that our society wanted him to be. He didn’t transform into a child who could sit still for hours, answering questions with precision, or verbalizing his every thought. But he became something even more profound: he became a child who understood that his way of learning, his way of being, was enough. In the stillness of our sessions, I discovered that teaching isn’t about pushing a student to conform; it is about creating a space where they can recognize their own presence in the world. Byron Katie’s practice of embracing what is, and Bloom’s insistence on teaching presence, both shaped the way I work with my students. Through Elijah, I’ve learned that to truly teach is not to fill a student with knowledge, but to help them discover that they are already enough, just as they are. And in this quiet journey, I discovered that the act of teaching—and of being present with a student—is, in itself, the most powerful lesson of all. A Fairy Tale: Sasha and the Lost Stars Once upon a time, in a quiet kingdom surrounded by endless twilight, there lived a young teacher named Sasha. In this kingdom, the stars had mysteriously vanished, leaving the sky a deep, dark canvas. Without their guiding light, the people of the kingdom felt adrift, unsure of their paths and their place in the world. But Sasha was not afraid of the darkness. She had a gift—a remarkable ability to see the unique brilliance in others, even when they couldn’t see it themselves. One fateful day, Sasha was summoned to teach a group of children who had been forgotten by the world. These children were different. They thought differently, moved differently, and learned in ways that puzzled many. Some found it hard to express their thoughts, others struggled to keep up with the lessons of the day, and a few felt invisible, as though they didn’t belong at all. But Sasha believed otherwise. To her, they were stars waiting to shine. Sasha began her work not with rules or lectures but by helping the children connect with who they were. She taught them to pause, breathe deeply, and feel their heartbeat. "You are here," Sasha would say gently, her voice steady and warm. "And that is enough." Day by day, her words planted seeds of self-acceptance. As the children began to feel more at home in their own skin, something extraordinary began to unfold. One child, who had never spoken aloud, began to tell vivid stories through drawings that lit up the room with their beauty. Another, who struggled with numbers, suddenly discovered a gift for weaving patterns into music. A child who had once felt invisible stood tall and led the group in a game they had invented. For each newfound spark of joy, a star reappeared in the sky, shimmering brighter than before. Before long, the kingdom’s twilight began to shift. The stars returned, twinkling with a brilliance that brought hope and wonder back to the land. Each star represented a child's unique journey to self-discovery, a light that had always been there, waiting to shine. By the end of the year, the sky was radiant with countless stars, and the kingdom was alive with their glow. Though Sasha never sought recognition, her name spread far and wide as the teacher who guided the lost stars back to their place in the universe. And so, her story became a legend—a tale of courage, kindness, and the magic of believing in those who are often overlooked. And for Sasha, the greatest joy was watching her students shine, knowing that their light would never fade.

In Possessed by Memory, Professor Harold Bloom states, "I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence." I wholeheartedly agree with Bloom's assessment of teaching. My 8th grade "Special Ed" Teacher proclaimed in front of a class filled with 12 and 13 year old young Black and Brown males (including myself) that: “It would be a miracle if you guys live past the age of 18… I’m just stating facts!… Look around your neighborhood… How many of you have seen someone get shot, stabbed or killed? How many of you plan to go to college? It’s more likely that you will land up in jail then attend a university unless you’re a great athlete—and even then, it is a one in a million chance that you’ll make it to the pros!” Mr. “White” (my 8th Grade "Special Ed" Teacher) was the “Archie Bunker” of my Middle School. He often chuckled at the Black and Brown students in his classes and made outlandish comments about them, but we were truly too young and too naive to understand how those comments influenced our young minds. I have persevered through my childhood challenges and biased teachers like Mr. White. I was an at-risk fatherless child who became a first generation college graduate and the first male from my community to receive a bachelor’s degree. I began my professional career as a SFUSD Teacher. I was voted favorite teacher by the student body, coached 3 after-school sports, received many accolades from my district, and have inspired 1000s of students to strive for educational excellence. I was academically recruited to UC Berkeley as a High School junior but through my “mis-education”—I still did not know that I was “smart!” I did not have teachers like Professor Bloom to help me gain a sense of presence. I had teachers like Mr. White! I began my High School career in remedial/special education classes but by teaching myself memorization techniques to overcome some of my learning difficulties, I was moved into honor classes for my junior and senior years. My first realization that I was a “smart” and “highly intelligent” human being—occurred when I moved to back to Mexico after graduating from college. I taught a TOEFL Test Prep class at a Private High School and all of my students passed the TOEFL. In addition, I taught the Verbal and Analytical Writing Sections of Graduate Management Admission Test (GMAT) to a PG&E executive from Guatemala in Mexico City. English was his second language and he exhibited various tense errors, grammatical issues and lacked vocabulary. J. Rodriguez scored 700 on the GMAT exam which is 220 points higher than the average native English speaker! There was an article written about me in a Mexican Newsletter and the score achieved by my student. This was the beginning of my “re-education.” As an Educator who has worked in multiple countries around the world and multiple school districts in California, each school that I worked at had an overrepresentation of Black and Brown students in Special Education classes and an overall lack of trained Special Education Teachers. Many of those students are just as I was in High School, without proper educational assessments and without curriculum adaptations for different learning styles. Research suggests that incorporating students’ culture, out-of-school experiences, addressing classroom biases, equitable reform measures, high expectations, engaging curriculum, and using data based instructional practices will lead to improved student achievement. Data shows that students need access to challenging coursework and high expectations from demanding teachers. School districts need to develop equitable teaching for all students and Individualized Education Plans (IEPs) for each special education student with an implemented plan of action. By using a variety of data-based learning strategies, games, project based techniques, allowing students to work in pairs, setting challenging goals for each student, daily feedback, and creating classroom cultures of motivation, love for learning, and self-efficacy, we will begin to see the fruits of our labor. I have used all of these methods to engage my special education students and have had great success! I am using my life experiences to make a positive impact in my community and to help disrupt the inequitable pattern of outcomes in special education. I completed my Masters Degree in Educational Leadership last year with a perfect 4.0 (A) average and currently pursuing a Doctorate Degree in order to become an expert on how social factors, curriculum, classroom biases, teacher expectations, and representation of underrepresented groups affect academic achievement in special education. The RonranGlee Special Needs Teacher Literary Scholarship would help offset the $22,571 needed to complete my Doctoral Studies, aid in my teaching, and research work in Special Education.

To guide my special needs students toward experiencing a sense of their presence, I first define this concept as the awareness and recognition of one's individuality, identity, and self-worth. It is the feeling of being fully alive in the present moment, understanding one's abilities and uniqueness, and acknowledging one's significance in the world. This sense of presence is essential for special needs students because it helps them build confidence, understand their value, and engage more meaningfully in their surroundings. My Mission in Accomplishing This Task As a special education teacher, my mission is to help each student recognize and embrace their presence by creating an environment that fosters self-awareness, self-expression, and self-acceptance. My approach is rooted in empathy, patience, and the belief that every child, regardless of their abilities or challenges, deserves to feel valued and empowered. To accomplish this, I aim to create individualized learning experiences that cater to each student's strengths and needs. I use a variety of teaching methods—visual, auditory, and tactile—to engage them in ways that resonate most with their learning style. By offering choices and encouraging decision-making, I help students take ownership of their learning journey. Positive reinforcement, encouragement, and acknowledgment of even the smallest achievements are crucial to building their confidence and helping them feel present in the moment. The Fairy Tale: "The Guide of the Forest of Presence" Once upon a time, in a vibrant land of colors and light, there was a magical forest called the Forest of Presence. In this forest, every tree, flower, and animal had a unique glow, representing their sense of self-awareness and purpose. It was said that anyone who entered the forest would discover their inner light—their sense of presence—and grow stronger in heart and mind. However, the forest was surrounded by dark clouds of Doubt, Fear, and Uncertainty, which kept many people from venturing inside. These clouds whispered to anyone who dared to enter, telling them they were not strong enough, smart enough, or brave enough to find their light. Many who tried to explore the forest turned back, overwhelmed by the shadows of these clouds. In a small village on the edge of this enchanted forest lived a teacher named Joi. Joi had a heart full of love for the children of her village, many of whom had unique gifts that were often misunderstood. She knew that if these children could experience their sense of presence, they would shine brighter than anyone could imagine. But the clouds of Doubt, Fear, and Uncertainty loomed large, especially for these special children, making it difficult for them to see their inner light. Determined to help them, Joi set out on a quest to guide her students into the Forest of Presence. She knew that the key to success was not to fight the clouds directly but to gently show her students how to see beyond them. Her first student was a young boy named Kian, who had always struggled with Doubt. "I'm not good enough," he often said, hanging his head. Joi took Kian's hand and led him to the edge of the forest. "The trees and flowers in this forest are waiting to show you something amazing," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "But first, you must take the first step. I will be right beside you." With Joi’s encouragement, Kian stepped into the forest. The clouds of Doubt immediately began to swirl around him, but Joi whispered, "Look down Kian. Look at your feet. You’re here, and that’s the first step. You are strong enough." Slowly, Kian began to feel the earth beneath him. The sensation grounded him, and a tiny light started to flicker in his heart. With each step, he grew more confident, and the clouds of Doubt faded as he found his sense of presence. Next came Lila, a girl who had always been afraid of making mistakes. She was constantly haunted by Fear, which made her hesitant to try new things. When Joi led Lila to the forest, the clouds of Fear gathered thickly around her. Joi smiled and handed Lila a small stone. "This stone represents every mistake you’ve made," she explained. "Hold it in your hand, and feel its weight. Now throw it into the forest." Lila hesitated, but then, with Joi's gentle guidance, she threw the stone. As it disappeared into the trees, the clouds of Fear thinned, and Lila felt lighter. "It’s okay to make mistakes," Joi said. "They help you grow. And now, look at you—you’re standing tall, ready to explore." With each student, Joi used different tools and strategies, depending on their needs. She encouraged some to sing, others to paint, and still others to run and play. Each time, the clouds of Doubt, Fear, and Uncertainty would try to block their path, but Joi’s unwavering belief in her students helped them to see past the clouds and find their light. As they ventured deeper into the Forest of Presence, the students began to glow with the brilliance of their unique inner lights. Kian’s light was a steady, calming blue, while Lila’s shimmered with vibrant yellows and oranges. Each child’s light was different, but together they illuminated the entire forest, dispelling the last of the clouds. When the students returned to the village, they carried their newfound sense of presence with them. They stood taller, spoke with more confidence, and approached challenges with determination. The clouds of Doubt, Fear, and Uncertainty still existed, but the children now knew how to navigate through them—by trusting in their inner light. As for Joi, her mission was accomplished, but it was far from over. She continued guiding children into the Forest of Presence, helping each one discover the power of their light. With every journey, she strengthened the bonds of trust, love, and self-belief that would empower these children for the rest of their lives. Conclusion: The Hero's Journey in Real Life In my classroom, much like in the fairy tale, my role is to guide my special needs students to discover their sense of presence. The clouds they face—whether they manifest as self-doubt, anxiety, or frustration—are not barriers that can be eliminated overnight. Instead, they are challenges that can be navigated with the right support, encouragement, and individualized attention. My mission is to provide that support by creating a learning environment where students are empowered to explore, express themselves, and grow without fear of judgment or failure. I believe that each child has a unique light within them, and my goal is to help them recognize it, nurture it, and let it shine. Through personalized learning plans, positive reinforcement, and a focus on self-awareness, I aim to guide my students on their journeys through the "Forest of Presence." With every step they take, I hope that they will not only recognize their worth but also carry their newfound confidence into every aspect of their lives, making the world a brighter place—one light at a time.