RonranGlee Special Needs Teacher Literary Scholarship

When I was sixteen years old, there was a little boy at one of my family’s childcare centers who rarely spoke. Every morning, he would walk into the classroom gripping the same small blue dinosaur in his hand, avoiding eye contact with everyone around him. While the other children played together, he sat alone near the reading corner, rocking slightly back and forth whenever the room became too loud. Some teachers described him as “difficult.” Some children did not understand him. Some adults spoke about him as if he could not hear them standing right beside him. But I noticed something different. I noticed how his eyes lit up whenever someone showed him kindness instead of correction. I noticed how he memorized patterns, how carefully he lined up his toys, how he quietly watched the other children even when he could not join them socially. One afternoon, while I sat beside him during art time, he suddenly pushed a crayon toward me without saying a word. Then another. Then another. For nearly twenty minutes, we colored silently together. Before leaving that day, he looked at me for the first time and whispered, “You stayed.” That moment changed me forever. I realized then that special education is not simply about accommodating disabilities. It is about recognizing humanity in children the world too often overlooks. It is about helping students feel seen before expecting them to succeed. It is about making sure a child never feels invisible simply because they communicate, learn, or experience the world differently. That is why I am passionate about becoming a special education teacher and advocate. Growing up around my family’s childcare centers allowed me to witness both the beauty and heartbreak within early childhood education. I saw exhausted parents working multiple jobs just to afford care. I saw teachers stretching themselves beyond their limits because they loved their students deeply. Most importantly, I saw how children with autism, Down syndrome, developmental delays, behavioral disorders, and learning disabilities were often misunderstood long before they were understood. Yet despite the challenges, I also witnessed extraordinary breakthroughs. I saw nonverbal children communicate through art and movement. I saw students once labeled “disruptive” thrive once someone took the time to understand their emotional needs. I saw how patience, consistency, and compassion could unlock confidence in children who had spent their lives feeling left behind. Special education teachers are some of the strongest people in the world. They must be flexible enough to adapt every lesson, patient enough to celebrate progress others may never notice, and compassionate enough to continue loving students even on the hardest days. The donor’s description of special education teachers deeply resonated with me because I have already seen how much emotional strength this profession requires. These educators are not simply teaching children; they are protecting their dignity. Professor Harold Bloom stated, “The purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence.” To me, this means helping students recognize their own worth and identity. A child’s “sense of presence” is the understanding that their voice matters, their thoughts matter, and their existence deserves respect regardless of ability. Too often, students with special needs are spoken about instead of spoken to. Decisions are made for them. Expectations are lowered for them. Society focuses on what they cannot do instead of nurturing what they can. My mission is to change that. As a future educator, I want every student who enters my classroom to feel emotionally safe, respected, and empowered. I want my students to understand that they are not burdens to be managed but individuals filled with potential. I want to create environments where differences are not hidden, but embraced. Whether through adaptive learning strategies, sensory-conscious classrooms, emotional support systems, or creative expression, I want my students to know they belong exactly as they are. However, my dream extends far beyond a single classroom. Watching my father build and sustain childcare centers showed me that education is deeply connected to business, public policy, and access. I watched him sacrifice endlessly to provide opportunities for families while facing staffing shortages, rising operational costs, and systemic barriers that disproportionately affect vulnerable children. Through these experiences, I realized that helping children requires changing systems too. That is why I hope to combine special education, entrepreneurship, public policy, and law throughout my career. I plan to continue and expand my family’s childcare franchise while creating more inclusive spaces for children with disabilities and developmental differences. I want to advocate for stronger early intervention programs, increased support for special education teachers, and policies that ensure all children—regardless of disability, income, or background—receive equitable access to quality education and care. I want to be a voice for children who are too often left out of the conversation. If I were to describe my journey as a fairy tale, it would not begin in a castle. It would begin in a noisy classroom with a little boy holding a blue dinosaur. The heroine would not carry a sword, but patience. She would not fight dragons, but silence, inequality, and systems that fail vulnerable children. Her greatest power would not be magic, but the ability to make children feel seen. And one day, years from now, I hope one of my students walks confidently into the world knowing they are worthy of love, opportunity, and respect—not because society finally gave them permission to matter, but because someone taught them long ago that they already did. That is the educator I aspire to become.

The first time I watched a student realize, “Wait, I can read this,” I understood why special education became more than my profession. It became part of my purpose. To me, Harold Bloom’s statement means that teaching is not only about giving students information. Teaching is about helping students recognize themselves as capable, valuable, and present in the world. When Bloom says that the purpose of teaching is to bring a student to a sense of their own presence, I believe he means that education should help a student understand, I am here. I matter. I can learn. I have a voice. This belief is the reason I am passionate about special education. Many students with disabilities move through school being reminded of what is difficult for them. They may know their reading level, their testing accommodations, their service minutes, or the skills they have not mastered yet. While these supports are important, they should never become the whole story of who a child is. Special education should not make students feel smaller. When done with care, it should help students feel seen, supported, and powerful. As a special education teacher, I have worked with students who were afraid to read aloud, hesitant to write, or quick to say, “I don’t know,” before they even tried. I have seen students shut down because they were used to feeling behind. I have also seen what happens when instruction is patient, explicit, and rooted in belief. A student sounds out a word they used to skip. A student writes one sentence and then proudly adds another. A student solves a math problem step by step and looks surprised because they did it independently. These moments may seem small, but they are life-changing for a child who is learning to trust themselves. Equity is central to why I do this work. To me, equity means making sure students receive what they need in order to access learning with dignity. It means recognizing that not every child learns the same way, communicates the same way, or shows understanding in the same way. It also means refusing to lower expectations simply because a student has a disability. My mission is to create learning spaces where students with disabilities have access to strong instruction, meaningful support, and opportunities to see themselves as thinkers, readers, writers, problem-solvers, and leaders. Technology is also an important part of my mission. I believe technology, when used thoughtfully and ethically, can help remove barriers for students and teachers. Tools such as text-to-speech, speech-to-text, visual supports, adaptive programs, and AI-supported planning can help make learning more accessible. Technology should never replace the relationship between a teacher and student, but it can help teachers differentiate instruction, reduce workload, and create more responsive supports. I am especially interested in how ethical technology and AI can support new special education teachers so they feel more prepared, less overwhelmed, and better able to serve their students. This interest connects directly to my doctoral work. I am interested in special education teacher preparation, teacher attrition, workload demands, and how technology can support educators entering the field. I believe that if we want students with disabilities to feel fully seen, we must also prepare and support the teachers who serve them. Special education teachers carry instructional, legal, emotional, and administrative responsibilities. When teachers are not prepared for those realities, both teachers and students are affected. My goal is to contribute to research and practical solutions that strengthen teacher preparation, improve retention, and advance equity for students with disabilities. If I imagined my mission as a fairy tale, I would be a teacher walking into a classroom that others had mistaken for a locked tower. Inside were students who had been told in quiet and loud ways that learning was not really for them. I would not arrive with magic. I would arrive with patience, structure, books, visuals, decodable texts, sentence starters, technology tools, encouragement, and belief. Little by little, the students would discover that the tower had never truly been locked. The door opened each time a child said, “I can try,” “I understand,” or “I have something to say.” That is why I am passionate about special education. It is not only about helping students access lessons. It is about helping them access confidence, voice, independence, and belonging. My goal is to guide students toward the moment when they understand that their presence matters in the classroom, in their communities, and in the world.

Essay: Becoming Present The first time I truly understood what it means for a student to “experience a sense of their own presence,” it wasn’t in a classroom or a textbook. It was at my kitchen table. One of my children, overwhelmed and dysregulated, was unable to explain what they needed or why they were struggling. In that moment, my role was not to fix or correct, but to stay, to listen, and to help them reconnect with themselves. That experience mirrors the heart of special education, and it is why I am deeply passionate about becoming and continuing to grow as a special education teacher. Professor Harold Bloom’s statement that “the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence” speaks powerfully to the work of special education. To me, a student’s sense of presence means knowing that they exist as a whole person, valued, capable, and worthy, before skills, behaviors, or academic outcomes measure them. For students with disabilities, this presence is often interrupted by systems that focus on deficits, compliance, or normalization rather than understanding. My mission as a special education teacher is to restore that presence by creating environments where students feel seen, understood, and empowered to engage with learning on their own terms. My passion for special education is rooted in both lived experience and professional practice. As a mother of seven, I understand how deeply systems affect families, especially when children learn differently or require additional support. Parenting has taught me that progress is rarely linear, regulation precedes learning, and dignity must always come before compliance. These truths guide my work as a special education support teacher, advocate, and tutor serving underserved and marginalized families. I have walked alongside parents navigating complex educational systems, helped students access appropriate supports, and translated intimidating processes into actionable steps that lead to real outcomes. Guiding students toward a sense of their own presence begins with a relationship. Before academic goals can be met, students must trust that they are safe, capable, and respected. In my practice, this means slowing down, observing closely, and honoring communication in all its forms: spoken language, behavior, silence, and emotion. Presence is built when students recognize that their needs and experiences matter, even when those needs are complex or inconvenient. When a student understands that they are not a problem to be solved, but a person to be understood, learning becomes possible. Equally important is helping students develop self-awareness and self-advocacy. Many special needs students are spoken about far more often than they are spoken to. I believe it is my responsibility to shift that dynamic by providing students with language, tools, and opportunities to express what they need and how they learn best. Whether through visual supports, choice-based learning, restorative reflection, or collaborative problem-solving, my goal is to help students recognize their own agency. A student who can communicate, “This is hard for me,” or “I need help,” is a student who is present within themselves. My faith also informs my approach to special education. As a Catholic educator and catechist, I believe each student bears inherent dignity that cannot be earned or lost. This belief sustains my patience and determination, especially on difficult days. Teaching students with special needs requires flexibility, endurance, and creativity; qualities often compared to heroic figures or saints. But more than anything, it requires consistency. Showing up day after day, even when progress is slow or invisible, is how trust is built, and presence is restored. Balancing education, advocacy, volunteerism, and family life is demanding, but it is also intentional. My children watch how I choose to spend my time and energy. By integrating service and advocacy into daily life, I aim to model moral courage, responsibility, and compassion in action. I want my children to understand that justice is lived through persistence and that meaningful change often comes through small, faithful acts done consistently. If I were to tell my journey as a fairy tale, it would not be one of slaying dragons or claiming glory. Instead, it would be the story of a guide walking beside travelers who have been lost in the woods for far too long. The guide does not carry them out or choose their path; she simply holds the lantern. With patience and care, she helps each traveler notice their own footsteps again, remember their strength, and recognize that they are capable of moving forward. In the end, the greatest victory is not reaching the destination, but realizing they were never invisible along the way. I am pursuing the special education teaching profession because I believe every student deserves to experience their own presence fully and without apology. With ambition, drive, and deep respect for the students and families I serve, I am committed to building learning environments where students are not merely accommodated, but truly known. This is the work I am called to do and the work I will continue to show up for, with determination and heart.

Special Needs Teachers Scholarship Essay: Passion for Guiding Special Needs Students I’m a high school teacher and coach in Luling, Texas, and nothing fires me up more than helping my Special Education students shine. With a BA in History, a minor in Education, and a 4.0 in my ongoing Master’s in Sports Management, I’ve learned that teaching kids with special needs—like autism or Down syndrome—takes heart, grit, and creativity. As a four-year football starter at Sul Ross State University, I fought through tough games and a 2.9 GPA to get where I am today, and now, as a Special Education and History teacher and coach for football, wrestling, and track, I pour that same fight into my students. Growing up in a single-parent home, I know what it’s like to feel different, and that drives my passion to make every kid feel seen and capable. I’m here to guide special needs students to find their own presence, just like the scholarship donor did for his family with Alzheimer’s. Why I’m Passionate About Special Education? My passion for teaching special needs students comes from seeing their potential when others might not. In my classroom, I’ve got kids who struggle with reading, socializing, or just believing in themselves. One of my students, a junior with autism named Miguel, used to shut down during history lessons, overwhelmed by the noise and pace. I started pairing him with a peer buddy and breaking lessons into short, hands-on activities—like building timelines with blocks. Now, he’s the first to raise his hand with an answer, grinning ear to ear. Moments like that light a fire in me. My coaching helps, too—whether it’s teaching my wrestlers to push through a tough match or helping a track kid with Down syndrome cross the finish line, I see how patience and belief can change a kid’s world. My sociology research on racial representation in sports also showed me how kids from marginalized groups, like many of my Latinx students, often feel invisible. As a Special Ed teacher, I’m driven to make sure every student feels they belong, no matter their challenges. Teaching special needs kids isn’t easy—it takes the craftiness of Odysseus, the patience of Mother Teresa, and the focus the donor describes. But it’s worth it. When I see a kid like Miguel light up or one of my athletes with learning disabilities score a touchdown, I know I’m making a difference. My own journey, going from a 2.9 GPA to a 4.0 in grad school, taught me that setbacks don’t define you, and I want my students to learn that, too. I’m passionate because every kid deserves a teacher who sees their spark and helps them shine, just like the donor cared for his uncle and brother. Responding to Professor Harold Bloom’s QuoteProfessor Bloom’s quote “I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence,” means helping students discover their own worth and place in the world. For special needs students, this is about building confidence to navigate their challenges and feel valued for who they are. A kid with autism might feel lost in a loud classroom, but when you help them find their voice—like Miguel raising his hand—they start to see themselves as capable. Their “presence” is that inner strength, the belief they can contribute, whether it’s answering a question or running a race.My mission is to guide special needs students to this sense of presence through patience, creativity, and trust. In the classroom, I use tailored strategies, like visual aids or one-on-one check-ins, to meet each kid where they are. For example, I had a student with Down syndrome who struggled with writing essays. I let her draw her ideas first, then helped her turn them into words. She beamed when she read her essay aloud, feeling proud of her voice. As a coach, I build presence through teamwork—my football players with learning disabilities learn they’re vital to the team when I give them roles like calling plays. I also lean on my Sports Management studies to design inclusive activities, like group projects that mix special needs and general ed kids, so everyone feels part of the crew. My goal is to make every student feel seen, like I did when my coaches believed in me despite my struggles growing up. Fairy Tale: The Coach of Courage Once upon a time in the small kingdom of Luling, there lived a teacher named Coach T, a former warrior of the football fields who’d battled through tough odds. Coach T taught in a school where some students, called the Hidden Heroes, had special challenges—some couldn’t speak easily, others found learning a maze. The kingdom’s elders said these Heroes couldn’t shine like others, but Coach T knew better. One day, a shy Hero named Miguel, whose mind danced differently, joined Coach T’s class. Miguel hid in the shadows, afraid to step into the light. Coach T, with the heart of a lion and the patience of a sage, crafted a plan. He gave Miguel a magic shield—small tasks like building history towers with blocks—and paired him with a kind squire, a peer buddy. Slowly, Miguel’s courage grew, and he began to speak, his voice like a trumpet in the quiet hall. The kingdom faced a great challenge: a tournament where all students had to show their strength. The elders doubted the Hidden Heroes could join. But Coach T, using his wisdom from far-off studies in Sports Management, created a game where every Hero had a role—some ran, some cheered, some planned. Miguel led a cheer, his presence lighting up the field. The kingdom saw the Heroes weren’t hidden—they were stars. Coach T’s quest wasn’t over, but he knew his purpose: to guide every Hidden Hero to their own light, proving they belonged. And so, with his wife by his side, fishing in the calm rivers of Luling, Coach T vowed to keep teaching, coaching, and believing in every Hero’s spark. Conclusion My passion for special education comes from moments like Miguel’s smile or a runner crossing the finish line—they’re proof that every kid can find their presence. Like the donor caring for his family, I rely on love for the profession to guide my students. Whether in the classroom or on the field, I’ll keep fighting to help special needs kids feel strong, seen, and ready to take on the world, just like I did when I turned my struggles into a 4.0.

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.” At first glance, this quote might sound poetic or abstract, but to me, it holds a deep and practical truth—especially when it comes to teaching students with special needs. To have a “sense of one’s own presence” means to recognize and feel that you truly exist in the world, that your thoughts and feelings matter, and that you have a unique purpose. It’s about being seen, understood, and empowered to be yourself—no matter what challenges or differences you carry. For students with disabilities, this is something that the world often tries to take away from them. Whether it's through low expectations, social exclusion, or being overlooked, many children with disabilities grow up feeling like they don’t matter as much as others. I want to be the kind of teacher who changes that. That’s why I’m passionate about special education. I want to make a real difference in the lives of students with disabilities by helping them feel seen, valued, and capable. I want to create a classroom where they feel safe enough to take risks, supported enough to grow, and loved enough to believe they belong—not just in the classroom, but in the world. What Professor Bloom’s Words Mean to Me When Bloom talks about “bringing the student to his or her own presence,” I think of students who’ve spent more time being talked about than talked to. I think of students who may not communicate in traditional ways, or who learn at a different pace, or who express themselves in ways that adults don’t always understand. These students are often placed in boxes or behind labels that limit who people think they can become. But Bloom challenges us to do more than teach content. He asks us to awaken something in our students—to help them recognize that they are here, that they matter, and that they have something to give to the world. As a future special education teacher, my mission is to do exactly that. I want every student who walks into my classroom to feel known—not just as a student, but as a person. I want them to experience their own presence by feeling the joy of learning, by discovering their strengths, and by building relationships with peers and adults who truly care. My Mission: Teaching with Purpose and Compassion My passion for this work comes from both experience and heart. I’ve spent time working with individuals with disabilities through my role as a Summer Camp Assistant at the Perry County Board of Developmental Disabilities. There, I’ve worked with kids and teens from ages 6 to 18, helping them engage in activities, learn new skills, and have fun in a supportive environment. I've also worked as a volunteer teacher’s aid in a second-grade classroom and taught Sunday School to children in Kindergarten through Fourth grade. These experiences have shown me the beauty of diversity and the importance of patience, flexibility, and love in education. But what fuels me most is the belief that students with disabilities deserve the same dignity, opportunities, and sense of purpose as anyone else. I want to be the teacher who reminds them of that every single day. To guide students toward their own presence, I will: celebrate their strengths, teach self-advocacy, create a safe, welcoming space, and partner with families. Every student has something they’re good at, and I want to make sure they know it. Whether it’s art, storytelling, kindness, humor, or perseverance, I will build my lessons and classroom culture around what makes each child special. I want my students to have a voice—not just in the classroom, but in their lives. I will help them learn how to express their needs, make choices, and believe in their ability to participate in the world. My classroom will be a place where mistakes are okay, where differences are valued, and where students can be themselves without fear of judgment. Students also grow best when the people around them work together. I’ll make it a priority to build strong relationships with parents and caregivers, so we can support each child as a team. In closing, being a special education teacher isn’t just about teaching lessons or managing a classroom. It’s about changing lives. It’s about giving children who are often overlooked the chance to feel proud, powerful, and present. Professor Bloom’s words remind me that my job will be not only to teach content but to help each student discover their own voice, purpose, and light. This is why I’m passionate about special education. I want to help children with disabilities recognize that they belong, not only in the classroom but in the world. I want them to feel that they are seen, celebrated, and deeply loved. Once a student begins to feel their own presence, once they know they matter, anything is possible. A Fairy Tale: Grace and the Garden of Light Once upon a time, in a quiet valley surrounded by tall hills, there was a young girl named Grace. She lived in a village where everyone was expected to walk the same path, speak the same way, and learn the same lessons. But outside the village, in a quiet corner of the forest, was a hidden garden where flowers bloomed in all different shapes, sizes, and colors. Some flowers bloomed slowly, others danced in the wind, and some stayed nestled in their leaves for a long time before opening. Many villagers thought the garden was strange. “Why don’t those flowers grow like ours?” they whispered. But Grace saw something different. To her, the garden wasn’t strange—it was magical. One day, she decided to tend the garden. She brought water, sunshine, music, and love. She didn’t force the flowers to grow the same way. Instead, she watched carefully, listened closely, and gave each one what it needed. Slowly, the garden bloomed brighter than ever before. As the garden grew, something beautiful happened: the villagers began to notice. They saw the colors, the uniqueness, and the life in the garden. And the flowers? They lifted their heads toward the sun, proud of who they were. Grace had helped them find their presence. And though this was only the beginning of her story, she knew she would spend the rest of her life doing just that—helping others grow, one unique bloom at a time.

For as long as I can remember, teaching has been about service. Growing up, my understanding of service was shaped by watching my grandmother care for my aunt, who is nonverbal and fully dependent due to lifelong disabilities. My grandmother, now in her 80s, has been her full-time caregiver, embodying a level of patience, compassion, and perseverance that I have always admired. She didn’t get days off; she didn’t ask for recognition. She simply showed up every day with the mindset that her daughter deserved the same dignity and joy as anyone else. That example left a permanent imprint on me. It taught me that service isn’t about grand gestures, it’s about consistent, intentional actions that uplift the people around you. As I’ve grown older and stepped into educational spaces myself, that perspective has guided how I approach teaching, especially in special education settings. During high school, I volunteered with the Special Olympics every year I could, assisting athletes in track and field events. It was there that I first learned how success could look different for each individual. For some athletes, it was crossing the finish line faster than before. For others, it was simply completing the race, regardless of time. My role wasn’t to judge or compare; it was to celebrate their efforts, provide encouragement, and help them recognize their own achievements. That experience taught me to value process over outcome, a mindset I carry with me as an educator today. In my current role as a substitute teacher, I’ve had the opportunity to work in Transitional Learning classrooms, supporting students with a range of cognitive and developmental disabilities ages 18-21. These experiences have reaffirmed my belief that teaching is about adaptability and relationship-building. Some days, success looks like helping a student independently complete a routine task. Other days, it’s about creating a moment of joy or connection, even if the lesson plan doesn’t go as intended. Each day brings new challenges, but also new opportunities to help students experience a sense of their own presence, to borrow Professor Harold Bloom’s words. Bloom’s statement, “The purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence”, resonates deeply with my teaching philosophy. To me, this means that a teacher’s greatest responsibility is to guide students toward recognizing their own value, capability, and place in the world. For students with special needs, this journey is often made more difficult by societal limitations and misconceptions. Too often, these students are defined by what they “cannot” do, rather than being encouraged to explore what they can do. As a future music educator that will work with special education, my mission is to ensure that every student I teach discovers their unique strengths and learns to see themselves as capable and valued individuals. This starts with meeting students where they are, not where a curriculum says they should be. It requires crafting lessons that are flexible and responsive, creating a classroom environment that celebrates effort, progress, and individuality. I want my students to develop self-awareness and pride in their abilities, to recognize that their voices and experiences are important, regardless of how the world may define “success.” Part of guiding students to their own sense of presence is fostering a classroom culture built on trust and encouragement. This means giving students the space to take risks, make mistakes, and grow without fear of judgment. Whether through hands-on learning activities, collaborative projects, or simply patient one-on-one instruction, I want my students to feel safe and supported as they navigate their own learning journeys. I also plan to utilize my background in music education to support my students’ development. Music has a unique way of breaking down barriers and connecting people, even when language fails. Through rhythm games, group activities, and simple musical improvisation, I’ve seen students who struggle with verbal communication light up with engagement and joy. Music becomes an accessible way to foster social interaction, motor skills, and emotional expression. It’s another path to helping students feel “present” in their own learning. Teaching special needs students is not a career of convenience, it requires a combination of resilience, flexibility, creativity, and an unwavering belief in your students. I’ve witnessed these traits in my grandmother, who has navigated caregiving challenges with a quiet strength that often goes unrecognized. Through my experiences in Special Olympics, Transitional Learning classrooms, and my ongoing studies in education, I have built a foundation that reflects these same qualities. I know this journey isn’t easy, but I am committed to the daily work of showing up for my students and helping them reach their fullest potential. Fairy Tale: “John and the Island of Hidden Gifts” Once upon a time, in a faraway village, there was an island that everyone feared. They called it the Island of Hidden Gifts. The villagers believed that the children who lived there were cursed. They couldn’t speak the same way others did, didn’t learn in the same way, and often moved to rhythms the villagers didn’t understand. Because of this, the island remained isolated, and its children were left to grow without guidance. One day, a young teacher named John heard stories about this island and became curious. He believed the children weren’t cursed at all, but that no one had taken the time to listen to their songs or understand their language. So, he packed a satchel filled with instruments, art supplies, puzzles, a heart full of patience, and set sail. When John arrived, he didn’t bring a lesson plan carved in stone. Instead, he watched and listened. He noticed that one child, who didn’t speak, communicated through creating rhythms from the trees. Another child, who struggled to read, could draw vivid stories in the sky that needed no words. John began teaching by following their lead. He taught the rhythmic child how to count patterns, turning sounds into math. He helped the artistic child describe colors and shapes, transforming visual stories and drawings into a new kind of vocabulary. Soon, the island was alive with creativity. The villagers, hearing laughter and music across the water, became curious and visited. To their amazement, the children were not cursed, but gifted each in their own unique way. John’s belief and determination had unlocked their hidden talents, and the villagers realized that “presence” wasn’t about fitting into one mold; it was about celebrating every individual’s way of being. And so, John didn’t just become a teacher; he became a bridge, guiding his new students to discover their own presence, while teaching the world how to listen. The End! Receiving this scholarship would allow me to continue my education and refine the skills I need to serve students with special needs. It would ease the financial burdens of tuition and allow me to focus more on gaining field experience, creating adaptive lesson materials, and investing in tools that support diverse learners. But more than that, this scholarship would be a recognition of the path I’ve chosen, a path that is challenging, but also incredibly rewarding. I’m determined to become a teacher who uplifts students who are too often overlooked, helping them discover their strengths and take pride in their own journey. The story of my aunt, the lessons I’ve learned through service, and my deep commitment to education fuel this passion every day. I hope to honor that through a career dedicated to guiding students to their own sense of presence, just as Professor Bloom so eloquently described.

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.