The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and there was so much noise. I hear voices. They are drowned out by all the commotion in my head. “Angela, are you alright?” a neighbor asks. Absent-minded, I just silently nod and walk to my aunt’s car. The ride to the police station is a blur. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. “What happened?” I said. “Three people shot me and your brother. Call the police and your Aunt Gwen,” she told me. By this time, I was frantic. My hands were shaking as I dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” A 911 operator asked. “My mom and brother have been shot. They need help now!” Then, they asked all the questions you usually hear: What is your name? What is the address? What, who, when, where, how? I told Aunt Gwen to get me. While they were coming, I put clothes together in a bookbag and put shoes on. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised Him that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. Aunt Gwen who was crying also, embraced me. You know, the mind is a strange thing. Looking back on it, I cannot even remember what I did the day before, yet I can remember that night like it happened yesterday. Life has not been the same since this happened. Survivor's guilt plagued me. On that night, I asked God, “Why me? Why did I deserve to live, and they didn’t?” I struggled in my relationship with God and with myself. I realized how brief life is, and not take it for granted. I want to go to college to defy the odds. People, including my own family, have doubted me. I want to prove them and the world wrong. Not only do I want to do this, but I also want to help others who have been stripped of their voice and underrepresented to get their power and voice back. To be an advocate for them. Thank you for your consideration.

Hello my name is Angela Freeman, and this is my story. The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and there was so much noise. I hear voices. They are drowned out by all the commotion in my head. “Angela, are you alright?” a neighbor asks. Absent-minded, I just silently nod and walk to my aunt’s car. The ride to the police station is a blur. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. “What happened?” I said. “Three people shot me and your brother. Call the police and your Aunt Gwen,” she told me. By this time, I was frantic. My hands were shaking as I dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” A 911 operator asked. “My mom and brother have been shot. They need help now!” Then, they asked all the questions you usually hear: What is your name? What is the address? What, who, when, where, how? I told Aunt Gwen to get me. While they were coming, I put clothes together in a bookbag and put shoes on. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised Him that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. Aunt Gwen who was crying also, embraced me. You know, the mind is a strange thing. Looking back on it, I cannot even remember what I did the day before, yet I can remember that night like it happened yesterday. Life has not been the same since this happened. Survivor's guilt plagued me. On that night, I asked God, “Why me? Why did I deserve to live, and they didn’t?” I struggled in my relationship with God and with myself. I realized how brief life is, and not take it for granted. I am in college to defy the odds. People, including my own family, have doubted me. I want to prove them and the world wrong. Not only do I want to do this, but I also want to help others who have been stripped of their voice and underrepresented to get their power and voice back. To be an advocate for them. I would say my biggest influence was my mom. Not only did she give me her looks, but she gave me an example of what a true hard-working woman looks like. She helped me understand that even on bad days you can persevere, be creative, and never give up. Thank you for your consideration.

The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and so much noise. I heard voices. They were drowned out by all the commotion in my head. My mother and brother had been shot, and I, just nine years old, had to get help. Though I acted as quickly as I could, I lost them both that terrible night. Working through my grief changed me radically, but I also discovered an inner strength I didn’t know I had. Overcoming this devastating obstacle made me realize there was nothing I couldn’t triumph over. If you can think of the “world’s greatest mom,” mine was the greatest. When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, she started crying. At forty, she did not know what to do with a baby, and my brother was about to graduate from high school. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. I called 911 and I told my Aunt to pick me up as my mom painfully instructed me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and put on my shoes. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. My Aunt, who was also crying, embraced me. It is heart-wrenching to see people my color and age with so much potential and purpose succumb to the criminal justice system. They damage not only their lives but the lives of others. But what do you do when you have had no role models or second chances in life? This is where the criminal justice system needs to fix its disparities. I believe that the system needs to be reworked to fit in minorities who have been beaten down for too long. Despite this painful night, I have decided that I will turn my trauma and pain into a passion to help others. I realized how brief life is and that I should not take it for granted. From this, I learned to be resilient and take all the trauma to turn it into an impact to help the underrepresented and unheard. I plan to become a lawyer/Forensic Psychologist and speak up to help children and others like me who need to be advocated for, protected, and represented. They deserve a chance to be heard and seen as human. I intend to combat the criminal “injustice” system and serve those who have been silenced and oppressed.

The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and so much noise. I heard voices. They were drowned out by all the commotion in my head. My mother and brother had been shot, and I, just nine years old, had to get help. Though I acted as quickly as I could, I lost them both that terrible night. Working through my grief changed me radically, but I also discovered an inner strength I didn’t know I had. Overcoming this devastating obstacle made me realize there was nothing I couldn’t triumph over. If you can think of the “world’s greatest mom,” mine was the greatest. When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, she started crying. At forty, she did not know what to do with a baby, and my brother was about to graduate from high school. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. I called 911 and I told my Aunt to pick me up as my mom painfully instructed me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and put on my shoes. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. My Aunt, who was also crying, embraced me. It is heart-wrenching to see people my color and age with so much potential and purpose succumb to the criminal justice system. But what do you do when you have had no role models or second chances in life? This is where the criminal justice system needs to fix its disparities. I believe that the system needs to be reworked to fit in minorities who have been beaten down for too long. Despite this painful night, I have decided that I will turn my trauma and pain into a passion to help others. I realized how brief life is and that I should not take it for granted. From this, I learned to be resilient and take all the trauma to turn it into an impact to help the underrepresented and unheard. I plan to become a lawyer and speak up to help children and others like me who need to be advocated for, protected, and represented. They deserve a chance to be heard and seen as human. I intend to combat the criminal “injustice” system and serve those who have been silenced and oppressed.

The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and so much noise. I heard voices. They were drowned out by all the commotion in my head. My mother and brother had been shot, and I, just nine years old, had to get help. Though I acted as quickly as I could, I lost them both that terrible night. Working through my grief changed me radically, but I also discovered an inner strength I didn’t know I had. Overcoming this devastating obstacle made me realize there was nothing I couldn’t triumph over. If you can think of the “world’s greatest mom,” mine was the greatest. When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, she started crying. At forty, she did not know what to do with a baby, and my brother was about to graduate high school. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. I called 911, and I told my aunt to pick me up, as my mom had painfully instructed me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and put on my shoes. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. My Aunt, who was also crying, embraced me. It is heart-wrenching to see people my color and age with so much potential and purpose succumb to the criminal justice system. But what do you do when you have had no role models or second chances in life? This is where the criminal justice system needs to fix its disparities. I believe that the system needs to be reworked to fit in minorities who have been beaten down for too long. Despite this painful night, I have decided that I will turn my trauma and pain into a passion to help others. I realized how brief life is and that I should not take it for granted. From this, I learned to be resilient and take all the trauma to turn it into an impact to help the underrepresented and unheard. I plan to become a lawyer and speak up to help children and others like me who need to be advocated for, protected, and represented. They deserve a chance to be heard and seen as human. I intend to combat the criminal “injustice” system and serve those who have been silenced and oppressed.

The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and so much noise. I heard voices. They were drowned out by all the commotion in my head. My mother and brother had been shot, and I, just nine years old, had to get help. Though I acted as quickly as I could, I lost them both that terrible night. Working through my grief changed me radically, but I also discovered an inner strength I didn’t know I had. Overcoming this devastating obstacle made me realize there was nothing I couldn’t triumph over. If you can think of the “world’s greatest mom,” mine was the greatest. When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, she started crying. At forty, she did not know what to do with a baby, and my brother was about to graduate from high school. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. I called 911 and I told my Aunt to pick me up as my mom painfully instructed me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and put on my shoes. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. My Aunt, who was also crying, embraced me. It is heart-wrenching to see people my color and age with so much potential and purpose succumb to the criminal justice system. But what do you do when you have had no role models or second chances in life? This is where the criminal justice system needs to fix its disparities. I believe that the system needs to be reworked to fit in minorities who have been beaten down for too long. Despite this painful night, I have decided that I will turn my trauma and pain into a passion to help others. I realized how brief life is and that I should not take it for granted. From this, I learned to be resilient and take all the trauma to turn it into an impact to help the underrepresented and unheard. I plan to become a lawyer and speak up to help children and others like me who need to be advocated for, protected, and represented. They deserve a chance to be heard and seen as human. I intend to combat the criminal “injustice” system and serve those who have been silenced and oppressed.

The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and so much noise. I heard voices. They were drowned out by all the commotion in my head. My mother and brother had been shot, and I, just nine years old, had to get help. Though I acted as quickly as I could, I lost them both that terrible night. Working through my grief changed me radically, but I also discovered an inner strength I didn’t know I had. Overcoming this devastating obstacle made me realize there was nothing I couldn’t triumph over. If you can think of the “world’s greatest mom,” mine was the greatest. When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, she started crying. At forty, she did not know what to do with a baby, and my brother was about to graduate from high school. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. I called 911, and I told my aunt to pick me up, as my mom had painfully instructed me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and put on my shoes. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. My A,unt who was also crying, embraced me. I struggled in my relationship with God, with myself, and with my mental health. after that. Survivor's guilt plagued me, and my guardian suggested that I go to therapy. I did not want to go, to therapy, at first, but the counselor helped me realize that it was not my fault and there are ways to work through my PTSD. I still question God to this day, but I know now that God has a purpose for me. I thank Him for how far He has brought me and all the blessings to come. It is heart-wrenching to see people my color and age with so much potential and purpose succumb to the criminal justice system. But what do you do when you have had no role models or second chances in life? This is where the criminal justice system needs to fix its disparities. I believe that the system needs to be reworked to fit in minorities who have been beaten down for too long. Despite this painful night, I have decided that I will turn my trauma and pain into a passion to help others. This event made me grow to see how much strength, courage, and grit I have. I realized how brief life is and that I should not take it for granted. From this, I learned to be resilient and take all the trauma to turn it into an impact to help the underrepresented and unheard. I plan to become a lawyer and speak up to help children and others like me who need to be advocated for, protected, and represented. They deserve a chance to be heard and seen as human. I intend to combat the criminal “injustice” system and serve those who have been silenced and oppressed.

The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and so much noise. I heard voices. They were drowned out by all the commotion in my head. My mother and brother had been shot, and I, just nine years old, had to get help. Though I acted as quickly as I could, I lost them both that terrible night. Working through my grief changed me radically, but I also discovered an inner strength I didn’t know I had. Overcoming this devastating obstacle made me realize there was nothing I couldn’t triumph over. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. I called 911, and I told my aunt to pick me up, as my mom had painfully instructed me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and put on my shoes. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. My Aunt, who was also crying, embraced me. It is heart-wrenching to see people my color and age with so much potential and purpose succumb to the criminal justice system. But what do you do when you have had no role models or second chances in life? This is where the criminal justice system needs to fix its disparities. I believe that the system needs to be reworked to fit minorities who have been beaten down for too long. Despite this painful night, I have decided that I will turn my trauma and pain into a passion to help others. I realized how brief life is and that I should not take it for granted. From this, I learned to be resilient and help the underrepresented and unheard. I plan to become a lawyer and speak up to help others like me who need to be advocated for, protected, and represented. They deserve a chance to be heard and seen as human. I intend to combat the criminal “injustice” system and serve those who have been silenced and oppressed.

The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and so much noise. I heard voices. They were drowned out by all the commotion in my head. My mother and brother had been shot, and I, just nine years old, had to get help. Though I acted as quickly as I could, I lost them both that terrible night. Working through my grief changed me radically, but I also discovered an inner strength I didn’t know I had. Overcoming this devastating obstacle made me realize there was nothing I couldn’t triumph over. If you can think of the “world’s greatest mom,” mine was the greatest. When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, she started crying. At forty, she did not know what to do with a baby, and my brother was about to graduate from high school. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. I called 911, and I told my aunt to pick me up, as my mom had painfully instructed me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and put on my shoes. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. My Aunt, who was also crying, embraced me. It is heart-wrenching to see people my color and age with so much potential and purpose succumb to the criminal justice system. But what do you do when you have had no role models or second chances in life? This is where the criminal justice system needs to fix its disparities. I believe that the system needs to be reworked to fit in minorities who have been beaten down for too long. Despite this painful night, I have decided that I will turn my trauma and pain into a passion to help others. I realized how brief life is and that I should not take it for granted. From this, I learned to be resilient and take all the trauma to turn it into an impact to help the underrepresented and unheard. I plan to become a lawyer and speak up to help children and others like me who need to be advocated for, protected, and represented. They deserve a chance to be heard and seen as human. I intend to combat the criminal “injustice” system and serve those who have been silenced and oppressed. My advice for anyone who has faced adversity or has lost their loved one is to not allow the event that happened to define who YOU are. No matter your skin color, gender, race, age, etc.; you deserve to let your voice be heard and be who you want to be. Allow the adversity to allow you to grow, and let you be a better person. You could be the answer someone is looking, hoping, and praying for. Don't let anyone or anything stop you. You got this!

The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and so much noise. I heard voices. They were drowned out by all the commotion in my head. My mother and brother had been shot, and I, just nine years old, had to get help. Though I acted as quickly as I could, I lost them both that terrible night. Working through my grief changed me radically, but I also discovered an inner strength I didn’t know I had. Overcoming this devastating obstacle made me realize there was nothing I couldn’t triumph over. If you can think of the “world’s greatest mom,” mine was the greatest. When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, she started crying. At forty, she did not know what to do with a baby, and my brother was about to graduate from high school. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. I called 911, and I told my aunt to pick me up, as my mom had painfully instructed me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and put on my shoes. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. My Aunt, who was also crying, embraced me. It is heart-wrenching to see people my color and age with so much potential and purpose succumb to the criminal justice system. But what do you do when you have had no role models or second chances in life? This is where the criminal justice system needs to fix its disparities. I believe that the system needs to be reworked to fit in minorities who have been beaten down for too long. The Second Chance Scholarship will help me achieve this tremendous goal. Despite this painful night, I have decided that I will turn my trauma and pain into a passion to help others. I realized how brief life is and that I should not take it for granted. From this, I learned to be resilient and take all the trauma to turn it into an impact to help the underrepresented and unheard. I plan to become a lawyer and speak up to help children and others like me who need to be advocated for, protected, and represented. They deserve a chance to be heard and seen as human. So far, to achieve my goal, I have volunteered for over 100 hours over my four high school years in my community, I maintain a 4.0 in school, and I have kept an open mind to others and their circumstances. I intend to combat the criminal “injustice” system and serve those who have been silenced and oppressed.

The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and so much noise. I heard voices. They were drowned out by all the commotion in my head. My mother and brother had been shot, and I, just nine years old, had to get help. Though I acted as quickly as I could, I lost them both that terrible night. Working through my grief changed me radically, but I also discovered an inner strength I didn’t know I had. Overcoming this devastating obstacle made me realize there was nothing I couldn’t triumph over. If you can think of the “world’s greatest mom,” mine was the greatest. When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, she started crying. At forty, she did not know what to do with a baby, and my brother was about to graduate from high school. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. I called 911, and I told my aunt to pick me up, as my mom had painfully instructed me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and put on my shoes. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. My Aunt, who was also crying, embraced me. I struggled in my relationship with God and with myself after that. I still question God to this day, but I know now that God has a purpose for me. I thank Him for how far He has brought me and all the blessings to come. I realized how brief life is and that I should not take it for granted. From this, I learned to be resilient and take all the trauma to turn it into an impact to help the underrepresented and unheard. I plan to become a lawyer and speak up to help children and others like me who need to be protected, heard, and advocated for.

The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and so much noise. I heard voices. They were drowned out by all the commotion in my head. My mother and brother had been shot, and I, just nine years old, had to get help. Though I acted as quickly as I could, I lost them both that terrible night. Working through my grief changed me radically, but I also discovered an inner strength I didn’t know I had. Overcoming this devastating obstacle made me realize there was nothing I couldn’t triumph over. If you can think of the “world’s greatest mom,” mine was the greatest. When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, she started crying. At forty, she did not know what to do with a baby, and my brother was about to graduate high school. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. I called 911, and I told my aunt to pick me up, as my mom had painfully instructed me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and put on my shoes. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. My Aunt, who was also crying, embraced me. It is heart-wrenching to see people my color and age with so much potential and purpose succumb to the criminal justice system. But what do you do when you have had no role models or second chances in life? This is where the criminal justice system needs to fix its disparities. I believe that the system needs to be reworked to fit in minorities who have been beaten down for too long. Despite this painful night, I have decided that I will turn my trauma and pain into a passion to help others. I realized how brief life is, and not to take it for granted. From this, I learned to be resilient and take all the trauma to turn it into an impact to help the underrepresented and unheard. I plan to become a lawyer and speak up to help children and others like me who need to be advocated for, protected, and represented. They deserve a chance to be heard and seen as human. I intend to combat the criminal “injustice” system and serve those who have been silenced and oppressed.

Loss is a part of life, and I had already experienced it to some degree–but in a way that most kids did. The first time I experienced the Grim Reaper I was six years old. My fish, Mr. Fishy died. I was utterly devastated. I had never experienced death before, so we did what most families do; we had a funeral and flushed him down the toilet. The next time the Grim Reaper came inside of my home. My beliefs and my life were challenged. If you can think of the “world’s greatest mom,” mine was the greatest. When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, she started crying. She did not know what to do with a baby at forty. My brother, Chris, was about to graduate high school. After my mom’s knee tore twice, we were left in a tight spot. She was unable to walk like she used to. So, my brother started working nights at an art museum and early mornings doing repairs. Despite this, he would still pick me up from school. We would go to McDonalds for lunch before he left for work again. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. “What happened?” I said. “Three people shot me and your brother. Call the police and your Aunt Gwen,” she told me. By this time, I was frantic. My hands were shaking as I dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” A 911 operator asked. “My mom and brother have been shot. They need help now!” Then, they asked all the questions you usually hear: What is your name? What is the address? What, who, when, where, how?. I told Aunt Gwen to get me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and put on my shoes. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised Him that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. Aunt Gwen who was crying also, embraced me. I struggled in my relationship with God and with myself after that. I still question God to this day, but I know now that God has a purpose for me. I thank Him for how far He has brought me and all the blessings to come. I realized how brief life is, and not take it for granted. From this, I learned to be resilient and take all the trauma to turn it into an impact to help the underrepresented and unheard. I love to serve my community and learn more about the people I serve tutoring local elementary kids, walks for Alzheimers, and crocheting items to donate to a women's shelter. This scholarship will give me the support to become a child advocacy lawyer and speak up to help children like me who need to be protected. Thank you for your consideration

The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and so much noise. I heard voices. They were drowned out by all the commotion in my head. My mother and brother had just been shot, and I, just nine years old, had to get help. Though I acted as quickly as I could, I lost them both that terrible night. Working through my grief changed me radically, but I also discovered an inner strength I didn’t know I had. Overcoming this devastating obstacle made me realize there was nothing I couldn’t triumph over. If you can think of the “world’s greatest mom,” mine was the greatest. When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, she started crying. She did not know what to do with a baby at forty. My brother, Chris, was about to graduate high school. After my mom’s knee tore twice, we were left in a tight spot. She was unable to walk like she used to. So, my brother started working nights at an art museum and early mornings doing repairs. Despite this, he would still pick me up from school. We would go to McDonalds for lunch before he left for work again. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. “What happened?” I said. “Three people shot me and your brother. Call the police and your Aunt Gwen,” she told me. By this time, I was frantic. My hands were shaking as I dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” A 911 operator asked. “My mom and brother have been shot. They need help now!” Then, they asked all the questions you usually hear: What is your name? What is the address? What, who, when, where, how?. I told Aunt Gwen to get me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and put on my shoes. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised Him that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. Aunt Gwen who was crying also, embraced me. I struggled in my relationship with God and with my mental health after that. I still question God to this day, but I know now that God has a purpose for me. I thank Him for how far He has brought me and all the blessings to come. I realized how brief life is, and not take it for granted. I started PTSD therapy when I was 10, and it has given me useful techniques such as mindfulness and learning to deal with my survivor's guilt. From this, I learned to be resilient and take all the trauma to turn it into an impact to help the underrepresented and unheard. I plan to become a lawyer/forensic psychologist. and speak up to help children like me who need to be protectedf.

The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and so much noise. I heard voices. They were drowned out by all the commotion in my head. My mother and brother had just been shot, and I, just nine years old, had to get help. Though I acted as quickly as I could, I lost them both that terrible night. Working through my grief changed me radically, but I also discovered an inner strength I didn’t know I had. Overcoming this devastating obstacle made me realize there was nothing I couldn’t triumph over. If you can think of the “world’s greatest mom,” mine was the greatest. When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, she started crying. She did not know what to do with a baby at forty. My brother, Chris, was about to graduate high school. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. “What happened?” I said. “Three people shot me and your brother. Call the police and your Aunt Gwen,” she told me. By this time, I was frantic. My hands were shaking as I dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” A 911 operator asked. “My mom and brother have been shot. They need help now!” Then, they asked all the questions you usually hear: What is your name? What is the address? What, who, when, where, how?. I told Aunt Gwen to get me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and shoes on. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised Him that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. Aunt Gwen who was crying also, embraced me. I struggled in my relationship with God and with myself after that. I still question God to this day, but I know now that God has a purpose for me. I thank Him for how far He has brought me and all the blessings to come. I realized how brief life is, and not take it for granted. From this, I learned to be resilient and take all the trauma to turn it into an impact to help the underrepresented and unheard. I plan to become a child advocacy lawyer and speak up to help children and others like me who need to be protected. I believe this career is essential to the future of new generations.

Being from Akron, Ohio, and going to his alma mater, I see all the things that Lebron James has accomplished and I think he is the "greatest of all time." James has done it all from sports, business deals, movies, and making a family. In the sports realm, he dominates the court. He has the highest number of points scored by a single basketball player. Watching him on the court is as impactful or powerful as off the court. James has multiple deals with Sprite, Nike, and most recently, the 2024 Olympics in Paris. His business does not stop there. He created The I Promise Foundation in 2004 giving away backpacks and bikes at first. The foundation has grown to help underprivileged youth and their families get the resources they need to thrive in school and outside of the classroom. The I Promise School provides quality education to those who would not normally receive it. The foundation provides housing, food, education, and a door for a better life. In 2023, House 330 was created to give Akron residents hope for their tomorrow and give them unique opportunities. House 330 has a theatre, candy and ice cream shop, pizzeria, Starbucks, and a ballroom to host events. Not only does James take care of his hometown, but his own family too. He is a stable and caring role model for his three children. He takes the time to teach and nurture them into the people they are today. In conclusion, Lebron James is the "greatest of all time" because he takes time and effort to give it all he has on the court, in his home community, and his own family. Thank you for your consideration.

Loss is a part of life, and I had already experienced it to some degree–but in a way that most kids did. The first time I experienced the Grim Reaper I was six years old. My fish, Mr. Fishy died. I was utterly devastated. I had never experienced death before, so we did what most families do; we had a funeral and flushed him down the toilet. The next time the Grim Reaper came inside of my home. My beliefs and my life were challenged. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. “What happened?” I said. “Three people shot me and your brother. Call the police and your Aunt Gwen,” she told me. By this time, I was frantic. My hands were shaking as I dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” A 911 operator asked. “My mom and brother have been shot. They need help now!” Then, they asked all the questions you usually hear: What is your name? What is the address? What, who, when, where, how?. I told Aunt Gwen to get me. Meanwhile, I put clothes in a bookbag and shoes on. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised Him that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. Aunt Gwen who was crying also, embraced me. Survivor's guilt plagued me and trauma drowned me. I had to get counseling for what I had been through.I struggled in my relationship with God and with myself after that too. I still question God to this day, but I know now that God has a purpose for me. I thank Him for how far He has brought me and all the blessings to come. I realized how brief life is, and not take it for granted. From this, I learned to be resilient and take all the trauma to turn it into an impact to help the underrepresented and unheard. I plan to become a child advocacy lawyer and speak up to help children like me who needed to be protected. I hope help people through their trauma, loss, and grief to give them someone to count on. The Grim Reaper has no power unless I give it, and I do not intend to do that.

As a child, my mom never made it seem as though we were low-income. If anything she made it seem like we had unlimited funds. She would always provide an abundance of Christmas presents and birthday parties for me. There was always food on the table and snacks on the shelves. But this was not the true story. My mom was forty when she had me, and my brother graduated high school the same year I was born. She worried she could not care for me in her "old age." But she did her best, especially with God's help. My dad was in and out of my life and also in and out of prison with another family in Mississippi so he was not much help at all. When I was about six my mom had knee surgery because she slipped on black ice and tore her ACL. This placed us in a tight spot financially. Since my mom could not work, my brother picked up more work. He worked early mornings at a local high school and nights at an art museum, while also picking me up from school. The lack of money would also lead my brother to dabble in the drug game, which had a fatal impact. These experiences of living in a single-parent household shaped me to become better than what I saw and to break generational curses. I hope to take the experiences and make a success story that other little black girls can follow. I hope to give those who have been stripped of their voice and underrepresented their power back to them. Now, as a senior, I am pursuing my goals by giving back to the community that raised me.

The sirens and the light blinded my eyes and my mind as well. People passed, lights flashed, and there was so much noise. I hear voices. They are drowned out by all the commotion in my head. “Angela, are you alright?” a neighbor asks. Absent-minded, I just silently nod and walk to my aunt’s car. The ride to the police station is a blur. One night I awoke to darkness in my room and the sound of someone groaning as if in pain. I found my mother by the stairs leading to the attic. She had been shot–so much blood stained her chest black. “What happened?” I said. “Three people shot me and your brother. Call the police and your Aunt Gwen,” she told me. By this time, I was frantic. My hands were shaking as I dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” A 911 operator asked. “My mom and brother have been shot. They need help now!” Then, they asked all the questions you usually hear: What is your name? What is the address? What, who, when, where, how? I told Aunt Gwen to get me. While they were coming, I put clothes together in a bookbag and put shoes on. 911 services arrived. They put my mom on a stretcher, but I did not see her because the police pulled me aside to ask questions. At the police station, even more questions were asked. The room was so bright, full of fluorescent lights. My mind flooded with everything that had happened so fast. I was praying, hoping, and making deals with God. I promised Him that if she lived, I would do anything. Then, the call came. My mom died at the hospital, and my brother died upstairs at home. Tears flooded out. Aunt Gwen who was crying also, embraced me. You know, the mind is a strange thing. Looking back on it, I cannot even remember what I did the day before, yet I can remember that night like it happened yesterday. Life has not been the same since this happened. Survivor's guilt plagued me. On that night, I asked God, “Why me? Why did I deserve to live, and they didn’t?” I struggled in my relationship with God and with myself. I realized how brief life is, and not take it for granted. Soon, I was placed into the care of my cousin, and now legal guardian. She had been through trauma as well, so she got me a therapist. There, I would learn the importance of meditation and journaling. At first, I was not fond of either, but the two grew on me. Meditation calms the rapid thoughts and memories of that day and helps me to realize that I did everything I could to help them. Journaling has become a vault where I keep my feelings, hopes, and dreams. I want to go to college to defy the odds. People, including my own family, have doubted me. I want to prove them and the world wrong. Not only do I want to do this, but I also want to help others who have been stripped of their voice and underrepresented to get their power and voice back. To be an advocate for them. I would say my biggest influence was my mom. Not only did she give me her looks, but she gave me an example of what a true hard-working woman looks like. She helped me understand that even on bad days you can persevere, be creative, and never give up. Thank you for your consideration.