Father with a heart condition, Mother so ill barely surviving my birth, and grandparents debilitated from Stalinistic constructions, intensive labor seemed to summarize the work lives of my family. Though they had not climbed high in the inevitable social class divides, their falls back down to Point Trough seemed unproportionally frequent. For example, while my grandfather had actually fallen off of weak infrastructure at his Moscow construction site, my mother’s cleaning services had fallen into irrelevancy at Covid’s uprising. However, their heads still faced Point Crest; my grandfather moved onto sites in Saint Petersburg, and my mother onboarded new clients. And finally, my father’s story has reshaped our family’s main source of income and shaped my biggest high school extracurricular. Out of interest and inferior feelings toward my father’s dispatcher, I formally took on the freight dispatcher role listed within my father’s list of 1099 contractors. I accompanied my father on many of his work trips to Texas and California from my early days in America. The range of broker, shipper, dispatcher, receiver, and insurance phone calls he received, for the lack of a better word, confused me. Confused me not due to a language barrier but due to the contradicting messages these phone calls carried. My father’s dispatcher, who was hired solely based on his English-Russian translating ability, had carried across lower monetary amounts than stated by the other callers and by the blindly-signed contracts and rate confirmations. Exploitation came clear to my eyes. As a rising high school student, I dedicated many summer hours to acquiring beginner-level freight dispatching skills. I had gained my father’s trust in bookkeeping and began freshman year with a new responsibility: completing trip documents, issuing invoices, collecting payments, and maintaining spreadsheets. Like most people, I associate March 2020 with the closing of schools and lockdown. However, simultaneously, my bookkeeping role stretched to the “dispatcher” role, and at that point, I became one of the five people involved in my father’s day-to-day truck driving. Quarantine became advantageous. Months later, the violent protesting events in Belarus had displaced two family friends, and they found themselves truck-driving in America. A team of three, my father and two family friends, was now able to fulfill their fatherhood duties of supporting their families without being exploited due to a language barrier. For nearly my entire high school career, I have served a mediating role. While they drive, trying to comprehend and interpret words is no longer their responsibility. Messages from phone calls and texts on emails and electronic documents are translated to them in an integrity-maximizing manner. Now, intellectual curiosity has stretched my periphery beyond construction, cleaning, and trucking. Even though finances are still tight, I am eager to be the first in my family to acquire the rewards of post-secondary education. Per James Clear’s Atomic Habits, success is within reach if you grow 1% a day, so I consider this scholarship application as a step in the right direction.