Me and my family are strongly rooted in the soil of Memphis, Tennessee, while some of my mother's side branches north to Chicago. On a Thursday morning, I trail my grandmother into the halls of a rehabilitation center. She hugs a bible on her hip. We are in Whitehaven, a highly concentrated black area of Memphis. Graceland sits on a manicured 14 acres a few blocks away. The surrounding houses? Destitute. Yet, they house the bulk of my city’s population. The drab air greyed my spirits. Patients stared blankly, motionless, some tethered to their wheelchairs. As I was being led down the halls, I noticed the weight of my own freedom. I could escape these walls, but the ailing could not, confined to these parts by illness and the slow erosion of time. I sat among the young, the old, the chronically ill, realizing this is my community too. I watched as my grandmother transformed this place of quiet concealment into a space of comfort and connection. She showed up for those overlooked, making sure they felt their value, even if just for an hour each week. Her actions showed me that care is right we all share, regardless of circumstance. This visit was my personal motivator for my senior project. I am currently organizing interviews with seniors in a nursing home. Many residents feel isolated, especially those without family nearby. Watching their faces light up as I spend my time with them made me appreciate the impact of simple attempts at connection. I am doing this because I care about such an overlooked majority of our population. A population that was once heavily involved in the world, but has now been tucked away or swept under rugs. Extending to the other side of age, I also value listening to the young people who are overlooked as well. My youngest brother, diagnosed with autism, teaches me the importance of living presently. We complicate our own lives so much, we don't realize someone else wishes for the day where they can go to school and not be seen as "different". There is always a lesson to learn, and I try to learn from everyone, wherever I go. I opt to babysit for special needs children, because I know they are often overlooked for being "a handful" To me, children are children. It does not matter if you have autism or cerebral palsy; all children are children. Trust will break through all the labels and diagnoses that try to separate them from our community. Kindness is necessary in our lives, because without kindness, the purpose of service would not have a heart. So I do not serve others for personal gain; I serve because I know my capacity to help others. I serve because it solidifies my purpose. If awarded this scholarship, it will be going towards my college, I am attending Washington University in St. Louis to study Political Science and Econ. I am committed to being involved in government so I can assist those like my people back home. People who are not given the resources they deserve by the current order of authority. My city is a hurt city, one that is heavy with the blues tunes that hang in the air, long after tourists desert Beale Street. There are so many cities around the world with the same needs as the city of Memphis and more. Because I have experienced this in one city, I want to improve all citizens' quality of life in places that have been overlooked, historically.

1. I grew up hearing my parents’ stories about their clients with special needs. My dad started his business to give those with intellectual deficits a voice, he is my personal example of leadership in service. I am training to become a Registered Behavior Technician for him so I can assist in giving others their voice as well. Kindness is the heartbeat of my family, and another pillar of what support really means. This is important to me because it is personal. My youngest brother, diagnosed with autism, teaches me the importance of living presently. We complicate our own lives so much, we don't realize someone else wishes for the day where they can go to school and not be seen as "different". There is always a lesson to learn, and I try to learn from everyone, wherever I go. I opt to babysit for special needs children, because I know they are often overlooked for being "a handful" To me, children are children. It does not matter if you have autism or cerebral palsy; all children are children. Trust will break through all the labels and diagnoses that try to separate them from our community. Kindness is necessary in our lives, because without kindness, the purpose of service would not have a heart. We do not serve others for personal gain; we serve because we know our capacity to help others. We serve because it solidifies our purpose. If I have the means, I will always use kindness to uplift those around me. 3. On a Thursday morning, I trail my grandmother into the halls of a rehabilitation center. She hugs a bible on her hip. We are in Whitehaven, a highly concentrated black area of Memphis. Graceland sits on a manicured 14 acres a few blocks away. The surrounding houses? Destitute. Yet, they house the bulk of my city’s population. The drab air greyed my spirits. Patients stared blankly, motionless, some tethered to their wheelchairs. As I was being led down the halls, I noticed the weight of my own freedom. I could escape these walls, but the ailing could not, confined to these parts by illness and the slow erosion of time. I sat among the young, the old, the chronically ill, realizing this is my community too. I watched as my grandmother transformed this place of quiet concealment into a space of comfort and connection. She showed up for those overlooked, making sure they felt their value, even if just for an hour each week. Her actions showed me that care is right we all share, regardless of circumstance. This visit was my personal motivator to hold a donation drive for the center. Whatever they needed, clothing, blankets, puzzles, books, or my time. When I saw the effect that my grandmother held on the patients, I took it upon myself to just sit with people and care for them. Pushing the material items aside, a conversation can be just as sentimental. For my senior project, I am organizing interviews with seniors in a nursing home. Many residents feel isolated, especially those without family nearby. Watching their faces light up as I spend my time with them made me appreciate the impact of simple attempts at connection. I am doing this because I care about such an overlooked majority of our population.

Every woman in my family born before 1981 has had one of two jobs: a nurse or a schoolteacher. My paternal grandmother had the honor of holding both, as she operated her daycare. For 30 years, she sang the ABCs, potty trained, slapped wrists, and bandaged cuts, a second mom for too many. I have great respect for women in these careers, and for her. I also understand that during that period, career options for colored women were slim. This was a time where black women could finally support their families working their own careers. My grandmother, and those like her, dedicated themselves to their work: the children. In the role of caretaker, these women fed their children in care mantras: value education, seize opportunities, go farther than we did. The kids holding these incantations became the magic generation: my parents, uncles, and aunts. That generation, because of the commitment of women like my grandmother, greatly expanded the horizons of what African Americans have achieved in society. We became district attorneys, authors, directors, and even United States President. In success, we must never overlook the sacrifice of those mothers, grandmothers, and teachers who nurtured us and changed mentalities from within a community at risk. Continuing this legacy, my grandmother's son - Uncle Koko - is a former Marine, like his father. Uncle Koko taught himself Arabic and later Spanish while stationed in Iraq. He once engaged a small group of Arab men conversing in Arabic a restaurant in D.C. He connected, and they began to share jokes. At the end of the conversation, the Arab men asked Uncle Koko where he was from. "Memphis", he said. The men smiled and cheered. He then clarified, "Memphis, Tennessee, not Egypt”. The men dropped their smiles and shuffled out of the door. An unfavorable experience, but not unfamiliar for people from here. Uncle Koko used this inter-cultural experience as fuel to continue to pursue cross-cultural understanding. He began his career as an MPD officer, being promoted to detective and later sergeant. The understanding that he gained with his military experience helped him lead and benefit the Memphis Police Department. His impact and success could not be possible without my grandmother. She told her sons they should seize opportunities and value their education. He shows me how this can happen. He motivates me to pursue understanding across differences and bring those lessons back to my community, or forth to a new campus. All these experiences shape how I reflect on my identity as the descendant of resilient women. I recognize their sacrifices and unwavering dedication. Their commitment to education, hard work, and community taught me the importance of lifting others. With the help of this scholarship, I intend to honor Kalia Davis and other women by embodying academic integrity, perseverance, and service in all that I do. I am committed to reinvesting the strength and opportunities I have received. In this way, my identity will not only continue to shape my own journey but will also contribute to the growth of those who I cross paths with.

On a Thursday morning, I trail my grandmother into the halls of a rehabilitation center. She hugs a bible on her hip. We are in Whitehaven, a highly concentrated black area of Memphis. Graceland sits on a manicured 14 acres a few blocks away. The surrounding houses? Destitute. Yet, they house the bulk of my city’s population. The drab air greyed my spirits. Patients stared blankly, motionless, some tethered to their wheelchairs. As I was being led down the halls, I noticed the weight of my own freedom. I could escape these walls, but the ailing could not, confined to these parts by illness and the slow erosion of time. I sat among the young, the old, the chronically ill, realizing this is my community too. I watched as my grandmother transformed this place of quiet concealment into a space of comfort and connection. She showed up for those overlooked, making sure they felt their value, even if just for an hour each week. Her actions showed me that care is right we all share, regardless of circumstance. This visit was my personal motivator to hold a donation drive for the center. Whatever they needed, clothing, blankets, puzzles, books, or my time. When I saw the effect that my grandmother held on the patients, I took it upon myself to just sit with people and care for them. Pushing the material items aside, a conversation can be just as sentimental. For my senior project, I am organizing interviews with seniors in a nursing home. Many residents feel isolated, especially those without family nearby. Watching their faces light up as I spend my time with them made me appreciate the impact of simple attempts at connection. I am doing this because I care about such an overlooked majority of our population. Additionally, I am training to become a Registered Behavior Technician with my dad, who started his company to give those with intellectual deficits a voice. My goal is to use these skills to support children with developmental differences and to help them be seen, because their voice matters. My youngest brother, diagnosed with autism, teaches me the importance of living presently. We complicate our own lives so much, we don't realize someone else wishes for the day where they can go to school and not be seen as "different". You never know what somebody else is going through, so I am always thoughtful and considerate about how I treat others. These experiences have reinforced my belief that being caring is a trait that I will work towards for the rest of my life.