We called him Grandpa Jelly-bean. His name was Don Iverson. He served with the US Marine Corps during the Vietnam War. He was never Grandpa for my mom or Great-Grandpa for me and my cousins. He's always been known as Grandpa Jelly-bean. As a little kid, whenever I'd see him I'd run up to him to greet him and give him a hug. After saying hello, he would furrow his brow and look at my ears. "Can you hear okay?" he would ask. "Yeah!" I'd return with a smile. He would slightly tickle my ear and pull out a jelly bean. "Are you sure? This was stuck in there." I would gasp in disbelief. "How did that get there?" "It's been growing in there since the last time I saw you. Good thing I was able to get it for you!" he'd say as he'd give me the jelly bean. Me and my cousins would always look forward to seeing Grandpa Jelly-bean so he could give us magically grown jelly beans from our ears. As we got older, the jelly beans matured into quarters. As a 8 year old, getting some form of money for ourselves was a big deal. During family gatherings, all of the cousins would constantly run up to Grandpa Jelly-bean to see if any new coins have grown. "Is there a new coin yet? we'd inquire. After giving our ears a good check, he'd say, "Nope, it's been five minutes since you got your last coin. It'll probably be ready within the hour." As time went on, each cousin's personal coin collection grew. All 15 cousins would walk over to the local candy store to buy little lollipops with the coins we've earned throughout the week. We would happily buy our favorite sweets together all thanks to Grandpa Jelly-bean. We never once questioned his little trick. To us kids, Grandpa Jelly-bean had a special skill that no one else had. He had the power to magically extract little gifts from our ears. I think I can confidently say that this little trick was the highlight of his relationships with all of his great-grandchildren. Seeing our faces light up with joy and confusion at the sight of little gifts always made him smile. Grandpa Jelly-bean passed away in May of 2023. His death was devastating for everyone in our family. His deep laugh, funny statements, and love towards our family is greatly missed at all of our family reunions. Now that all of us cousins are older, we reminisce about our memories with Grandpa Jelly-bean. He never once failed to put a smile on our faces. He blessed our family with so much joy and laughter. Whenever I see jelly beans, I always think about him. He left his mark on the world through the thing that brought his grandchildren and great-grandchildren the most joy. His light and laughter he brought with him everywhere will never be forgotten.

I was always the happy kid. I was always the kid you'd talk to and you'd walk away with a nice laugh and a smile. I wasn't the kid to start hyperventilating in the middle of class. On a cold day in November in 2018, my whole personality changed. I was driving to school with my siblings. We went to a school an hour away from our house, so we always made the best of our long car rides. One day, I started thinking about how school will go and my chest all of a sudden got heavy. My heart started pounding. I froze as my stomach, neck and head started throbbing. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't talk. I didn't know what was happening to me. I thought that school would distract me. I didn't know what I was feeling, so I assumed I was just getting sick. When we got to school, I walked into my class. Class was the same. The people were the same. But for some reason, I felt like I was going to explode. I tried talking to my friends to distract me, but that didn't work. We sat in our seats as class started. I couldn't do it anymore. I just knew that if I stayed any longer, I would burst into tears. I rose my hand and asked to go to the office. My teacher knew something was wrong, so she let me leave. As soon as I left those doors, I took off running towards the art room. Luckily, my mom was the art teacher at my school. She had prep hour first period so no one was in her class. I burst in through the doors and jumped into her arms, sobbing like a baby. She froze in confusion. This wasn't the Avery she knew. She knew the happy-go-lucky Avery. As she held me, she asked me what was going on. "What happened?" She asked. "I can't be here anymore." I sobbed in reply. "Was someone mean to you?" She inquired. "I feel like my mind is being mean to my body." I struggle to say, as I shook with fear. At that moment she knew it was serious. I needed to go home. We found out later that week that I had anxiety. Little Avery, who was always smiling and laughing, had anxiety. It was very hard for me to wrapped my head around. I thought something was wrong with me. I was always so frustrated when my siblings went into school with no fear and I felt like I had a 20 pound weight on my chest. My classmates saw the change in me. They would ask if I was okay, and I would just brush it off saying that I was fine. They had no idea the mental battles I was facing. My teachers and family were so concerned every morning when I would start to cry and break out into a sweat. My parents tried to stay by my side for comfort, but we knew that it's not advised to have a parent in your 4th grade classroom. As the year went on, I tried to be more mindful about my surroundings. I was safe. I was surrounded by people that loved me. I was so blessed to be able to go to school. On the way to school in the mornings, I would turn on happy music and think about all the things I was grateful for. Over time, my anxious mind screaming at me would get quieter by the day.

When you think of "different kids" you think of the unliked kids who have uncommon interests. For me, that wasn't the type of social difference I was dealing with. My story is a bit different As a kid, I was always taller than the majority of the people in my class. I've felt lots of pressure from the people around me to be a sports player, as tall girls have the upper hand in athletics most of the time. I, however, was raised in a very artsy family. We were never all that interested in sports culture. Every time I met someone new, they would always ask the same question. "Do you play volleyball and basketball?" Every time, I would respond with a smile, "I actually don't play sports. I'm more into the arts!" Usually, they would nod surprisingly and walk away. In American cultures, athletics are normally more popular than the arts. Not having athletic abilities as an almost 6 foot girl isn't the most ideal, but I've learned how to find success in myself apart from sports. Most days, my mind is occupied with what type of sweater I am designing. I think about design styles and come up with ways to make it look good. I go to school wearing my designs some days, and my classmates come up to me exclaiming, "Did you make that? I could never! You're so talented!" These compliments confirm the fact that talent isn't always defined by your physical appearance. If I seriously perused sports to conform to society, I wouldn't feel the joy I have when I use my creativity. Talent shows up in different ways for different people. We are made to do what we are good at, not what society wants us to be good at. When you look at a kid's face, you see innocence and joy. Many times, you don't realize the baggage a child can carry. During summer of 2024, I worked at a children's summer camp as a counselor. One night, me and my cabin were all getting ready for bed and one of our girls started sobbing. Everyone in the cabin stopped in their tracks. No one has cried up until this point, so everyone was concerned about what was happening. My co-counselor took our camper who was feeling emotional outside to help her feel better. I then went around the cabin, checking on each girl to see how they were doing. One of the girls was silently crying, so we went outside to talk about how she was feeling. This girl explained to me that she felt bad for the first girl who was crying, and thought that it was her own fault for making her cry by asking an emotionally serious and sensitive question to us. I told her how proud of her I was for finding the bravery to ask a serious question like that. She explained to me her fear that her cabin mates disapproved of her. I gave her a hug and told her how truly blessed we were to have her in our cabin. I spoke truth over her, confirming how she is such a vital addition to our cabin and how so many people have mentioned how much they loved her. I learned that night that she struggled with self doubt, so I kept telling her how much us counselors and the cabin mates loved her. This moment outside the cabin was one of the most important experiences I had during my time at camp because I planted seeds of self-worth and importance in this girl.