Giving back to my community has never been about formal volunteering hours or big events. To me, giving back means what you do every day—the small actions that show up when someone needs you. It’s helping the people around you, not because it’s expected, but because it’s the right thing to do. I’ve grown up in a family that values service. Both of my parents are Army veterans, and my grandfather was a pastor who dedicated his life to helping underserved communities. From them, I learned that community isn’t just where you live—it’s how you treat people, how you show up, and how you make others feel supported and seen. My contribution to my community is through daily actions—especially when it comes to supporting my friends and teammates. For example, I’ve helped teammates set up their profiles on FieldLevel so they could have a shot at being recruited to play college basketball. Not everyone knows how the system works, and sometimes they just need someone to take the time to walk them through it. I’ve also brought teammates home with me to eat dinner after practice when they didn’t have a ride or when things were tough at home. Those nights weren’t planned out as service—but they mattered. Sometimes giving back means noticing what someone else needs. I once shoveled the driveway of a neighbor who physically couldn’t do it herself. I didn’t do it for recognition. I did it because it needed to be done, and I was able to help. That’s what community is to me—being there in the quiet moments, not just the big ones. The lessons I’ve learned through these experiences have shaped who I am and the kind of person I want to be. I plan to continue making a difference through daily actions and eventually as a special education teacher. I know what it feels like to struggle or feel left out, and I want to be someone who lifts others up—not just in words, but through consistent, real effort. Teaching, for me, is the ultimate form of giving back—helping young people feel seen, understood, and capable of achieving their goals, no matter their challenges. In the end, giving back doesn’t need to be flashy. It doesn’t have to be part of an official program or logged on a spreadsheet. It’s about how you treat people, how you lead by example, and how you show love and respect in everyday life. That’s the kind of community I want to help build—and the kind of person and teacher I aim to be.

Growing up, I stood out—and not always in ways that felt good. I was always the tallest kid in the room, and by high school, I had grown to 6'10". To most people, that height came with expectations: that I’d be a natural athlete, that I’d be confident and commanding. But the truth was very different. I was a quiet, shy kid, overweight as a freshman, and dealing with challenges most couldn’t see. I was born with camptodactyly, a condition that limits flexibility in my fingers. It made things like art class or handwriting tough and frustrating. On top of that, I’ve always had trouble reading nonverbal cues, something that falls under what’s known as a nonverbal learning disorder. I struggled socially and academically—especially during my freshman year, which was also the first year back in person after COVID. Some teachers misunderstood my quietness and assumed I didn’t care. I felt overlooked and underestimated. But I was lucky in one big way: I had people in my life who didn’t give up on me. My parents, both Army veterans, taught me how to push through and work hard no matter what. Coaches encouraged me to keep going, even when I barely got off the JV bench. One art teacher graded me based on effort instead of ability, which gave me the confidence to try. And a few teachers took the time to understand that my learning style was just different—not less capable. With their support, I turned things around. I raised my GPA to above a 3.0, and I committed to getting better both on and off the basketball court. I dropped weight, got in shape, and earned my way to becoming a varsity basketball team captain. Now, I’m heading to junior college to keep chasing my dream: to play basketball at a four-year school and, most importantly, to become a teacher. I want to be the kind of teacher who sees every student—especially the ones who are easy to overlook. The kid who sits in the back because they’re unsure of themselves. The one who works twice as hard just to be average. The one who needs someone to believe in them. I know what that feels like, and I know how life-changing it is when someone sees your effort and believes you can do more. Through teaching, I hope to create a classroom where effort matters more than natural ability, where differences are seen as strengths, and where every student feels like they belong. I want to help kids grow into confident, capable people, just like others helped me. My challenges have shaped me, but they haven’t defined me. They've given me a mission—and a deep drive to make sure no student feels alone in their struggle. Because I know that with the right support, anyone can rise. I’m proof of that.

Why I Want to Pursue a Career in Education Growing up in a military household taught me a lot about service, discipline, and the importance of giving back. Both of my parents served in the Army, and their commitment to something bigger than themselves shaped how I see the world. I’ve always known that I wanted to live a life of purpose, one where I could make a real difference in the lives of others. For me, that purpose is found in education. School was never easy for me. I was always the tallest kid in the room—by a lot. I hit my growth spurts early, and by middle school, I was already towering over my classmates. Now, at 6’10”, I’m used to standing out. But back then, it was hard. Being so tall made me look older than I was, and people—especially some teachers—expected me to act older too. I was uncoordinated, shy, and unsure of myself, but because of my size, I was treated like I should already have it all figured out. Not every teacher understood what I was going through. Some overlooked me, assumed I didn’t need help, or thought I wasn’t trying hard enough. But others saw me for who I really was: a quiet kid trying to find his footing. Those teachers made all the difference. They didn’t let my size or awkwardness define me. They encouraged me, pushed me, and helped me build confidence and resilience. They saw my potential even when I couldn’t. That experience showed me the lasting power teachers have. It’s not just about teaching math or reading—it’s about shaping lives. A good teacher can change the way a student sees themselves. They can lift someone up when they’re struggling, or help them discover a strength they didn’t know they had. I’ll never forget the teachers who did that for me, and I want to be that person for someone else. I also know that as a teacher, I’ll stand out—literally. At 6'10", I’ll probably be the tallest teacher in the building. But this time, I want my height to be a strength, not a burden. I want students to look up to me (in every way) and see someone who understands what it’s like to be different, to struggle, and to overcome. I want to create a classroom where every student feels seen, supported, and valued for who they are. I have tremendous respect for teachers and what they do. The impact they make lasts far beyond the classroom, and that’s the kind of legacy I want to leave. Becoming a teacher isn’t just a career choice for me—it’s a calling to serve, to guide, and to inspire the next generation. Just like my parents served their country, I want to serve my community, one student at a time.