Sitting on the bench at recess, I remember the kickball rolling toward my feet. My arm was in a cast from another injury, and before I could react, someone yelled, "Get the ball, you stupid cripple." I picked it up and threw it back without saying anything, my face red, wishing I could disappear. I was smaller than most of my classmates and seemed to spend every season dealing with an injury, and more than the pain, I struggled with always feeling like I was falling behind. For a long time, I tried to fix that by seeking approval from other people. I wanted to be seen as athletic and capable, and when I wasn't, the more I cared what others thought, the more control I gave them over my confidence. That is still a weakness I watch for in myself. But somewhere in high school I realized I could not control my size, my injuries, or anyone's opinion. I could only control what I did with my time. So I started showing up for myself instead, riding my moped to the gym almost every day, taking school seriously, and pushing through Osgood-Schlatter in both knees and a torn meniscus in wrestling. I learned that confidence built through effort lasts longer than confidence built through approval. My faith is a big part of why I kept going. As a Christian, I believe the opportunities I have were given to me, and that it would be wrong to waste them. That belief shows up as gratitude and a sense of responsibility to use what I have for more than myself. As president of our Fellowship of Christian Athletes, I try to help other people find that same steady, grounded confidence that my faith gives me. That is where most of my energy has gone. Because I know what it feels like to feel overlooked or behind, I try to create opportunities that help other people find confidence in themselves. As Vice President of my county's Youth Advisory Committee, I helped direct over $75,000 a year toward youth mental health and substance-abuse prevention, and I learned that money isn't just numbers, it's a chance to help someone build something they can grow. I founded my high school's first Fishing Club and grew it from nothing, learning how to make an idea sustainable through teamwork and community support. I have also organized a community gear swap, volunteered through an ice storm that left families without power, and made cards for seniors who were alone. My dream is to keep building. I plan to study entrepreneurship and finance at the University of Michigan's Ross School of Business, and instead of chasing a title job, I want to start something of my own and use it to create opportunity in small communities like mine. In Charlevoix, capital and chances are scarce for someone with an idea and no track record, and too many people my age feel they have to leave to build anything. I want to be someone who helps them stay and build here. As college costs climb, this is where the scholarship would make a real difference. I work over twenty hours a week through the season to help pay my own way, and support like this would let me put more of my energy into learning and serving instead of just covering the bill. More than that, I would be honored to carry forward what this scholarship stands for. I never got to meet Treye, but the life his family hoped he would live, faithful, intentional, and meaningful, is the life I am trying to build. I want to earn that through the way I show up, the things I build, and the people I lift along the way.

The room was silent except for the creak of chairs as twelve students leaned in, waiting. Seventy-five thousand dollars in grant money rested on the decisions we were about to make. As Vice President of my county's Youth Advisory Committee, my job was to bring people together. Through that committee, I've seen firsthand the impact money can have on people. I learned that money isn't just numbers, it's an opportunity to help someone else build something they can develop and grow. After grantmaking season, we always visit one of the organizations we gave money to, to understand how they plan to use it and see the impact they have on the community. Just recently, we visited the Bergmann Center in Charlevoix, where they "empower individuals with intellectual and developmental disabilities through education, employment, engagement and integration." Seeing how happy many of the people were, and hearing that some of them would have no place to work or belong if not for the Bergmann Center, showed me how much of an impact money can have when it's utilized well. That lesson shapes the disparity I want to spend my career reducing: the lack of economic opportunity in small, underserved towns like mine. In Charlevoix, capital and opportunity are scarce for someone with an idea and no track record, and too many people my age assume they have to leave to build anything. I am excited to learn about entrepreneurship because it lets me branch out to different people and groups, in hopes of helping them with whatever business I decide to start someday. Investing is another interest of mine; it lets you find something you believe will make an impact, help its cause, then watch it grow alongside you. Instead of chasing a title job, I plan on starting something of my own that I can build and develop over time. I want to return to communities like Charlevoix with conviction and capability, helping local businesses modernize and launching a venture of my own, starting with "The Bait Box," a bait and tackle shop I want to refine to meet demand in Northern Michigan. This is what "Investing in the Black" means to me: putting money toward things that last instead of spending it once. Founding Charlevoix High School's first Fishing Club taught me that it takes a successful relationship between a project and its community to achieve greatness, and that you can start something from nothing and make it sustainable through teamwork and community support. I would measure success the same way: whether the businesses I help start or back are still open and growing years later, whether they create jobs, and whether more people my age choose to stay and build here instead of leaving. It takes a community to lift a community, and mine lifted me long before I could lift it back. Growing up, I was smaller than most of my classmates and spent years fighting through injuries, from Osgood-Schlatter in both knees to a torn meniscus, and for a long time I felt like I was always falling behind. Eventually I learned that confidence built through effort lasts longer than confidence built through approval. Because I know what it feels like to feel overlooked or behind, I try to create opportunities that help other people find confidence in themselves. As I pursue a degree in business and entrepreneurship at the University of Michigan, I want to use what I build to give the next person with an idea the chance to grow it at home.