Take a look at my profile picture. I have a huge head! At least that’s what I’ve been told all my life. Being made fun of and teased about ourselves usually makes us react in a few different ways: we can internalize the criticism— turning inward and developing a self-consciousness, or we can find a way to deflect the attacks. The healthiest and best way I could think of to handle the onslaught of being made fun of as a kid was to spend a lot of my free time thinking of ways to respond to people’s jokes about me. The comeback that seemed to extinguish my assailant's flame the quickest was when I would say, “I have a big brain. So God had to give me a big head.” I found that embracing what others deemed my faults was actually empowering. However, at a deeper psychological level, I can’t say this method actually produces the outcome it is perceived to be producing. I would find myself still self-conscious when I was alone, or in the back of my mind when I was around people. I learned to hide it, but the fear of being different for adolescents is definitely a biological reaction that wreaks havoc on a person’s nervous system. Luckily, we are resilient beings, and as time goes on, we learn to embrace ourselves more and more— considering we learn the skill of self-acceptance. And though I am much better than I once was, unconditional self-acceptance is something— I’ve learned— I’ll probably struggle with for the rest of my life. Don’t get me wrong. I love myself, but that has taken a lot of work. I won’t overwhelm you with the sufferings of my life. We all have our traumas we’ve been through. However, I believe some of us suffer more from self-acceptance issues than others. I believe those of us marred by life and the ones who were supposed to protect us growing up, struggle much more than those who felt safe and protected during their lives. I’ve lived an interesting life, and I believe it is for a purpose. I believe in God, and I believe God’s plan is greater than my own. I find myself, having lived the life I’ve lived, embracing the person I’ve become. I can feel my old ambitions of the young man I was, falling away, and I can feel myself having entered the elusive manhood so many males often struggle to find. I once felt cursed to have had the childhood I had, and to have lived the life I did, but now I feel blessed. Now I feel my steps have been ordered, and the person I’ve become wants to do some awesome stuff in this world. That’s why I’ve chosen to go to school to be an educator and a writer. One of the ways I’ve learned to navigate life, and to find my way out of mental struggles was through the practice of writing. Writing has been a way for me to untangle my mind and myself. By becoming a teacher and working with underserved communities, I truly believe I can guide others towards the same light at the end of the tunnel that brought me through. I believe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, and I’m becoming exactly who I was born to be. I’m thankful and blessed for it all— my big head included. Thank you for considering my application for the Charles B. Brazelton Memorial Scholarship. It is an honor.

‘Gripping’ is the word I now use to express the feeling of being addicted to something. Whatever it is that we are addicted to, is what we are gripped by— squeezed, not held, in the palm of something that does not love us, but uses us as much as we use it. Whatever a person is addicted to becomes their God, and, in the conscious, or subconscious worship of a false idol, we fall— the soul unable to be sustained by anything, for long, other than what it was made to be sustained by. I’ve been addicted to multiple things throughout my life, and more important than what I was addicted to, is the ‘why’ I was addicted to those things. I believe it’s easy for human beings to become lost. It’s hard enough being born into a world that does not come with a ‘How-To’ manual. Add in the myriad of ways we humans are marred emotionally, mentally, and physically, and I would say the chances of becoming someone who doesn’t seek escape from the tumultuousness of living is far less likely than becoming someone who does seek respite from the onslaught that is life. In fact, I don’t think we get addicted to the substances themselves— not as much as we get addicted to finally feeling better; even if just for a moment at a time. I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve somehow escaped my addictions, and now the only thing I get high on are my goals. I learned about the way the brain is wired to seek dopamine, and how dopamine can come from delayed, or instant gratification. I learned, through time and effort, a person can rewire their brain to seek delayed gratification, even after being addicted to the instant gratification of substances. It wasn’t easy, and the withdrawal stage proved to be cumbersome regarding this process, but by the grace of God, and a deep desire to step into a better version of myself, I made it to a place I feel lucky to be. I know there are people like Max, and like my good friend, Mark— who passed away far too young— who unfortunately succumbed to the same battle I almost did as well. I know how precious and delicate this life can be, and I’m grateful to have another chance. Moving forward, I plan to use my life and my story as a way to help as many people as I can. I’ve chosen to go to college to be an educator and writer. I want to use my love of language to help others the way language has helped me. I want to show others how language and communication can be a vessel we use to navigate the hardest parts of this life. I want to use my truth and my gifts to teach others that when it feels the world is insurmountable, that is not the truth of this life we’ve been blessed with— but it is just a moment. I want to share the good news of the alternative route, and the way we were designed to flourish. I truly just want to be another light at the end of the tunnel for all those trying to find their way. I believe that’s why we’re here, and I believe that’s what it means to be truly human.

On March 16th, 1968, an officer of the United States Army made a My Lai villager sit while the officer tied the villager’s hands behind a hitching post. After his hands were tied, the officer tied the man’s torso to the hitching post. Then he tied his feet. As the villager pleaded for his life, screaming in Vietnamese towards his wife and children, the army officer pulled the pin from a grenade and tossed the grenade into the lap of the villager. Over the next several hours, nearly 500 citizens of the My Lai village would be tortured, raped, and murdered. My father served in the Vietnam War. He came back addicted to heroin and other drugs. Before his death, he tried to get his 12 children together— most of us estranged from each other. The only two who came were my older-brother Cody, and myself. During that time of watching my father slowly fade from the world on hospice support, Cody told me our father was one of the army officers at the village of Mai Lai. He told me our father confessed to him, the way someone confesses sins to a priest within a confessional booth. Our father said every soldier there was on some kind of drug— most using a combination of marijuana, heroin, and amphetamines given to American soldiers in surplus by the United States Government to “help with the fatigue of war.” Our father told Cody the crying and the screaming of the village people— as the soldiers had their way with the women and children— haunted him all the way to his deathbed. I wish my story about being the son of a war veteran had a happy ending. I wish I could tell you the way my father taught me discipline and courage, and all the other positive attributes he instilled within me. I wish I could tell you how him being a United States veteran reverberates positively throughout his lineage. However, my father’s story— and my family’s story— is the story most people don’t like to talk about when it comes to war. My father never recovered from war, and most of our family didn’t either. Out of my 12 siblings, 3 of us escaped addiction and mental health issues. My father spent the rest of his life reliving the horrors of what it often means to be a veteran, and his prodigy continues to suffer the consequences of war as well. My father’s life taught me the importance of diplomacy— of ensuring a world of educated men and women, who are able to find healthy resolutions to the issues that plague human nature. My father’s life taught me the need for intellectual and spiritual evolution within mankind. It is because I have seen first-hand what war can do to a man— and the family that man is supposed to protect— I fully understand the importance of striving to become my greatest and most civilized self. That’s why I’ve chosen a career as an educator and writer in order to do my part to guide the intellectual and spiritual evolution of this world in the right direction. I am going to college to cultivate my God-given passions and abilities in order to best serve the world, the best way I can think of. Being the son of a veteran taught me— as a species— we still have a ways to go in order to reach our highest selves, and it’s up to all of us to do our part to get there. Thank you for considering my application.

I have been playing chess since elementary. My 5th grade teacher, Mr. Sunyak, had an after-school chess club, and that was the first extracurricular activity I participated in besides sports. I remember being deeply drawn to the game because of my older brother playing, but it wasn’t the usual, ‘big brother likes it, so I like it,’ dynamic. Not this time. This was about a compulsion elicited by the possibilities— two armies facing off within those 64 squares, and the billions of different ways each battle could occur. I was fascinated by the game. I have only ever felt that kind of compulsion towards art. Over time I came to understand Chess wasn’t just a game for me. Chess was a part of me— a way of thinking and seeing the world. My educational plan is to complete a BA in English by Spring 2028– minoring in education. Then I plan to pursue a master’s degree. My career goals are to become a writer and educator in underserved communities. I want to show people from similar backgrounds as my own, the power of language— contributing to their educational initiatives, and showing them how to use language, storytelling, and art as a tool for healing and self empowerment. Whether through teaching, workshops, or publishing work that challenges and expands perspective, my goal is to help literature be accessible and transformative for others, the same way it has been for me. Getting to this moment in my life took balancing the weight of every move I’ve made— weighing every decision against short term gratification, and what serves the end game. In chess, the end game must be the master of one’s decisions. Always moving towards the best version of myself, writing professionally, and becoming an educator, has been my end game. I have had opportunities to commit to careers and ideas that look great on paper, but they did not serve my end game. I stuck to my plan, used discipline and perseverance to raise my children into the kind of people that make this world a better place, and now that they have graduated, it’s time to checkmate my life. Possibly the most important lesson chess has taught me, is the danger of overconfidence. It only takes one careless move— a moment of distraction— to blunder, and lose control of the game. I have experienced that firsthand, both on the board— taking an easy piece only to have my queen captured two moves later— and in life. As any good chess player does, I’ve studied my mistakes, and allowed those moments to teach me humility and the importance of staying focused— even when things seem secure. That mindset is how I’m approaching my education now— with discipline fueled by fervor, awareness of the blessings bestowed upon me to have this opportunity, and unwavering intention to step fully into the person I believe I was born to be. My goal is not just personal success, but to use my education and abilities to create work and spaces that reach others— especially those who may not yet see a path forward for themselves. I want to show people— young and old— who need to know that even a pawn can become a king or queen.

For my close reading essay, I’ve chosen excerpts from section 15 of Thus Spake Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche. In this section, Nietzsche exposes the instability of moral values across cultures— not simply to argue that nothing has meaning, but to show that meaning is created through human evaluation. Rather than affirming nihilism, Nietzsche is pointing toward the necessity of becoming creators of values ourselves. Each excerpt will begin a new paragraph, followed by my close reading of the excerpt. Excerpt 1: “Much that passed for good with one people was regarded with scorn and contempt by another: thus I found it. Much found I here called bad, which was there decked with purple honours.” Nietzsche uses juxtaposition between different groups to destabilize the idea of universal moral truth. The contrast between “scorn and contempt” and “purple honours” is especially important. “Purple” suggests royalty, prestige, and reverence— meaning what one culture elevates to the highest status, another rejects entirely. By placing these extremes side by side, Nietzsche reveals that “good” and “bad” are not fixed categories, but products of cultural valuation. The phrase “thus I found it” reinforces that this is an observation, not a doctrine— he is showing, not prescribing. This challenges the reader to question whether their own values are inherent, or simply inherited. If values differ so dramatically across cultures, Nietzsche next turns to how those values are actually formed. Excerpt 2: “It is laudable, what they think hard; what is indispensable and hard they call good; and what relieveth in the direst distress, the unique and hardest of all,— they extol as holy.” Here Nietzsche links moral value to difficulty. The repetition of “hard” suggests that societies often equate struggle with virtue. What is “indispensable and hard” becomes “good,” and what is “hardest of all” becomes “holy.” This progression reveals how moral systems are constructed by elevating certain forms of behavior— often those that demand restraint, sacrifice, or endurance. The word “extol” implies active praise, suggesting that these values are not discovered but reinforced through collective approval. Nietzsche is not simply criticizing these values, but exposing how they are formed— through a shared agreement that difficulty itself is meaningful. Having shown how values are constructed, Nietzsche then examines how they are preserved and passed down over time. Excerpt 3: “To honour father and mother, and from the root of the soul to do their will”— this table of surmounting hung another people over them, and became powerful and permanent thereby.” Nietzsche’s phrase “hung… over them” introduces a powerful image of weight and dominance. The command to honor one’s parents appears virtuous on the surface, but Nietzsche suggests it functions as a structure of continuity, where past generations impose their values onto the present. The word “table” refers to a moral code, but something fixed and external— something handed down rather than chosen. By describing this code as something that “became powerful and permanent,” Nietzsche shows how such values sustain themselves across time. His focus is not limited to religion, but to any system that preserves authority by embedding it within moral obligation. If inherited values maintain their power in this way, Nietzsche next raises the question of how they can ever be changed. Excerpt 4: “Change of values— that is, change of the creating ones. Always doth he destroy who hath to be a creator.” This is one of Nietzsche’s most profound assertions: creation requires destruction. The phrase “change of values” is immediately tied to “the creating ones,” suggesting that new values do not emerge passively— they are made by individuals willing to break from what already exists. The word “always” is absolute, reinforcing that destruction is not incidental, but necessary. Nietzsche forces the reader to confront a tension— we often admire creation, but ignore what must be dismantled to make it possible. Here, he reframes the creator not as purely constructive, but as someone willing to challenge and overturn existing systems of meaning. Yet if creation requires breaking from the past, Nietzsche recognizes that most people are not naturally inclined to do so. Excerpt 5: “Older is the pleasure in the herd than the pleasure in the ego: and as long as the good conscience is for the herd, the bad conscience only saith: ego.” Nietzsche contrasts “herd” and “ego” through the language of “pleasure” and “conscience.” The use of “pleasure” is important— it suggests that conformity is not just enforced, but emotionally rewarded. The “good conscience” aligns with the herd, while the “bad conscience” is associated with individuality. This reversal reveals how moral systems condition people to feel guilt for separating from the group. The word “older” implies that herd instinct is deeply rooted, making individuality feel unnatural or even wrong. Nietzsche is exposing how morality operates psychologically, shaping not just behavior, but internal feelings of right and wrong. Given this tendency toward conformity, Nietzsche then changes focus from individuals to humanity as a whole. Excerpt 6: “A thousand goals have there been hitherto, for a thousand peoples have there been. Only the fetter for the thousand necks is still lacking; there is lacking the one goal.” Nietzsche emphasizes a lack of unity of the whole of humanity through repetition: “a thousand goals… a thousand peoples.” This suggests that every group creates its own system of meaning. The image of a “fetter for the thousand necks” introduces the idea of constraint— a unifying force that could bind all people under a single purpose. The absence of “the one goal” is significant. Nietzsche is not simply underlining this lack, but pointing to a deeper condition: humanity has not yet defined a shared direction. Rather than presenting this as failure, he leaves it open— as a problem still to be addressed. This absence leads Nietzsche to conclude the section with a question that turns the entire argument back onto the reader. Excerpt 7: “But pray tell me, my brethren, if the goal of humanity be still lacking, is there not also still lacking— humanity itself?” Nietzsche ends with a question that reframes everything that came before it. The phrase “my brethren” creates a sense of shared inquiry, but I believe the question itself is meant to destabilize the reader. If humanity has no unified goal, then what defines it? The pause before “humanity itself” gives the line weight, forcing the reader to confront the possibility that what we call “humanity” is incomplete. Rather than offering an answer, Nietzsche leaves the question open— suggesting that the task of defining humanity may fall to those willing to create new values.