I remember having high school students pick me up from my kindergarten class, telling me what they’re learning in my dad’s class, asking me how my day was, etc. Then, I would watch my dad teach for the last twenty-ish minutes of class. But those twenty minutes added up, and it left an irreversible mark on me. I desire to move onto higher education because I saw my dad inspire children with writing, and now I wish to do the same. However, my dad has inspired me in more ways than one . After my second parliamentary debate round at my first tournament, I met with my dad and I told him, “I feel like I’m just getting worse.” But at the end of the tournament, when they called my name for going undefeated, my dad dad was the first person I ran to, holding my trophy. Since then, my dad has never missed one of my tournaments. When I’ve felt tired or inadequate, he has been the one to give me the tightest hugs. Most of all, he has been the one to always encourage me to try—regardless if I win or lose. At some point during my first debate season, I became a little “burnt-out.” When I brought up my concerns to my dad, he told me to stop worrying about the wins or losses but rather the knowledge I’m gaining and the impact I have on the debate space. So, I started caring about my standing within the debate community, especially as a hard-of-hearing debater. The easiest part of debate for others—hearing the debate—is the most difficult element for me. Although I have been able to survive in the hearing world, debate made me question my abilities. Many times, my debate partner consoled me after rounds because I misheard him or our opponents, causing us to struggle or lose rounds. However, my partner and I realized that we had the power to change my accessibility within the debate space. We developed unnoticeable customs, like how I sit closest to our opponents. Moreover, because we cannot talk during a round like other debate teams can because I cannot decipher whispered words, he uses sticky notes to “whisper” his ideas to me. We configure our seats at an angle so I can read lips and, sometimes, politely ask quieter speakers to switch seating positions to be closer to me. Gaining accessibility opened me up to enjoyment in the actual field of debate itself, researching subjects from geopolitical issues in Iran to current projects in NASA. Debates about society and our reactions thrill me: “This house should prioritize optimistic art rather than pessimistic art” is one of my favorite resolutions because debaters must explore how we are affected by art. Supporting pessimism, I reviewed how Fahrenheit 451 (one of my and my father’s favorites) always reminds me of the importance of books—encouraging me to fight against banning them. My opponent responded, “No, we need more government censorship.” I found my opponent’s retort outrageous, but it reminded me of the importance of analyzing texts to better understand how we are connected or disjointed by it—just as I analyze my participation in debate and its possible effects of unifying the worlds of the hearing and deaf. Yes, I still win trophies. However, I cherish bridging the hearing and Deaf communities. Most of all, debate has strengthened my relationship with my father, reminding me I always have someone in my corner. That’s a reward that no trophy can replace.

INT. BENICIA HIGH SCHOOL CLASSROOM - 3:20 MR. CALDERON, a 40 year old teacher, stands at the front of the class, holding a book. A young girl, no more than 5, with round teal glasses, sits at the teacher’s (her father's) desk. She is used to coming to her father’s class everyday after school. MR. CALDERON What we’re really seeing is the inner-conflict between dreams and reality—is taking a risk worth achieving your dreams? (The kids start to pack up) Alright, make sure to read scene 4 and 5 by Monday. Have a good weekend, everyone! (As the kids filter out, a few kids walk by the young girl, giving her high fives, telling her to have a good weekend, etc. Mr. Calderon kneels down in front of the young girl once the class has cleared.) MR. CALDERON (cont.) How was school, sweetheart? Learn a lot? COZY We wrote the ABC’s, and I shared my–my thing you did (she gestures a pen and paper). MR. CALDERON Your poem? COZY Yeah! That thing. I want to write another, but Mommy said I should try something else. (This isn’t unusual. Her mother typically redirects her path, and that will never stop.) MR. CALDERON Like what? COZY (Shrugs) Playing doctor and stuff. BORRRING! MR. CALDERON Come here. (She walks over and sits on his lap. He opens a large, fairy tale-like book.) Let me tell you a story… (The camera zooms into the pages of a book.) INT. VENTILATION VENT-MIDDAY ADULT COZY, noticeable because her round glasses, is crawling in a ventilation system. She speaks into a watch. ADULT COZY Operation Mountain is a go! (Spies, including Adult Cozy, drop down from the ceiling, interrupting an attack on the president of a nondescript country. Chaos ensues.) CUT TO: INT. OFFICE BUILDING - MIDDAY Adult Cozy sits behind a desk, dressed in a retro 50’s office look, complete with cat-eye glasses and a pencil tucked behind her ear. She looks deathly bored. She clicks the same, vintage phone button repeatedly, perhaps putting people on hold. MR CALDERON (VOICE-OVER) Okay, maybe not that. Instead…maybe you’re the owner of that business! (Zoom to Adult Cozy wearing the same outfit but standing confidently and smiling in a conference room with a comedic glow around her as old men look up at her from their seats seated along the long conference table.) MR. CALDERON (VOICE-OVER cont.) Yeah, that’s more like it! CUT TO: INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE Adult Cozy sits across from a patient sitting on the medical table. She’s dressed in a professional, all black outfit. We see a doctor’s mouth move, and Adult Cozy interprets in American Sign Language for the patient. CUT TO: MIDWEST DESERT-MIDDAY (Adult Cozy is wearing cowgirl gear, standing across from an enemy cowboy.) COZY This town ain’t big enough for the both of us… CUT TO: INT. HIGH SCHOOL CLASSROOM - MIDDAY Adult Cozy stands behind her desk that has a red apple on it, obviously a teacher, holding a book open. She opens her mouth to speak, but: MR. CALDERON (VOICE-OVER) Definitely not that! CUT TO: A vibrant montage of all different potential jobs flash across the screen (actor in a Shakespearean play, scuba diver, Color Guard performer, football coach, a ballerina, a debate judge, etc., etc.) until BAM! Cozy slams the book shut. COZY Dad! I know now! I know what I want to be! MR. CALDERON That’s great, sweetie. What is it? COZY Me! I just want to be me. (Mr. Calderon smiles. He knows she’ll have to decide someday, but for now…) MR. CALDERON And I wouldn’t want anything more from you. Come on, let’s go home. (They stand up, Mr. Calderon picking up his briefcase and Cozy slipping on her backpack. They leave, and the classroom is silent.) (Cozy runs back in, yelling back to her dad who peaks his head into the doorway.) COZY Wait! I forgot the book. I want to see if being a writer is a back-up option if I can't just be me! (Mr. Calderon gives a knowing smile as she picks up the heavy, fairy tale-like book and scurries back out the door. The door closes and the title screen appears: The Little Poet)