My interest in pursuing a career in teaching comes from both my personal experiences in school and my commitment to giving back to the communities that shaped me. Growing up in East Atlanta, I attended public schools where I saw both the strengths and the challenges of our education system. I learned early on that schools can either open doors for young people or reinforce the barriers they already face. For many students in under-resourced communities, school is one of the few places where they can encounter opportunity, encouragement, and stability. That reality pushed me to think deeply about the role educators play in shaping not only academic outcomes but also how young people see themselves and their futures. My path to teaching was also shaped by moments when I felt misunderstood within the education system. There were times when my abilities were underestimated or when the system did not fully recognize my potential. However, there were also teachers who saw something in me and made the choice to nurture it. Those educators did more than teach content. They affirmed my intelligence, pushed me to think critically, and helped me realize that my voice and perspective mattered. Their belief in me helped shift how I viewed my own capabilities. One teacher in particular stands out in my journey: Ms. Solomon. During a time when I was still trying to figure out who I was as a student and a young man, this teacher saw something in me and encouraged me to try for the gifted program. Instead of focusing only on where I was academically, she focused on where I could go. She took the time to talk with me about my goals, encouraged me to participate in leadership opportunities, and constantly reminded me that my background did not limit my potential. I remember at such a young age telling her I was going to change the world, and she believed more than I did at times. As I continued through school, I began to recognize that many students around me needed that same encouragement and guidance. Too often, students from neighborhoods like mine are defined by statistics related to poverty, crime, or academic performance. I want to be a teacher who disrupts those narratives by helping students recognize their own strengths and possibilities. I believe that representation, mentorship, and high expectations can transform how young people approach learning and how they imagine their futures. My experiences working in literacy programs and serving students in elementary classrooms have only strengthened my desire to teach. Through my work supporting young readers, I have seen how foundational literacy skills can shape a child’s confidence and long-term success. I have also witnessed how patience, encouragement, and culturally responsive teaching can make students feel valued in the classroom. Ultimately, I want to become a teacher because I believe education is one of the most powerful tools for social change. Teaching allows me to combine my passion for learning, mentorship, and community service into a career that directly impacts young people’s lives. I want my classroom to be a place where students feel safe, supported, and challenged to grow. Just as teachers once helped me see my own potential, I hope to inspire my students to recognize that they, too, can achieve great things and create meaningful change in the world.

I was inspired to become a teacher through my own journey growing up in East Atlanta and navigating the public education system. From an early age, I saw how much a teacher could shape a student’s confidence, identity, and belief in their own potential. Some of my teachers saw gifts in me before I fully understood them myself. They challenged me, supported me, and reminded me that my circumstances did not define my future. At the same time, I also experienced moments where the education system did not always recognize or support students who came from communities like mine. Seeing both sides of that reality helped me understand how powerful educators can be in shaping the trajectory of a young person’s life. One of the earliest influences on my journey happened when I was in second grade and visited Morehouse College for the first time. While walking on that campus, someone told me, “This is where great Black men come from.” That moment stayed with me. It planted a seed in my mind about what it meant to strive for excellence and to use education as a tool to uplift not only yourself, but your community. From that point on, I told myself that I would attend Morehouse, and that goal gave me direction throughout my academic journey. Being surrounded by mentors and educators who believed in the power of education further strengthened my desire to pursue teaching as a career. My family also played a major role in shaping my decision to become an educator. I was raised by my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, three generations of strong Black women who instilled in me the importance of perseverance, education, and service. Growing up in a household without men meant that my understanding of manhood was shaped largely by the values they taught me. They emphasized discipline, compassion, and responsibility to others. Watching them work hard to support our family made me realize how powerful education could be as a pathway to opportunity and stability. Their sacrifices pushed me to pursue excellence and to think deeply about how I could give back to the communities that shaped me. Another major influence on my desire to teach comes from growing up in a high-crime community. Many young people in neighborhoods like mine are surrounded by negative narratives about what they can or cannot become. Too often, students are told indirectly that their environment limits their potential. I have seen how these messages can impact the way young people view themselves and their futures. Because of that, I want to be the kind of teacher who actively challenges those narratives. I want my classroom to be a space where students feel seen, valued, and capable of achieving more than what society may expect from them. My experiences working in education have already shown me how powerful representation and mentorship can be. Through my work in literacy programs and as a teacher assistant, I have seen how meaningful it is for students to interact with educators who understand their backgrounds and experiences. When students see someone who looks like them, who comes from a similar community, and who believes deeply in their ability to succeed, it can change how they approach school and learning. That representation matters because it expands what students believe is possible for themselves. As a teacher, I plan to use my experiences to inspire students not only through my words, but through the environment I create in my classroom. I want to build strong relationships with my students, so they know they are supported both academically and personally. I plan to create engaging learning experiences that encourage curiosity, critical thinking, and confidence. Education should not just focus on memorization or test scores. It should help students develop a sense of identity, purpose, and responsibility to their communities. I also want to emphasize literacy, because I believe it is one of the most powerful tools a young person can have. When students learn to read, write, and think critically, they gain the ability to understand the world around them and advocate for themselves. My goal is to help students build those skills early, so they feel empowered both inside and outside of the classroom. Ultimately, I want my story to serve as an example for my students. I want them to know that someone who grew up in a community like theirs, faced challenges, and still pursued education can stand in front of them as a teacher and mentor. More importantly, I want them to understand that they also have the ability to overcome obstacles and pursue their dreams. By creating a classroom rooted in support, high expectations, and encouragement, I hope to inspire my students to believe in themselves and to recognize the power they have to shape their own futures.

Growing up in East Atlanta, Georgia, I was raised by my great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother, three generations of strong Black women who shaped my understanding of resilience, faith, and responsibility. There were no men in my household, so much of my understanding of manhood was constructed through observation, imagination, and eventually self-discovery. In second grade, I visited Morehouse College and was told, “This is where great Black men come from.” That moment anchored my identity. From then on, I believed that greatness was not accidental; it was cultivated. Education, I realized, was the soil. As I moved through the public school system, I began to notice disparities that many of my peers normalized. I witnessed classmates mislabeled, under challenged, or over disciplined. I experienced the tension of being both gifted and misunderstood. Growing up in a high crime community, I saw how external conditions shaped internal narratives. Some of my peers began to shrink their dreams to match their surroundings. I was fortunate to have educators who affirmed me, but I also saw what happened when affirmation was absent. Those contrasts stayed with me. In high school, I wrote my first book, Just Like You, to empower Black boys to see their own brilliance reflected back at them. I had already begun to understand that representation and language shape identity. Later, at Morehouse College, majoring in Education, my lived experiences met theory. I studied the science of reading, culturally responsive pedagogy, and the structural forces that influence educational outcomes. My internships, ranging from literacy intervention work in elementary classrooms to policy advocacy for whole child development, expanded my understanding of how classroom practice and policy intersect. My aspirations in K 12 education are rooted in both urgency and hope. Urgency because I have seen how quickly potential can be diminished when systems fail to nurture it. Hope because I have also seen what happens when a teacher believes in a child before the child believes in themselves. I want to serve in the classroom first, building strong literacy foundations, reducing suspension rates through social emotional learning practices, and cultivating spaces where students feel seen and safe. Long term, I aspire to work in education policy and eventually lead at the district level, ensuring that students from communities like mine are not just accommodated, but prioritized. Education changed the trajectory of my life. It gave language to my experiences, structure to my ambition, and a platform to serve. Pursuing a career in K 12 education is not just a professional choice for me; it is a commitment to becoming the educator I once needed and the leader my community deserves.

Here is the revised version with all dashes removed and wording adjusted accordingly: I am a proud product of East Atlanta, Georgia, raised by three generations of strong women, my great grandmother, grandmother, and mother, who shaped my understanding of resilience, responsibility, and love. Growing up in a high crime community, I experienced firsthand how environmental factors, misdiagnosis, and limited expectations can shape a child’s educational trajectory. At the same time, I was fortunate to encounter educators who saw my potential even when systems did not. Those dual realities are what called me into education. I am currently a graduating senior at Morehouse College, majoring in Education with a minor in Communications. My academic and professional journey has been deeply rooted in community service, literacy development, and education policy. As a Leading Men Fellow and Literacy Development Intern at Cleveland Avenue Elementary, I work daily with pre kindergarten students, implementing evidence based literacy interventions grounded in the science of reading. This experience has affirmed my belief that early literacy is not just an academic skill, it is a civil right. Beyond the classroom, my commitment to impact extends through creative and community based work. I am the author of *Just Like You*, a book written to empower Black boys to see their greatness reflected back at them, and I am actively working to expand and distribute this work within DeKalb County. I have also produced and directed films centered on Black empowerment, using storytelling as a tool for affirmation and social change. These creative outlets complement my work as an educator by challenging deficit narratives and uplifting student voice. Through my career, I plan to make a positive impact by working at the intersection of classroom practice, policy, and community engagement. My long term goal is to become a superintendent in DeKalb County, the community that raised me. Before that, I am intentionally committing several years to teaching because I believe effective leadership must be grounded in lived classroom experience. I want to advocate for policies that reduce exclusionary discipline, center social emotional learning, and meaningfully include parent voice, particularly in urban school districts where families are often silenced rather than partnered with. Ultimately, I see education as both a system and a relationship. My work is guided by the belief that students thrive when they are seen, affirmed, and challenged, and that schools can be spaces of healing rather than harm. By combining research, practice, creativity, and service, I aim to help build educational environments where students from communities like mine are not merely surviving, but fully empowered to lead, dream, and transform the world around them.

Professor Harold Bloom once said, “I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence.” This statement resonates deeply with me and serves as a guiding light for why I am passionate about becoming a special education teacher. When Bloom speaks of a “sense of presence,” I interpret it as the moment when a student realizes their own worth, voice, and capability—the awareness that they matter and have something meaningful to contribute to the world. For students with special needs, this realization is particularly powerful because society often underestimates them. Helping students discover that sense of presence is not just an educational goal for me; it is my mission as a teacher. My passion for education began with my own schooling. Growing up in a community where many students were overlooked or misdiagnosed, I saw how quickly a child could internalize the belief that they were “less than.” I also experienced moments of being misunderstood in the classroom and remember how isolating it felt. Those experiences planted the seed in me to one day stand on the other side of the desk—to be the teacher who doesn’t just see the challenges but sees the whole child. I want to make sure that no student I encounter feels invisible. Instead, I want them to leave my classroom with the confidence to say, “I belong here. I have value. I have presence.” Special education, in particular, draws me because it requires a teacher to see beyond labels. Too often, children with exceptionalities are defined by what they cannot do, rather than what they can do. I see special education as an opportunity to flip that narrative. My passion lies in helping students uncover their strengths and equipping them with tools to navigate challenges while still recognizing their gifts. Every child deserves an advocate who believes in them, and I want to be that advocate. To accomplish this, I plan to approach teaching with a combination of academic rigor, social-emotional learning, and individualized support. Academically, I want to provide lessons that are accessible but also challenging enough to foster growth. I know that progress looks different for every student, and my goal is to celebrate both small steps and major breakthroughs with equal enthusiasm. Social-emotionally, I want to give students strategies to manage frustration, regulate emotions, and communicate their needs. Developing these skills is essential for them to feel their own presence not only in school, but in life. Individualized support is the cornerstone of special education, and I see it as the bridge between where a student is and where they can go. For me, teaching is not just a profession; it is a calling tied to my deeper passion for equity in education. I believe that every child, regardless of disability or background, deserves an environment that sees their humanity first. Too often, the voices of students with special needs and their families are excluded from conversations about their education. Part of guiding students toward their presence means empowering them to advocate for themselves and ensuring their families feel included in the journey. I view collaboration with parents and caregivers as essential, because they are a child’s first teachers and strongest supporters. By working together, we can build a foundation of trust that strengthens a student’s path to growth. I am also passionate about creating classrooms that honor diversity and inclusion. A sense of presence is not something students can develop in isolation—it requires an environment where they feel seen and respected by their peers as well. I envision a classroom culture where differences are celebrated, where all students learn empathy, and where students with special needs are not set apart but embraced as valuable members of the community. This type of environment helps students recognize not only their own presence but the presence of others, building lifelong skills of respect and collaboration. Ultimately, my educational passion is about empowerment. I see teaching as the act of unlocking what already exists inside a child rather than trying to impose something external. Professor Bloom’s words remind me that my role as a teacher is to guide students to discover their own strength and identity. For a student with special needs, this could mean the moment they read their first book independently, the moment they present their ideas in front of a class, or the moment they confidently tell me what accommodations help them learn best. These milestones are evidence of presence—of a child stepping fully into who they are. In the end, my mission as a special education teacher is clear: to create a space where every child feels capable, valued, and seen. My passion for education fuels this mission because I know firsthand how transformative it is when a student feels understood and supported. Guiding students with special needs toward their own sense of presence is not just a professional responsibility; it is a privilege that I intend to dedicate my life to.

If I could create a class that all students K–12 were required to take, I would call it the “School of Life.” The goal of this course would be to prepare students not only to excel academically, but also to thrive emotionally, socially, and practically in the world around them. Too often, schools focus so heavily on test scores that they overlook two of the most critical areas of growth for young people: social-emotional development and life preparedness. A class like the “School of Life” would work to close that gap. At the heart of this course would be social-emotional learning (SEL). Research has shown that SEL directly impacts academic success, behavior, and long-term life outcomes. When students learn how to regulate their emotions, build empathy, manage stress, and resolve conflicts, they are better positioned to engage meaningfully in the classroom and in their communities. For many students, school is the primary place where they learn not only how to solve equations or analyze texts, but also how to interact with others and understand themselves. By embedding SEL into a required class, schools would be creating intentional space for students to practice self-awareness, develop strong relationship skills, and build the resilience needed to navigate challenges. The “School of Life” would go beyond theory by placing students in real-world scenarios that mirror the challenges they will inevitably face. For example, students might role-play a disagreement with a peer to practice empathy and problem-solving, or work in teams to create a plan for overcoming stress during exam season. Lessons would highlight how emotions influence decision-making, and how learning to pause, reflect, and respond thoughtfully can shift outcomes. Teaching students these skills early and reinforcing them over time would help foster healthier school climates, reduce behavioral issues, and ultimately build communities where young people feel seen, supported, and capable. Alongside SEL, the course would also cover essential life skills that are often overlooked in traditional education. Students would learn how to fill out the FAFSA, understand the basics of taxes, create a budget, and build habits for saving and financial responsibility. These are practical skills that every student will need but that many do not have access to before adulthood. Equipping students with this knowledge empowers them to enter the world with confidence rather than confusion. The impact of such a course would be far-reaching. Students who participate in the “School of Life” would leave school with both the emotional intelligence and practical knowledge needed to thrive beyond the classroom. They would be better prepared to handle the pressures of adulthood, from navigating workplace relationships to managing their finances. They would also be equipped to lead with empathy, strengthening their communities and breaking cycles of misunderstanding, frustration, and instability. Education should not just be about preparing students to pass the next test; it should be about preparing them for life. A required class centered around social-emotional learning and essential life skills would help ensure that every child, regardless of background, graduates with the tools to succeed academically, emotionally, and practically. The “School of Life” would teach students not only how to make a living, but how to live well

The first time I saw Amir, he was crying under a desk. It was a typical Monday morning in my pre-K classroom at Cleveland Avenue Elementary School in Atlanta, Georgia, and while most of the students were singing the alphabet song, Amir was curled in a ball, hands pressed tightly over his ears, tears rolling down his cheeks. He had just turned four, and like many children in our neighborhood, he was carrying a weight too heavy for someone so small. His father had been incarcerated two weeks earlier, and since then, he had barely spoken in class. That day, I learned that sometimes the most important thing an educator can do is simply show up, every single day, with love. As a Literacy Development Fellow through the Leading Men Fellowship, I was tasked with delivering daily, research-backed literacy interventions to pre-K students. But from the moment I met Amir, I knew that phonemic awareness and print knowledge couldn’t come before safety and trust. Education is not only about learning letters and numbers; it is about cultivating a sense of belonging and self-worth—especially for Black boys like Amir, who are so often misread, mislabeled, or overlooked. I started by just sitting beside him during story time, not forcing interaction, just being present. I’d bring two books—one for him, one for me—and quietly model how to turn the pages, follow along with the words, and make silly voices for characters. Some days he would scoot a little closer. Other days he wouldn’t move at all. But I stayed consistent. After a week, he reached out and tapped my book, asking softly, “What’s his name?” referring to a character on the page. That was the beginning. Over time, I built a one-on-one routine for Amir. We’d start each day with a sensory activity to help him feel calm—Play-Doh, water beads, or tracing letters in kinetic sand. Then I’d introduce a literacy skill using games and songs tailored to his interests—especially dinosaurs and superheroes. When we practiced rhyming words, I turned it into a game where “Spider-Man had to find the right rhyme to save the city.” When we worked on letter recognition, I turned each letter into a superhero symbol. He wasn’t just learning—he was leading. Slowly, Amir began to change. He started participating in group story time. He began raising his hand during our “letter of the day” circle. And most memorably, during one of our weekly assessments, he proudly pointed to the word “dog” and read it aloud. He looked up at me with eyes wide and said, “Mr. DaQuan, I did it!” I smiled and replied, “You did. Because you can.” His response is one I’ll never forget: “You believe in me, so I believe in me.” That was the moment I knew I was living my purpose. It would be easy to talk about literacy gains and data points—Amir went from recognizing 4 uppercase letters to 20, from knowing no letter sounds to identifying 18 out of 26. But the real growth was internal. He began to walk taller. He smiled more. His meltdowns became rare, and his curiosity flourished. And perhaps most telling of all—he began helping other students with their letters, saying things like, “You just gotta try. That’s what Mr. DaQuan says.” I didn’t just help Amir learn to read. I helped him see himself as a reader, a thinker, and a capable learner. This experience deeply affirmed my belief that when children—especially Black boys—are met with patience, joy, and high expectations, they rise. So often, boys like Amir are punished for their pain rather than supported through it. They are suspended for crying instead of counseled. They are written off as behavior problems before they are even given a chance to show their brilliance. That’s why I center my work on affirming, healing, and challenging my students to see themselves as scholars. Amir is one of many children I’ve worked with who have changed me. Each of them reminds me that impact doesn’t come from standing in front of a classroom—it comes from standing beside a child, day after day, even when it's hard. It comes from knowing that the smallest moments—a shared book, a silly song, a high five—can ripple into something powerful. It comes from knowing that literacy is liberation. My work with Amir also inspired me to write and publish Just Like You!: ABC Edition, a book that affirms the identities and possibilities of Black boys through joyful imagery and empowering language. I’ve distributed it to classrooms across Atlanta and hope to expand it further. Because every child deserves to see themselves reflected in stories that say, “You matter. You are brilliant. You belong.” As I prepare to enter the classroom full-time after completing my master’s in Urban Education Policy at Brown University, I carry Amir’s story with me. It reminds me that the work is urgent and personal. That every child I meet might be one caring adult away from believing in their own potential. And that while we may not be able to change everything overnight, we can change the world one child at a time. Sometimes, all it takes is one person saying, “I see you.” I was that person for Amir—and because of him, I’m more determined than ever to be that person for many more.

The Purpose of Teaching: Guiding Special Needs Students to Their Own Presence Professor Harold Bloom’s statement, “I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence,” speaks to the heart of education—helping students recognize their own existence, value, and agency in the world. For special education, this idea is even more profound. Many students with special needs are often defined by their diagnoses rather than their identities. My role as a special education teacher would be to help them step into their own presence—to see themselves not as limited by their challenges but as individuals with unique strengths, voices, and potential. A sense of presence means that a student feels seen, heard, and empowered. It is the ability to recognize oneself as an active participant in the world rather than a passive recipient of instruction. In special education, this is especially important because many students have been told, explicitly or implicitly, that they are "different" in a way that limits them. But I believe difference is a source of power. My mission is to create a classroom environment where my students feel confident in their abilities, celebrated for their progress, and equipped with the skills they need to express themselves fully. My Mission in Special Education To accomplish this, I will focus on three core principles: individualized instruction, self-advocacy, and emotional resilience. 1. Individualized Instruction : Every student learns differently, and in special education, differentiation is key. I will ensure that my students have multiple ways to access knowledge—whether through visual aids, hands-on activities, or adaptive technology—so that they can learn in ways that make sense to them. 2. Self-Advocacy: Many students with special needs struggle to communicate their needs and desires. I will incorporate self-advocacy skills into my lessons, teaching my students how to articulate their thoughts, seek help when needed, and recognize their own strengths. 3. Emotional Resilience: I want my students to understand that setbacks are not failures but opportunities for growth. By fostering a supportive and encouraging environment, I will help them build confidence in their abilities, even when they face difficulties. By implementing these principles, I will help my students recognize that they are not defined by their disabilities but by their potential. They will leave my classroom not just with knowledge but with a sense of ownership over their own lives. The Tale of the Teacher and the Hidden Lights Once upon a time, in a village nestled between the mountains of Understanding and the river of Possibility, there lived a teacher named DaQuan. This was no ordinary village—it was a place where young stars were born, but some shone differently. These children were special, yet many in the village could not see their light. Some believed their glow was too dim; others thought it was hidden altogether. One day, the village elder, a wise woman named Truth, called DaQuan to her cottage. "There is a great mystery in our land," she said. "The stars of our special children are not seen, but I believe they shine in ways we do not yet understand. You must go on a journey to help them find their own light." DaQuan, honored and determined, set out on his quest. He gathered his tools—a book of wisdom, a lantern of patience, and a mirror of self-belief. He ventured into the Forest of Labels, where voices whispered, “You can’t,”You’re different,” and “You will never.” But instead of listening to the voices, DaQuan held up the mirror, showing the children their own reflections. “Look,” he said, “you are not the words they place upon you. You are something greater.” And slowly, their lights began to flicker. Next, he traveled to the Cave of Challenges, where each child faced an obstacle—some could not speak their thoughts, others struggled to read the scrolls of knowledge, and some feared they would never be understood. DaQuan did not remove their obstacles; instead, he taught them how to climb, how to navigate, and how to ask for help when needed. With each step they took, their light grew brighter. Finally, he led them to the Mountain of Presence. Here, the stars that had once been unseen now burned brightly, illuminating the village below. The people, once skeptical, stood in awe. "We never knew they could shine like this," they whispered. Truth, the wise elder, smiled. "They could always shine," she said. "They just needed someone to remind them of their own presence." And so, DaQuan continued his work, guiding more and more children to their own light, until the entire village was no longer a place of doubt but a land of brilliance. Conclusion Teaching is about helping students recognize their own power, and in special education, this mission is even more crucial. By fostering self-awareness, confidence, and resilience, I will help my students step into their own presence, proving that their light—though sometimes hidden—has always been there, waiting to shine.

Growing up in East Atlanta, I witnessed firsthand the disparities in education that often limited the potential of young Black boys like myself. I saw peers fall through the cracks, not because they lacked intelligence or drive, but because they lacked guidance, encouragement, and access to quality education. From a young age, I recognized that education could be a powerful tool for change, not just in my life but in the lives of those around me. My journey toward becoming a teacher was not just a career choice—it was a calling shaped by my experiences, the mentors who believed in me, and my desire to uplift the next generation. One of the defining moments of my life happened in second grade when I visited Morehouse College. I remember standing on that historic campus, hearing the words, *"This is where great Black men come from."* Those words ignited something in me. Even at that young age, I knew I wanted to be one of those great men. But I also understood that getting there wouldn’t be easy. I was raised in a household of strong Black women—my great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother—all of whom shaped my understanding of resilience, sacrifice, and perseverance. However, growing up without male role models in my immediate household meant I had to define manhood for myself. This journey of self-discovery lasted well into high school, where I realized that my experiences could be used to help others. Many of my peers struggled to see the greatness within themselves, often succumbing to the pressures of their environment. I wanted to change that narrative. That’s why I wrote *Just Like You!*—a book designed to empower young Black boys and help them see their potential. The book, which highlights successful Black men across various fields, serves as both a mirror and a window: a mirror for young boys to see themselves reflected in greatness and a window to the possibilities that lie ahead. Beyond writing, I have dedicated much of my life to education and community service. My internships with organizations like Voices for Georgia’s Children and Georgia’s Statewide Afterschool Network allowed me to see how policies impact children’s education. These experiences reinforced my belief that the fight for educational equity must take place both inside and outside the classroom. However, I knew that real change begins with direct engagement, which is why I pursued hands-on roles in education. Currently, as a Literacy Development Intern through the Leading Men Fellowship, I work at Cleveland Avenue Elementary, helping pre-K students develop foundational literacy skills. This experience has been transformative, solidifying my commitment to teaching and showing me firsthand how early literacy interventions can change the trajectory of a child’s academic journey. Every day, I witness the joy on my students’ faces when they recognize a new word or confidently express themselves. These small victories remind me why I chose this path. But my aspirations don’t stop at the classroom. I plan to use my experiences as a teacher to fuel my long-term goal of becoming a superintendent for DeKalb County, the community that shaped me. Before reaching that position, I want to spend 3-7 years in the classroom, ensuring that I fully understand the challenges teachers and students face on a daily basis. From there, I plan to transition into leadership roles that will allow me to influence policies, ensuring that all students—regardless of their zip code—receive a high-quality education. One of the key issues I aim to address is the disproportionate suspension rates among Black students, particularly Black boys. Through my research and experiences, I’ve come to understand that many of these suspensions stem from a lack of social-emotional learning (SEL) support and culturally responsive teaching. By implementing best practices in SEL and literacy instruction, I hope to create an educational environment where students feel seen, heard, and valued, rather than criminalized for behaviors that stem from unmet emotional and academic needs. Moreover, I want to ensure that children in underserved communities have access to high-quality literacy materials. That’s why I plan to distribute *Just Like You!: ABC Edition* to students in DeKalb County, reinforcing positive self-images and literacy development from an early age. I also hope to expand the book into a series, further providing representation and motivation for young Black boys. At the heart of all my work—whether in teaching, writing, or policy—is the desire to inspire others. I want my students to see in me what I wished I had seen more of growing up: a Black male educator who believes in their potential and is committed to their success. I want them to know that no matter where they come from, they are capable of greatness. Education changed my life, and I want to use it to change the lives of others. By investing in students, advocating for policies that prioritize equity, and ensuring that young Black boys have the representation they deserve, I hope to create a lasting impact. Because at the end of the day, my success is not just about me—it’s about the generations that come after me.