My sister's gentle snores were my reassuring sound in the cold empty CPS office. Holding her close reminded me that we were still together and for a moment the anxiety of uncertainty faded away as I drifted to sleep with my heart intertwined with hers. “Emily! Emily!” my sister screamed. I forced my heavy eyes on my brother and sister patiently waiting as I adjusted my pink Twinkle Toes shoes, to join them in our CPS worker’s car. The bright lights continuously passed my window as I tried to decipher our destination, until we got to a bright orange light shining to a small gray house. I squinted to make out my sister and brother's faces for some reassurance. Our CPS worker led us up the house where an elderly woman in a tattered nightgown greeted us with a confused expression. We stood like statues as they exchanged mumbled words so we could be allowed to stand in her kitchen. In a quick second I felt the warm embrace of my teary-eyed sister for the last time before she was taken to a different foster home. My sixteen-year-old sister was gone. I was lost, in an unfamiliar house with unfamiliar faces, left with my brother, who tried to be strong but looked as scared as me. Before any of this happened, I never thought my brother cared for me. He had always refused to play with me, and instead always preferred to spend time with his friends. That was until one night after church, when our foster guardian picked up Popeyes. While eating, I noticed my corn and ketchup had mixed together. As a six-year-old, I refused to eat the unusual combination but she wouldn’t allow me to leave the table until I finished everything. My brother watched as I cried and pleaded. Once her back was turned my brother quickly grabbed my spoon and ate the rest of the infested corn. I handed my clean plate and left. Until then, I believed courage meant having bulging muscles like Superman, and saving people from villains. Instead, my ten-year-old brother rescued me from the criminal food and held me every night as I cried for our parents, even though he missed them too. My brother showed me that courage is about empathy and taking action—no matter how small—to help others. His passing left a sense of me gone. Through all the hurt and pain I was able to preserve and find his same courage he once showed me. His lesson manifested deeply before the Winter Dallas Debate City Champions Finals when I began to feel anxious. Remembering my brother's action, I saw my fear as an opportunity for growth. I took one last final breath and spoke with a purpose to show up for my team and myself. Overcoming my own self doubt assured me of my ability to manage discomfort. My brother's courage inspired me to take action in unfamiliar places. Debate became a place where I learned how to advocate, foster community, and develop empathy. My brothers impacted me to drive for positive change for myself and others. I’ll continue to honor his courage to step up for others no matter how big or small, being the change my brother was for me.

My sister's gentle snores were my reassuring sound in the cold empty CPS office. Holding her close reminded me that we were still together and for a moment the anxiety of uncertainty faded away as I drifted to sleep with my heart intertwined with hers. “Emily! Emily!” my sister screamed. I forced my heavy eyes on my brother and sister patiently waiting as I adjusted my pink Twinkle Toes shoes, to join them in our CPS worker’s car. The bright lights continuously passed my window as I tried to decipher our destination, until we got to a bright orange light shining to a small gray house. I squinted to make out my sister and brother's faces for some reassurance. Our CPS worker led us up the house where an elderly woman in a tattered nightgown greeted us with a confused expression. We stood like statues as they exchanged mumbled words so we could be allowed to stand in her kitchen. In a quick second I felt the warm embrace of my teary-eyed sister for the last time before she was taken to a different foster home. My sixteen-year-old sister was gone. I was lost, in an unfamiliar house with unfamiliar faces, left with my brother, who tried to be strong but looked as scared as me. Before any of this happened, I never thought my brother cared for me. He had always refused to play with me, and instead always preferred to spend time with his friends. That was until one night after church, when our foster guardian picked up Popeyes. While eating, I noticed my corn and ketchup had mixed together. As a six-year-old, I refused to eat the unusual combination but she wouldn’t allow me to leave the table until I finished everything. My brother watched as I cried and pleaded. Once her back was turned my brother quickly grabbed my spoon and ate the rest of the infested corn. I handed my clean plate and left. Until then, I believed courage meant having bulging muscles like Superman, and saving people from villains. Instead, my ten-year-old brother rescued me from the criminal food and held me every night as I cried for our parents, even though he missed them too. My brother showed me that courage is about empathy and taking action—no matter how small—to help others. His passing left a sense of me gone. Through all the hurt and pain I was able to preserve and find his same courage he once showed me. His lesson manifested deeply before the Winter Dallas Debate City Champions Finals when I began to feel anxious. Remembering my brother's action, I saw my fear as an opportunity for growth. I took one last final breath and spoke with a purpose to show up for my team and myself. Overcoming my own self doubt assured me of my ability to manage discomfort. My brother's courage inspired me to take action in unfamiliar places. Debate became a place where I learned how to advocate, foster community, and develop empathy. My brothers impacted me to drive for positive change for myself and others. I’ll continue to honor his courage to step up for others no matter how big or small, being the change my brother was for me.