I’ve chosen to pursue a career in teaching because, in many ways, it’s the most natural extension of who I am and who I’ve loved. My mother was an early childhood educator, gentle, creative, and endlessly patient. I grew up watching her make magic in classrooms: building small worlds out of paint, sand, and kind words; giving children the kind of steady, loving attention that made them feel truly seen. Her classroom was more than a place of learning; it was a refuge, a little world of its own, where joy and discovery were woven into every corner. I remember sitting on her lap during naptime hours, watching her soothe a crying child or cut construction paper with soft precision. That classroom was my first glimpse into what education could be: not just a job, but a way of nurturing the world. When my mother passed away, I felt like I lost that sanctuary. The grief came in waves--some loud and crashing, others unbearably quiet, softly nipping at my heels--and yet, through it all, I kept returning to memories of her classroom. I would think about the way she spoke to children--kneeling to their level, listening intently, never rushing them. I would remember how her students, even years later, still sent her cards and drawings or approached her at the supermarket thanking her. I remembered how warm, and bright, and colorful her classroom was; how excited her students were to attend school each day. She made them feel safe. She made them feel important. That’s the kind of teacher I want to be. Losing her solidified my path, not because I want to replace her, but because I want to honor her. She planted the seed. I get to grow it. My father, too, shaped this decision in ways I can’t fully put into words. He was a middle school English teacher for much of my childhood, later becoming an administrator. He is, without question, my greatest support system--steadfast, curious, and full of heart. He taught me that teaching isn’t just about knowledge; it’s about trust, fairness, and compassion. My parents didn’t just teach students, they built relationships. They showed me that classrooms are ecosystems, that every child matters, and that education can be deeply human. Now, as an Elementary Education and Education Studies major, with minors in Early Childhood Education and Education & Social Justice, I’m building toward a future that feels both incredibly personal and urgently necessary. I want my classroom to be a space where empathy and creativity are not side notes, but central concepts. I want to promote mindfulness, community, and curiosity--to guide children not only through academic lessons, but through the social-emotional ones that help them grow into kind, thoughtful people. I want to echo the security my father provided, and the warmth and wonder my mother invoked, for my future students. I am determined to. I know this work will be difficult; however, only I also know just how sacred it is to me. Teaching is how I choose to love the world, and how I carry forward the love that shaped me. It's as I said before--my parents, my mother, planted this seed. It's my job now to cultivate it.

My name is Emma Farley, and I’m currently pursuing a double major in Elementary Education and Education Studies, with minors in Early Childhood Education and Education & Social Justice at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. I chose this path not only because I believe deeply in the power of education, but because teaching runs through my family’s story--it’s both legacy and calling. My mother, who passed away when I was 16, was an early childhood educator. Though my time with her was cut short, I vividly remember the warmth she brought into every room, and the way she believed that young children deserved to be met with patience, laughter, and wonder. My father, who has been my greatest support throughout my life, worked as a middle school English teacher before becoming a school administrator. I grew up watching him bring care and creativity into systems that often lacked both. From them, I inherited not only a love for education, but a sense of what it can mean when done right. My parents are my biggest role models and motivators; I can only hope to make my students feel half as accepted and safe as they both did. I believe that elementary classrooms should be spaces of safety, curiosity, and connection. I want my future students to feel seen and heard, and to leave school not only knowing how to read and count, but knowing how to treat others with empathy, how to express their own feelings, how to wonder about the world. I hope to center mindfulness, kindness, and community in everything I do; from the books we read together to how we handle conflict and celebrate growth. I’m especially passionate about holistic education, because children are not just learners; they are full human beings with lives, dreams, and emotions that deserve to be honored. As someone who also studies education through a social justice lens, I’m acutely aware of the inequalities that exist within our school systems. I want to be a teacher who works to close, not widen, these gaps. Whether that means advocating for inclusive curriculum, addressing implicit bias, or supporting families navigating difficult systems, I am committed to using my position to uplift the communities I work with. I also believe deeply in the importance of culturally responsive education, and I plan to incorporate diverse stories and histories--especially those that are often overlooked--into my teaching. Being selected for this scholarship would not only relieve a financial burden but also affirm the values I carry into my future career. It would be an investment in the kind of educator I hope to be: one who leads with heart, listens with care, and never stops learning. I’m entering this field not just to teach, but to build relationships, to foster joy, and to leave each student I meet feeling more connected to themselves and their surrounding environment/community. Thank you for considering my application, and for supporting the next generation of educators. I hope we make you proud.

I decided to become a teacher because of the two people who taught me the most important lessons of my life: my parents. My mom, who passed when I was 16, was an early childhood educator. She had the kind of presence that made children feel safe, important, and loved just by being in the room. I remember the way she treated the world--with kindness, with curiosity, and with an unshakable belief in the potential of young children. Even now, when I picture the kind of teacher I want to become, she’s the image that comes to mind. Her classroom wasn’t just a space for learning letters or tying shoes—it was a space where kids learned they mattered. That memory serves as the foundation of my "core" purpose. My dad also used to be an educator and has been my constant guide and support in recent years. He spent many years as a middle school English teacher before moving into school administration, and through it all, he never stopped caring deeply about students--especially the ones others tended to give up on. I’ve watched him stay late to call families, celebrate quiet victories, and take pride in the messy, human parts of teaching that don’t always show up in test scores. He taught me that education is more than content--it’s connection. My dad showed me that being a good teacher isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about being someone who keeps showing up. With my majors in Elementary Education and Education Studies, and dual minors in Early Childhood Education and Education & Social Justice, I’ve chosen a path that brings all of those values together. I want to be the kind of teacher who not only teaches young children how to read and write but also how to care--about themselves, about others, and about the world around them. My academic studies have helped me understand just how deeply education is tied to justice, identity, and opportunity. I’ve learned that teaching is never neutral. The stories we read, the classroom expectations we set, the way we talk about history and community--all of it shapes the way children see themselves in the world. My personal experiences have only deepened that understanding. As a future educator who grew up in Texas, I know what it’s like to sit in a classroom where certain histories are skimmed over, where equity is rarely named, and where not every student feels seen. I’ve also seen firsthand the quiet power teachers have to change that; to build classrooms where every child feels known and every voice matters. I carry that awareness with me as I prepare to teach. I believe that children, even at the earliest ages, deserve truth. They deserve stories that reflect their families and their communities. They deserve educators who see their full humanity, not just their test scores. I plan to use my experiences, both personal and academic, to help children feel grounded, curious, and capable. I hope to bring the gentleness of my mom’s classroom into my own, where care is never mistaken for weakness, and where kindness is woven into every routine. I aim to carry my dad’s sense of perseverance, his willingness to meet every student where they are, and his belief that education can always be a path toward something better. To inspire my students in turn, I think the best place to start is by showing up fully and honestly. Children can tell when we’re being real with them. I want to be the kind of teacher who listens more than I speak, who celebrates small milestones with big energy, and who models what it means to keep learning. I want to create spaces where children feel empowered to ask questions, take risks, and see mistakes as part of the process. My classroom WILL be one where learning is joyful, where students feel rooted in their own identities, and where everyone belongs. I will work tirelessly to make it so. Becoming a teacher is, in many ways, my way of honoring my parents. It’s my way of continuing what they started; of putting good into the world, one student at a time. However, it’s also more than that--it’s a commitment to children who deserve more than what many systems currently offer. It’s a promise to never stop fighting for an education system that is just, inclusive, and full of wonder and possibility for all students.

Early childhood development is one of the most important and tender stages in a person’s life; however, it is also one of the most overlooked in our educational systems. I hope to support this period in our young learners' lives not only through classroom teaching, but through intentional, equity-driven practices that honor each child’s unique growth, curiosity, and cultural identity. I’m currently majoring in Elementary Education and Education Studies, with dual minors in Early Childhood Education and Education & Social Justice. I chose this path because I believe that education has the power to change lives, and because it changed mine. My mother, who passed away when I was 16, was an early childhood educator. She built her classroom around joy, patience, and unconditional care. The children she taught weren’t just learning to read or count--they were learning to trust the world, to feel seen, and to believe they mattered. I watched her pour love into every child who walked through her door, and I knew, even then, that I wanted to carry on her legacy forward. In my future classroom, I plan to support early development by building environments that nurture both cognitive and emotional growth. I aim to use play-based learning, sensory experiences, and storytelling to spark curiosity while promoting empathy and cooperation. I believe social-emotional learning is just as foundational as literacy or math; in fact, I view them as interconnected. When children feel safe and supported, their brains are freer to explore, absorb, and imagine. However, supporting young children also means being a voice for them outside the classroom. My minor in Education & Social Justice has shown me how early learning is impacted by housing instability, food insecurity, and systemic inequality. I plan to be an advocate for children and their families by partnering with caregivers, connecting them with community resources, and working to make school a space of consistency and care, especially for those whose lives outside of school may not always feel safe or predictable. Cultural responsiveness is also central to my approach. I want my classroom to reflect the world children come from, with books, music, language, and routines that celebrate their identities. In particular, I hope to include more Indigenous perspectives in early education, from stories about the land we’re on to lessons that emphasize our relationship to nature and community. Every child deserves to see their heritage reflected in their earliest lessons. Ultimately, I am pursuing Early Childhood Education not just to teach, but to listen, to uplift, and to protect. Early childhood education is more than preparing children for school--it’s laying the foundation for how they see themselves and the world. That’s a responsibility I carry with deep humility, and with a sense of purpose shaped by both personal loss and the love I was lucky enough to witness early on. In honoring my mother’s work, I hope to make my own classrooms places of community, strength, and possibility.

I am currently pursuing a double major in Elementary Education and Education Studies at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, along with dual certifications in Early Childhood Education and Education & Social Justice. My academic path reflects both a deep love for working with young children and a strong commitment to building a more equitable and compassionate education system. I believe that every child deserves to feel seen, valued, and empowered in the classroom, and I hope to be the kind of educator who helps make that possible. Choosing to study education was never just about becoming a teacher; it was about becoming an advocate for both myself and my students. Through my coursework in Education & Social Justice, I’ve learned how systemic inequalities continue to shape students’ experiences based on race, class, language, ability, and identity. On the flip side, through my studies in early childhood development, I’ve gained a better understanding of how formative those first years of schooling can be. I aim to bring both of these lenses into my future classroom, to create a space where learning is joyful, inclusive, and rooted in empathy for all students. That said, attending UW–Madison is a significant financial challenge for me. Though I am incredibly grateful for the opportunities this institution has given me, the cost of tuition, textbooks, supplies, and living expenses can quickly become overwhelming--especially due to the fact that I support myself entirely through school independently. I work two jobs and provide for myself entirely; my father is not a substantial form of financial aid. I work hard to stay on top of my academic and financial responsibilities, but the burden of student debt is always on my mind. Receiving this scholarship would ease that burden in a meaningful way. It would allow me to focus more fully on my studies, field placements, and community involvement, without constantly worrying about how I’ll afford next semester’s tuition. As I move closer to student teaching--an unpaid, full-time commitment--this kind of financial support becomes even more essential. Scholarships like this one don’t just help me stay in school; they help me succeed in school. Perhaps more importantly, this scholarship would be an investment in the kind of teacher I hope to become. With this support, I can continue my education and carry what I’ve learned into real classrooms--working with children from diverse backgrounds, incorporating social justice principles into early learning, and helping students grow not just academically, but as kind, curious, and courageous people. Thank you so much for considering my application. I am committed to using my education to make a difference, and I would be truly honored to have your support on that journey.

If I could change anything in education, I would prioritize the honest, respectful teaching of Indigenous histories--especially the histories tied to the very land our public schools stand on. Too often, the Indigenous peoples who stewarded and shaped this land for generations are reduced to a footnote in textbooks or a single outdated lesson plan. Growing up in Southeast Texas, I was taught a version of history that was, in hindsight, alarmingly incomplete. I remember learning about the Alamo with the kind of emphasis and stress that felt sacred. We had entire units, school plays, and even field trips surrounding this narrative. But when it came to the peoples who lived here long before the first European ever arrived--those whose stewardship of this land spanned decades, generations--we learned almost nothing. Maybe a brief mention of the Comanche or Apache; though always in past tense, always framed as obstacles to settler expansion. There was no real discussion of their cultures, their resilience, their relationships to the land, or their continuing presence today. It felt like Indigenous people had been edited and removed from the world I was growing up in. This erasure wasn’t loud or obvious--it was quiet, subtle. It showed up in the textbooks that emphasized Spanish missions without discussing the forced conversions and violence they brought. It showed up in classrooms that celebrated Thanksgiving with construction paper headdresses but never addressed colonization. It showed up in how we spoke about land—as if it was unclaimed until “we” built something on it. We were taught that Indigenous peoples and their stories weren’t central to our shared American identity, that their histories were “too complicated” or “uncomfortable” to teach. This silence, this lack of knowledge, shaped how I understood land, history, and justice as a child; it wasn’t until college that I began to realize how much had been left out of my education. Education is not neutral, despite what some may believe. What we choose to teach, or not teach, reflects what we value... and what I learned as a child was that Indigenous histories were either irrelevant, too uncomfortable, or too complicated to explore. That’s a heartbreaking and inherently false message to send to young students, especially those who may be Native themselves. It’s also dishonest. Indigenous histories are not side notes in America’s story; they are foundational. And yet, in many states, curriculum standards still allow (and even encourage) sanitized versions of history that minimize Indigenous presence, resistance, and contributions. This lack of representation does more than just misinform--it shapes how students understand justice, land, and community. When children aren’t taught about Native peoples, they grow up viewing Indigenous struggles--such as pipeline protests or sovereignty movements--as isolated events rather than the continuation of centuries-long fights for survival and self-determination. They also miss out on learning from Indigenous knowledge systems that offer profound insights into sustainability, kinship, and what it means to live responsibly on this Earth. As someone preparing to teach in elementary classrooms, I carry this awareness with a somewhat grim responsibility. I can’t go back and change the education I received, but I can--I will--do better for the students I will teach. That begins with acknowledgment. I want my students to know whose land they’re on. I want them to say the names of local tribes with respect and curiosity. I want them to understand that Indigenous people are not just historical figures, but present-day neighbors, artists, scientists, leaders, and storytellers. Additionally, I want to use storytelling to bring these histories to life. Children’s books by Native authors--such as We Are Water Protectors by Carole Lindstrom, or Fry Bread by Kevin Noble Maillard--offer a powerful way to connect young learners to Indigenous perspectives. These narratives foster empathy, understanding, and curiosity, and I believe similar stories belong in every classroom; stories that honor Indigenous perspectives and celebrate Native joy as well as resilience. I also want to center nature in my teaching, using Indigenous worldviews that emphasize interconnectedness to help students understand their relationship with the land, with each other, and with the world around them. I believe this interconnectedness is a lesson every child (and adult!) can benefit from, especially in a world grappling with environmental crisis. Whether we’re growing a classroom garden, making land acknowledgment part of our morning routine, or simply taking time to notice the world around us, I want to help my students feel like they are part of something bigger, and that they have a role in taking care of it. Education is rarely, if ever, neutral. What we teach--what we include and exclude--shapes how students see themselves and their communities. By integrating Indigenous histories, voices, and values into early education, we empower students to think more critically and compassionately and facilitate both a connection to Native history/stories, and a responsibility to carry it forward with care. Ultimately, I don’t want to teach history in a way that makes students feel guilty or overwhelmed. I want them to feel responsible, curious, and hopeful. I want them to ask better questions than I did at their age. Finally, I want them to understand that education isn’t just about absorbing facts--it’s about learning how to see the world more fully, and with more heart. If I could change anything in education, it would be this; that we finally tell the whole truth about our past, and that we do so with the care, nuance, and respect that Indigenous histories deserve. Every child deserves to learn the real story of the land they call home--and to see themselves as capable of shaping a better one.