Music truly changes lives. This belief is why I chose it as my art form. Through my younger years the loss of my grandparents left me battling anxiety. I had low self-esteem and confidence. However, by age thirteen, music became a pivot point. It lowered the volume on my anxiety and provided a safe space. It helped me find my voice. It helped me find my confidence. Larry Cervi, the late founder of East End Kids, a service-oriented teen song-and-dance group, solidified this growing momentum in my life. He taught me that music can have a greater purpose and serve others. During one visit to a senior care center, a reserved elderly gentleman came alive when I handed him a tambourine, and afterwards he was so enthused I had trouble retrieving it. That moment showed me music could reach people words alone could not. One night captures music's impact on me better than any award or role ever could. Larry was 87 years old, and he stayed well past 11 p.m., helping students one at a time prepare for musical auditions. I sang my audition song for him, expecting notes like the ones he gave the others. Instead, he looked at me and said, "Wow. You don't need me. You've got this!" That sentence was more than a compliment. It taught me that persistence, not sudden talent, is what music demands and what it gives back. As a four-season student director for East End Kids and winds captain and section leader for the Gateway High School Marching Band, I've watched that same shift happen in younger performers who once froze the way I used to. I have challenged myself as a performer, taking on principal roles such as Carl Hanratty in Catch Me If You Can as well as earning four PMEA District festival invitations across band and chorus. Each role and rehearsal reinforced the same lesson Larry taught me: excellence requires persistence and passion far more than raw talent. Music has been impactful because it gave me back my voice. It turned a thirteen-year-old who doubted himself into someone who can stand in front of a room, an audition panel, or a nursing home full of strangers and mean what he sings. That is why I chose this art form and why I plan to keep choosing it. In college and in the classroom I hope to lead one day.

I didn’t believe my voice mattered. Anxiety and low self-esteem found me through the loss of my grandparents at a young age. Art and music became a turning point. They lowered the volume on my anxiety and helped me find confidence again, but it didn’t arrive all at once. I didn’t know confidence could be built. I thought it was something you either had or you didn’t. Music proved otherwise: rehearsal by rehearsal, performance by performance, confidence can be formed. Larry Cervi helped me realize that music is more than a coping mechanism. It can have a greater purpose and serve the public good. As the founder of East End Kids, Larry solidified that growing momentum in my life. East End Kids is a service-oriented teen song-and-dance group that performs in senior care centers. I’ve seen the power a simple song can have. Residents who feel forgotten find joy and connection through music. During one visit, a more reserved elderly gentleman came alive when I handed him a tambourine as part of the performance. Afterwards, he was so enthused that I had a hard time retrieving it. Even before I held leadership in the group, Larry gave me something I didn’t have: a voice. He challenged me to stand up, sing, and address a crowd with confidence. Eventually, I started believing I belonged in the room. Nerves used to get the better of me and keep me from trying for a part. I learned that you can’t achieve anything or even discover what you’re capable of if you don’t try. Larry changed my self-perception and taught me helpfulness: helping someone realize that they matter and can make a difference. One night captures this lesson better than any award or role ever could. Larry was 87 years old, and he stayed well past 11 p.m., helping students one at a time prepare for musical auditions. I was waiting in the hallway outside the rehearsal room, in line with the others. Through the doors, I could hear the feedback he gave the students ahead of me, and it helped me brace for the same kind of constructive notes. I was nervous but I always sought his guidance. Larry had a way of telling the truth while empowering you to achieve more. I sang my audition song for him, expecting notes like the ones he gave the others. Instead, he looked at me and said, “Wow. You don’t need me. You’ve got this!” That sentence was more than a compliment. Persistence became real at that moment. My confidence wasn’t sudden talent; it was the product of Larry’s investment. The effort Larry and others poured into me gave me the drive to keep going despite fear. I pushed through stage fright, the fear of not measuring up, and the feeling that I’d never be good enough. For me, perseverance is showing up. Show up to take feedback. Show up to practice again and again. This lesson will anchor me and carry me forward in college practice rooms, recital halls, and my own classroom. That night, I became aware of the distance I had traveled because of mentors like Larry. In gratitude, helpfulness comes full circle. I’m now one of the student directors in East End Kids, rehearsing the group and supporting younger performers. Leadership is serving others and helping them feel safe enough to give it a shot. I help cast the show, run rehearsals, and encourage younger members who may be unsure of themselves. My three younger brothers are now part of the group too, which makes the mission even more personal. I get to help them find their voices the way Larry helped me. I remind them that through practice and patience comes confidence. They’re starting younger than I did, and I hope they can go farther than I did at their age. By helping younger performers, I get to pass on what Larry modeled: giving support until others can stand on their own. More than music and staging, Larry created belonging. Like him, I want to create a place where younger performers feel safe to try, feel proud of their accomplishments, and know that their voice is worth hearing. I want to be the one who recognizes the quiet student and helps them realize their true potential; even if that means staying late into the night to help them succeed. Aside from musicals, Larry also gave me the confidence to do something new. This past summer, I took on a new role as stage manager for our city’s musical theater kids camp (5th through 8th grade). I learned that, in spite of uncertainty, you have to have the drive and passion to lead and adapt. We put on the musical Annie. As stage manager, I sat through rehearsals and helped with lines. I made sure the set was ready so the kids could have the best learning experience. When a kid forgot a line, I was there to prompt them. Supporting performers from the side was a change, but I had the support of an amazing crew. This leadership role demanded drive. Putting on a children’s production in just a few days can be unpredictable. Being resourceful and jumping into tasks breaks through uncertainty and helps kids see the life lessons camp can teach. It was a rewarding experience on all fronts, and I plan to do it again next summer. My primary educational goal is to pursue a degree in music education. As a lifelong learner, I aim to continue growing as both a musician and an educator beyond university. Music has been a gift that enriched my life, and I intend to pass on that gift. I’ve had amazing educators like Larry Cervi who showed me how to make a lasting impact, and I want to provide that same transformative experience for others. I want to help students find their voice and community through the arts. Ultimately, I aim to use my talents to enrich those around me and help others grow and succeed. I can’t wait to see my future classroom; the quiet student finding the boldness to raise their hand for the first time. Like Larry, I’ll provide honest feedback and expect excellence, but I’ll also be there for my students the way Larry was there for me. In the end, singing in senior care centers taught me that even a simple act of kindness can make a big difference. One song. One conversation. One act of showing up can make someone feel seen and it may even change their life, like it changed mine. Larry’s belief in me taught me something just as important: the best success is the kind you can pass forward. Larry’s recent passing was a loss to us, and I can never truly repay what he gave me, but I can repeat it. Class by class, student by student, I can help someone else believe that their voice matters, too.