The Echo of Presence: My Path Toward Becoming a BCBA in Early Childhood Education It was during a particularly quiet afternoon in my grandmother’s home, a sanctuary of jasmine-scented air, faded family portraits, and handwritten Bible verses taped lovingly to the walls, that I first witnessed the transformative power of presence. I was ten years old, and my cousin, who had been diagnosed with nonverbal autism, sat in a corner rocking gently. We had always lived parallel lives, exchanging glances but not words, sharing proximity but not participation. That day, compelled by something wordless yet immense, I sat beside her and placed a single Lego block in front of her. She paused. She looked at me. And for the first time, she added her own block beside mine. In that moment, a world opened. One in which presence transcended language, and connection defied the barriers once thought impenetrable. That is where my passion for special education was born. Not from a textbook or lecture hall, but from a sacred encounter that taught me the profound weight and dignity of simply being seen, accepted, and invited into relationship. My name is Genesis Marin. I am majoring in Early Childhood Education at Broward College and am fervently pursuing my dream of becoming a Board Certified Behavior Analyst, also known as a BCBA. My mission is to guide children with developmental differences toward their own light using evidence-based practices grounded in compassion, patience, and unwavering belief in their potential. Professor Harold Bloom once said, “The purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence.” To me, this statement is not a mere pedagogical theory. It is a manifesto, a compass, and a call. It speaks to the idea that the highest aim of education is not the transference of knowledge but the awakening of the self. When students, especially those in special education, come to inhabit their own presence fully and fearlessly, they do not merely learn. They become. To understand this statement deeply, one must first explore the concept of presence. Presence is not merely the act of existing in a space. It is the full inhabiting of one’s worth, identity, and agency. It is an inner flame, quiet but unextinguished, that must be coaxed into brightness by those entrusted with the sacred vocation of teaching. In special education, this task becomes both more delicate and more imperative. We are not only teachers. We are midwives of presence. My mission as a future BCBA and educator is to become the kind of guide who cultivates environments in which presence is not only possible but inevitable. I intend to do this through the harmonious integration of compassion, individualized support, and an unrelenting commitment to understanding the unique cognitive and emotional landscapes of each student I serve. Teaching for me is a covenant, a pledge to never look away from the infinite worth within every child, no matter how hidden it may seem. The roadmap to such guidance begins with the recognition that traditional metrics of success such as grades, standardized assessments, and linear progression do not always serve students with exceptional needs. What does serve them is a curriculum embedded in empathy, a classroom alive with acceptance, and a teacher who listens more than she speaks. I will guide my students to their own presence by first validating their current realities. This means learning their communication styles, respecting their boundaries, and celebrating every small victory as the monumental achievement it truly is. Whether it is a student finally making eye contact, uttering a single word after months of silence, or holding a pencil steadily for the first time, these moments are gateways to selfhood, and I will honor them accordingly. I also believe deeply in the power of individualized education plans, often known as IEPs, not as bureaucratic requirements but as sacred blueprints. When crafted with care and intentionality, an IEP becomes a mirror reflecting not just what a student needs, but who they are. It is a promise, a tangible affirmation that they are seen, known, and worth planning for. My methodology will be informed by both evidence-based practices and an intuitive sensitivity to the emotional undercurrents within the classroom. Techniques such as Applied Behavior Analysis, sensory integration approaches, and social-emotional learning frameworks will be foundational to my pedagogy. But equally important will be the less quantifiable tools including authentic praise, mindful presence, and a deep reservoir of hope. Teaching students with special needs is not a detour from the core of education. It is its most luminous center. These students teach us over and over again that joy is not contingent upon perfection, that connection does not require words, and that every human soul carries an irreplaceable melody waiting to be heard. The classroom I envision is not quiet but harmonious. Not uniform but kaleidoscopic. Each student will be encouraged to compose their own rhythm, dance to their own beat, and shine with their own light. I will be there not to orchestrate but to listen, to hold space for their becoming, to bear witness to their emergence. To encapsulate my mission, allow me to share a fairy tale, a symbolic telling of the journey I am living and the purpose I hold dear. “The Teacher and the Mirror of Light” Once upon a time, in a realm between worlds, there lived a young woman named Genesis. Her name meant origin, and indeed, her heart held the beginning of many things including quiet strength, boundless curiosity, and a longing to heal. Genesis had heard of a mysterious kingdom called Presence, where children laughed without fear and every soul glittered like a star. But few had ever found the way to this kingdom, and fewer still had learned how to guide others there. One day, while walking through a forest of voices, some loud with judgment, others sharp with doubt, Genesis stumbled upon a small cracked mirror lying in the moss. It was ancient, etched with symbols, and when she looked into it, she did not see herself. She saw the face of a child, eyes full of wonder and confusion, reaching out through the glass. This was the Mirror of Light, and it revealed not appearances but essence. Genesis understood that her task was to lead every child she met to see themselves in this mirror, to see their true presence, their sacred light. She began her journey, carrying the mirror carefully through valleys of silence, rivers of resistance, and mountains of misunderstanding. Along the way, she met children others called broken, children who did not speak, who flapped their hands, who cried at loud sounds, who colored outside the lines. To Genesis, they were not broken. They were brilliant. She did not ask them to change to find the mirror. She brought the mirror to where they were. One by one, the children looked into the glass. Some saw their light immediately and danced with joy. Others needed time, patience, and love to recognize their reflection. But Genesis waited. She always waited. And slowly, the kingdom of Presence bloomed, not far away but all around them. Genesis was no longer just a traveler. She had become what she was born to be, a teacher. That fairy tale is my story. The Mirror of Light is not made of glass but of attention, of love, of relentless belief in the worth of every child. The kingdom of Presence is not a distant place but the here and now of any classroom where a teacher dares to truly see her students. I did not choose special education as a profession. It chose me, long before I understood the depth of its calling. The children I serve are not problems to be solved. They are mysteries to be cherished, masterpieces unfolding in real time. Their presence is not something I give them. It is something I hold space for, honor, and celebrate. As I continue my academic journey in Early Childhood Education and pursue my dream of becoming a BCBA, this scholarship will not simply alleviate financial burdens. It will be an investment in a future classroom where presence is not an exception but the rule. Where every child, no matter their challenges, is met with open eyes, open arms, and an open heart. In closing, I return to Professor Bloom’s words. To bring a student to their sense of presence is to awaken their awareness of their own irrefutable dignity. It is to offer them not just knowledge but belonging. That is what I intend to do. That is what I am being prepared for. That is what I was born to become.