Boy do I ever have a story for you, because in my family, the best military stories did not come from a tall man in uniform but from my five foot nothing great grandmother, Virginia Mills Vogel. Otherwise known as Big Grandma. Big Grandma served in the Women’s Army Corps during the Korean War, stationed in Germany during the occupation, and she was truly one of a kind. If you were lucky enough to sit at her table, you were in for a treat, and a story that somehow grew bigger every time she told it. Big Grandma did not join the service out of a call to defend our country, or for a life of adventure. She joined because her older brother wanted to serve desperately, but because of a physical disability, he was not allowed. So she simply went in his place, carrying his dream with her. That sense of loyalty and family has echoed through generations, and it is one of the reasons her story still matters so much to me. Her military escapades began almost immediately at boot camp. She loved telling the story of being ordered to dig a latrine that was six feet wide and six feet deep. Convinced that no one would actually check, she dug it just shy of the mark. To her surprise, the drill sergeant pulled out a tape measure, and not only was she ordered to redo it but she had to start from the beginning. She was shocked, but not discouraged and knew that the second attempt would be easier because there was no way that the drill sergeant would measure again. However, once again the tape measure came out and she was just a little short. Digging for the third time was the moment she knew she was in trouble. She would laugh so hard telling that story that it was impossible not to laugh with her. It was a lesson she carried proudly. Do the job right, because someone is always measuring. While her military stories were unforgettable, so were her tales of growing up in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Between stories of snowdrifts taller than houses, running away at 13 to be able to go to high school, and hard work being a way of life, she painted a picture of resilience that felt larger than any history book. She was tough, funny, and full of heart, and she never let her size define her strength. One of the most meaningful parts of her legacy is the bond she shared with my dad. Though decades separated their military experiences, they connected in a way no one else in the family quite understood. Their conversations felt timeless, like service had created its own language. Watching that bond taught me that military service is not just about one generation. It is a thread that weaves families together through shared values, stories, and pride. Being part of a military family has taught me that service comes in many forms. Sometimes it is wearing the uniform. Sometimes it is honoring someone else’s dream. And sometimes it is passing down stories that remind future generations where they come from. Big Grandma gave me more than funny memories. She gave me an understanding of courage, sacrifice, and the power of a good story told from the heart. Everyone should be so lucky to have someone like her in their family. If you are interested you can hear from Big Grandma here where she was interviewed by the news during her Honor Flight, and the caption talked about her million of stories! https://www.facebook.com/share/v/18zLVPjmRu/?mibextid=wwXIfr

For most of my life, learning has required more patience, creativity, and persistence than it seems to require for others. I have dyslexia, which means reading, writing, and processing information take extra time and effort. As a young student, I often felt discouraged when classroom learning relied so heavily on reading and speed. While others moved quickly through books and assignments, I learned early that my brain worked differently. One of the first places where I felt confident learning was not in school, but at the table with my mom, sorting through stamps. She began collecting stamps with her grandmother and later shared that tradition with me. As a first or second grade kid, stamp collecting involved very little reading. Instead, it was a collection of tiny pictures that invited curiosity. Each stamp felt like a clue. I would study the images and try to figure out why they mattered, where they came from, and what story they were trying to tell. It felt like fun detective work, not schoolwork, and it allowed me to learn without realizing I was learning at all. That experience mattered more than I realized at the time. Stamp collecting showed me that learning does not always begin with words on a page. It can start with observation, pattern recognition, and curiosity. Over time, our collection grew to include rare misprints and a set of stamps featuring handmade lace signed by the lacemakers themselves. Those stamps taught me to slow down and pay attention to detail, something that later helped me approach academics with patience rather than frustration. As I grew older, dyslexia continued to shape my academic experience. Reading and writing still require extra effort, and there were moments when I questioned my abilities and my place in higher education. What changed was my understanding of how I learn best. I became more comfortable asking for support, finding strategies that worked for me, and giving myself grace when progress felt slow. Dyslexia taught me resilience and adaptability, skills that extend far beyond the classroom. These experiences have shaped my ambition and my goals. I am drawn to paths that value problem solving, creativity, and persistence. And most importantly I want to continue building a future where learning differences are not seen as limitations, but as perspectives that offer something valuable. I know firsthand what it feels like to compare yourself to your peers and feel like you’ve come up short. I want to teach kids that success does not always follow a straight line, that growth often happens quietly and gradually. I am proud of how far I have come, and I am committed to continuing my education with curiosity, determination, and purpose.