As a kid, I got the worth of making a buck last before I knew what a plan for cash was. I recall waiting at the store with my mom when she put a box of cereal back. She smiled like it was all right. I did not get the cash part of her choice, but I got this much—there were times we just could not buy what we wished for. That brief time was one of many that set how I view the world. Cash set the beat of my young years. No trips for us, small birthdays, & most clothes came from old clothes shops. But we had lessons in thanks & tough will in place of rich things. I saw joy come from Mom making the main room a film place with rugs & corn. I saw that love could go on past any pay. Having to live on a tight cash set made me good at making do. When I could not pay to join a school club, I helped for free so I could still take part. When I needed things, I made them last. I made more cash by cutting lawns, watching kids, or selling stuff I did not use. If no chance came, I made my own way—and took it. These times set my views. I prize hard work for I saw my mom work late to keep food with us. I prize all of us as people for neighbors came with food when we lacked it the most. & I prize the care for I know what it's like to wish in hush that some will see—and help. My aims draw from my past. I want a job that brings stead to my kin & lets me help those in like hard spots. I aim to guide young ones who see their spots as stops, to show them that their start is not a top—it’s a base. One day, I hope to give cash or plans for kids who just need one to trust in them. Growing in a home with little cash was no pull back—it was my school. It trained me to shift, keep on, & see worth in each small bit. I can't choose how I start, but I can shape where I go. & I plan for my next days to show your start need not limit your end. For I’ve got it—when your path isn’t clear, you make it your own.

When I was fourteen, I went to a fair with my mom. Each booth had city folk show their work—but only one was run by a Black owner. I felt both moved and sad. Moved by the drive around me, yet sad by the lack of faces like mine. That moment was not just about seeing a gap—it was about seeing that this gap came from long years of unfair steps, low help, & shut doors. From that day, I said to myself I would help flip that view. My plan starts with school. I’m aiming for a degree in business with a focus on how to start and sell. Not just to kick off my own firms, but to use those skills to lift others up. School will teach me the cash smarts, smart plans, and know who you need to shine in tough fields. More so, it will let me speak & push for a fair shot for all in business. One of my first aims is to make a hub to help Black would-be bosses. I’ve seen how hard it can be to start when you lack the right help. My hub will tie them with skilled guides, run key classes on cash smarts & making a brand, & tie them to folks who put cash in firms that treat all the same. It will be a place where business dreams not just live—they grow. I also want to start with kids. Too many young Black kids do not see business as a path as they don't find it in their spots. With programs after school and summer classes, I plan to teach key business moves—plan cash, sell your idea, build links—while I share tales of Black bosses who did well. Starting young sets seeds of hope. I want each kid to know starting a business is not just a choice—it's their choice. Who you see makes a big change. When Black bosses do well, it ends bad views, builds trust, & changes whole fields. I’ve lived this with my own wear brand, which shows my roots, aims, & art. I’ve seen how a business can tell a tale, make pride, & change views. With my degree, I can grow that effect, helping others kick off brands & firms that show who they are while doing well in the market. To me, making a new way for African Americans in the business world is more than just opening doors—it's about tearing down walls that shouldn't be there. It's about making help easy to get, links fun to join, and chances fair. My school will set the plan, but my drive will make those plans real. The day I went through that business fair, I saw a gap. Now, I see a bridge ready to be made. And I am set to build it—strong enough for more to cross, and big enough to take folks to a time where Black high marks in business is not rare, but usual.

The fellowship center smelled of pumpkin pie and freshly baked bread the day I learned what service was all about. I was twelve, tiptoeing to reach a box of canned soup, stuffing Thanksgiving baskets for strangers we'd never meet. My arms ached, but I remember thinking, Somebody's Thanksgiving is going to be better because of this. That mundane moment—fists deep in a bag of groceries—began a fire within me that has guided my life ever since. My church has been more than a place for prayer; it's been my field school for service. From youth group mission work to community donation drives, I've seen that faith is at its best when it's applied. Through those doors, I learned how to notice a need, rally a response, and connect with people where they are—with compassion and respect. One of the biggest life-altering experiences was through our twice-a-month homeless outreach. We would fill up on hygiene kits, bag lunches, and head downtown every third Saturday. I was intimidated initially—not knowing if I'd know what to say or if my help would even be welcome. But my church mentors taught me that serving is not so much about giving and more about listening. A hug, a laugh, or remembering a person's name oftentimes was worth as much as that which we served. That made me see serving others in a different way—it was now not so much about charity but about relationship. My church also wanted to make use of my natural abilities. I'm a planner and an organizer at heart, so when it was time for us to put on our annual clothing drive, I was all over it. Organizing volunteers, organizing drop-offs of donations, and promoting the event compelled me to develop leadership and problem-solving abilities used today in school, sports, and other community projects. I learned that leadership does not mean being boss—it's about equaling everyone's contribution to one of something greater. Through these experiences, I’ve learned that “community” is more than just people living near one another—it’s the web of trust and care that holds us together. Sometimes service means showing up for a big project; other times it’s as small as delivering encouragement cards to nursing home residents. My church has shown me that no act of kindness is too small to matter. The values my church taught me—responsibility, empathy, and servant leadership—are now guiding all that I do. I'm serving at a food bank, mentoring younger students, or joining neighborhood clean-up efforts, and my purpose is the same: meet needs with kindness and do it with abandon. My church did not merely motivate me to serve; it trained me to serve well. It gave me mentors who modeled out generosity, coworkers who worked alongside me, and unfathomable opportunities to step into the limelight when I could have stayed in the shadows. What I do for my community today is the direct result of those teachings, and as I look to the future, I know the precedent that my church has set will continue to guide my hands—and my heart—into service.