Most people can’t say they’ve willingly sprinted down a runway, planted a fiberglass pole into a metal box, and launched themselves thirteen feet into the air. I can. And for most of my life, that’s been my “awkward” thing. Growing up in a small town in North Texas, sports are a big deal. However, they’re usually the kind everyone understands. Football on Friday nights. Baseball in the spring. Maybe basketball in the winter. Pole vaulting? That’s the event people walk past at track meets because they don’t really know what they’re looking at. I’ve lost count of how many times someone has asked me, “Wait… what exactly do you do again?” The honest answer sounds a little crazy. I run full speed while holding a long pole, plant it into the ground, and trust it to bend enough to throw me over a bar that keeps getting higher. When I say it out loud, I get why people look at me like I’ve got a screw loose. But that’s exactly why it matters to me. Out of millions of people, only a tiny fraction have ever even attempted pole vaulting. It’s not something you just try on a weekend. It takes time, coaching, and a willingness to fail over and over again in front of a crowd. When I first started, I wasn’t good. I mistimed my steps, carried the pole wrong, and wiped out more times than I’d like to admit. It would’ve been easier to quit and go do something normal. Instead, I leaned into it. Being “the pole vaulter” meant getting comfortable being different. It meant explaining my sport to people who didn’t understand it and showing up every day to practice something most people never consider trying. Over time, that awkward thing became my identity. It also became my strength. Pole vaulting taught me how to handle fear in a real, physical way. There’s no hiding when you’re standing at the end of the runway, staring at a bar set higher than you’ve ever cleared before. You either run toward it, or you don’t. That moment has shaped how I approach challenges in every part of my life. Whether it’s academics, leadership, or planning for my future, I’ve learned to commit fully, trust the process, and not back down just because something feels uncomfortable. It’s also taught me resilience. In pole vaulting, failure is guaranteed. You miss more jumps than you make. But every miss teaches you something from how to adjust your grip to your approach length. That mindset has carried over into everything I do. I don’t see setbacks as reasons to quit anymore; I see them as part of the path forward. Most importantly, being different has given me perspective. In a world where people often try to fit in, I’ve learned the value of standing out for something positive. That perspective is why I care about making an impact beyond myself. Gun violence is an issue that affects communities across the country, including places that once felt far removed from it. I want to be part of a generation that doesn’t ignore problems just because they’re uncomfortable, but instead faces them head on. My “awkward” thing started as something that made me stand out in a way I wasn’t always sure I liked. Now, it’s the foundation of who I am. Pole vaulting didn’t just teach me how to clear a bar. It taught me how to rise to challenges, embrace being different, and keep moving forward no matter how many times I fall. And honestly, I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Growing up in a town of twelve hundred people where Friday nights meant football and most folks worked as farmers or on their ranch, I never really thought much about what came after high school. That changed my junior year when our football coach showed us the film "Coach Carter" after we lost in the third round of the playoffs. I expected a lecture about defense, but instead I sat there on a metal bench and watched something that rewired how I see my future. The film tells the story of Ken Carter, a coach who locks his undefeated team out of the gym because they're failing classes. At first, I thought he was crazy. In my town, athletics are everything. A winning record can get you noticed by scouts, maybe even a scholarship out of here. But Coach Carter cared more about whether his players became men who could hold jobs and raise families than whether they hung another banner. That hit me hard. I've always been decent at sports, good enough to dream about competing in college, but I'd treated my grades like an afterthought. Carter made me realize that if I'm only focused on the scoreboard, I'm playing a losing game no matter what the numbers say. What stuck with me most was Carter's definition of leadership. He wasn't trying to be his players' best friend, and he definitely wasn't worried about being popular. He did what was right because it was right, even when parents and school boards turned against him. That backbone made me look at my own choices. I'd always done just enough to get by because that's what everyone expected. Carter taught me that real respect comes from holding yourself to a standard, even when nobody's watching. The film also drove home that discipline beats talent every single time. I've got enough God-given ability to contribute on the court, but I've never been the guy who stayed late to lift weights or woke up early to run sprints. The players in the movie who made something of themselves did so because they showed up when they didn't feel like it. That's a lesson I needed at seventeen, staring down my senior year and realizing that college and real life doesn't care about potential. It cares about consistency. But maybe the biggest impact came from watching those kids realize they weren't trapped by their circumstances. I've seen too many people from my town graduate, stick around because it's comfortable, and wake up ten years later wondering what happened. Carter looked his players in the eye and told them they were capable of more than the world expected. That scene where he reads the "Our Deepest Fear" quote still gives me chills. I realized I'd been playing small, scared that if I aimed too high, I'd prove everyone right when I failed. Now I understand that the real fear isn't failing; it's never trying to become who you're meant to be. As I prepare to leave this small town for Baker University, I carry Carter's lessons with me. Success isn't a trophy; it's discipline to do the hard thing, courage to demand more from yourself, and the determination to leave a place better than you found it. I want to study business, not because it sounds impressive, but because I want to come back and create opportunities for kids who think their only way out is through a ball. Coach Carter showed me that the greatest victory isn't winning the game. The greatest victory is changing a life. I'm ready to start with my own.

The first time I realized how extraordinary my cousin Jaxson Deaton was, I was still a kid watching him train in the Texas heat. While most people would have been inside avoiding the sun, Jaxson was outside running sprints, doing pushups, and repeating drills long after everyone else had stopped. I remember asking him why he kept going. He smiled and said something simple that stuck with me: “Because the work you do when no one is watching is what makes you ready when it matters.” Jaxson is eight years older than me, and growing up I always saw him as larger than life; like the action figures every kid imagines becoming someday. He was strong, disciplined, and driven in a way that made everything he did seem purposeful. But what made him truly stand out wasn’t just his ability as an athlete; it was his commitment to something bigger than himself. That commitment eventually led him to the United States Military Academy at West Point, where he earned the opportunity to attend on an athletic scholarship while preparing to serve as an officer in the United States Army. For our family, it was an incredible moment of pride. For me, it was the moment I began to understand what real dedication looks like. I remember visiting him during one of his breaks from the academy. His schedule was demanding. It included early mornings, intense training, and rigorous academics; but he never complained. Instead, he talked about leadership, responsibility, and the privilege of serving others. He explained that the goal of becoming an Army officer wasn’t about recognition or status; it was about earning the trust of the soldiers you lead. What struck me most was how naturally Jaxson lived out the values he talked about. He always made time for family, encouraged younger cousins like me, and never acted as if his accomplishments made him better than anyone else. Even as he pursued something as challenging as West Point and military service, he stayed humble and focused on helping others grow. As I got older, I began to understand how much his example was shaping my own path. When school became challenging or athletic training pushed me to my limits, I often thought back to that moment in the heat when Jaxson kept working long after everyone else had stopped. His discipline reminded me that success rarely comes from talent alone. Success comes from consistency, sacrifice, and a willingness to keep improving. His influence has guided both my academic and athletic journey. As a student-athlete, I’ve learned to approach my responsibilities with the same mindset he modeled: prepare thoroughly, work hard even when it’s difficult, and remember that your efforts can inspire others around you. Whether studying late for exams or training to improve my performance, I try to carry that lesson with me. More importantly, Jaxson taught me what selflessness truly means. Watching someone you admire dedicate their life to serving their country changes the way you think about your own goals. It makes you ask not just what you want to achieve, but how your efforts can make a difference. To me, Jaxson will always be that larger-than-life role model who showed me what dedication looks like in action. His example continues to guide the way I work, compete, and pursue my future. If I can carry even a small part of the discipline, humility, and sense of purpose he demonstrates every day, I know I’ll be moving in the right direction.

The first time I laid a clean weld bead that didn’t need to be ground down and redone, I stared at it longer than I probably should have. It wasn’t perfect, but it was solid. It held. That small line of molten metal represented hours of practice, patience, and learning from mistakes. In that moment, I knew I had found the trade I wanted to build my future on. I plan to study welding in college and continue earning advanced certifications that will strengthen my skills and expand my opportunities. I have chosen welding because it combines precision, strength, and creativity. A welder doesn’t just join metal; he builds the framework that holds projects together. From structural steel to heavy equipment repair, welding is essential to construction, manufacturing, agriculture, and infrastructure. I am drawn to the responsibility that comes with that. When a weld fails, something bigger fails with it. That level of accountability pushes me to take pride in doing the job right the first time. My interest in welding grew from hands-on experience and a desire to work in a field where effort directly impacts results. I enjoy seeing tangible progress at the end of a long day. In welding, skill is earned, not given. Steady hands, attention to detail, and discipline matter. I have learned that even small shortcuts can lead to weak outcomes. That lesson applies beyond the shop. It has shaped the way I approach school, work, and athletics. Consistency produces strength. I plan to build a career in welding because it offers stability, growth, and the opportunity to create something lasting. Skilled trades are often overlooked, but they are the backbone of our communities. Every bridge, building, pipeline, and piece of heavy machinery depends on skilled craftsmen. I want to be part of that foundation. Over time, my goal is to gain real-world experience and eventually start my own welding company. I want to build a business known for quality work, reliability, and integrity. I believe I will be successful in this trade because I am willing to put in the work others may avoid. Welding requires long hours, physical endurance, and a commitment to safety and precision. It also requires humility—the willingness to accept correction and keep improving. I am not afraid to start at the bottom and earn my way up. I understand that mastery comes from repetition and accountability. In my view, a successful life is not measured only by income or titles. Success means providing stability for your family, earning respect through honest work, and leaving things better than you found them. It means being dependable when others are counting on you. I have seen the value of perseverance and steady effort in my own life, and those lessons fuel my ambition. A successful life also includes giving back. As I grow in my trade, I want to mentor younger students who may not see college as their only option but are willing to work with their hands and build a future through skill and discipline. If I can create jobs, train apprentices, and contribute to projects that strengthen my community, I will consider that true success. Welding may start with sparks, but it ends with strength. I am ready to build that strength into my career, my business, and my life.

The smell of antiseptic and the steady rhythm of a hospital monitor are memories I will never forget. I remember sitting beside my grandmother’s bed, holding her hand while trying to be strong for her, even though I was scared. Cancer did not just affect her body; it affected our entire family. It changed the way I see time, faith, and the importance of loving people well while we have the chance. My name is Jayson Stogner, and I am a Texas high school senior with a 3.0 GPA, preparing to graduate in June 2026. I have worked hard to balance academics, athletics, and my responsibilities at home. However, some of my most important lessons were not learned in a classroom or on the track—they were learned through walking alongside my grandmother during her battle with cancer. When my grandmother was diagnosed, everything shifted. Doctor appointments, treatments, and long days at the hospital became part of our routine. I watched the strongest woman I knew endure exhaustion and pain with courage and grace. There were moments when our family felt overwhelmed, uncertain, and emotionally drained. Yet through it all, we leaned on our faith. Prayer became a constant in our home. We learned to trust God even when we did not understand the outcome. As Christians, we believed that even in suffering, there was purpose. Cancer forced me to grow up quickly. I stepped up to help wherever I could—running errands, assisting around the house, and offering support to younger family members who were confused and hurting. I learned that sometimes the greatest act of love is simply being present. Sitting quietly, listening, and holding someone’s hand can mean more than having the perfect words to say. Those moments deepened my compassion and strengthened my desire to serve others. Through this experience, I also discovered the power of encouragement. Whether through conversations, prayer, or simply showing up, I saw how much hope matters in the middle of hardship. I became more intentional about mentoring younger students and being a steady presence for my teammates. As a senior athlete, I try to lead with patience and understanding because I know that everyone is fighting battles that may not be visible. My grandmother’s journey with cancer reshaped my life perspective. It taught me not to take health or time for granted. It showed me the value of family unity and the importance of community support. Most importantly, it strengthened my faith and my commitment to live a life that reflects Christ’s love through service, integrity, and compassion. The Kristie’s Kids – Loving Arms Around Those Impacted By Cancer Scholarship represents hope for students like me whose lives have been shaped by cancer’s impact. My grandmother’s battle was painful, but it also revealed resilience, faith, and unconditional love. Her courage continues to motivate me to pursue my goals with determination and gratitude. Cancer may have brought uncertainty into our lives, but it also brought clarity. It reminded me that life is fragile and that our purpose is found in how we care for others. As I move forward into the next chapter of my education, I carry with me the lessons my grandmother taught me—strength in adversity, faith in the unknown, and love that never wavers. Her fight became part of my story, and it continues to guide the man I am becoming.

The first time I struck an arc, I was nervous I would ruin the metal. Instead, I watched two separate pieces fuse together under steady hands and focused heat. In that moment, I realized welding is more than sparks and steel—it is about precision, patience, and creating something strong enough to last. That first weld ignited more than metal; it sparked my passion for the trades and my goal of one day owning my own welding company. My name is Jayson Stogner, and I am a Texas high school senior graduating in June 2026. While I have dedicated countless hours to academics and athletics, it is in the welding shop where I feel focused and driven. Welding has taught me that strength is built through preparation and discipline. Every bead requires steady hands, careful measurement, and attention to detail. One small mistake can weaken an entire structure. That responsibility has shaped my character and work ethic. As a pole vaulter, I understand that progress comes from persistence. Achieving my personal record of 12’7” did not happen without setbacks. I failed more attempts than I can count, but each miss pushed me to adjust my technique and try again. Welding has reinforced that same mindset. Not every weld is perfect the first time. Sometimes you have to grind it down and start over. Those lessons in resilience and accountability have prepared me not only for trade school and a welding career, but for the challenges of entrepreneurship. My family has faced trials that strengthened my determination to build a stable future. We have experienced financial strain and moments of uncertainty that required sacrifice and teamwork. There were times when resources were limited, and everyone had to contribute in different ways. Those experiences showed me the value of skilled trades. Reliable tradespeople are essential to every community, from constructing safe buildings to repairing infrastructure. Seeing how important steady, dependable work can be during difficult times inspired me to pursue welding as both a career and a way to serve others. Living in Texas, I have seen rapid growth in our communities. With that growth comes the need for hardworking, skilled welders who take pride in their craftsmanship. My goal is to attend trade school, continue developing advanced welding certifications, and gain hands-on experience in the field. Over time, I hope to build a welding company known for quality, integrity, and reliability. I want my business to create jobs, mentor young tradespeople, and contribute to projects that strengthen our communities. Beyond technical skill, I believe leadership and character define success in the trades. I strive to lead by example, whether in the classroom, on the track, or in the shop. I understand the importance of showing up on time, completing tasks thoroughly, and supporting those around me. As I pursue my career, I want to mentor younger students who may not see college as their only path but are passionate about building lasting work with their hands. The Sammy Ochoa Memorial Scholarship represents an investment in students committed to making a difference through their chosen field. Welding may not always receive the spotlight, but it forms the backbone of our infrastructure and economy. From bridges to buildings, strong welds create strong communities. Just like a solid weld joins two pieces into something stronger, my experiences have fused resilience, discipline, and ambition into who I am today. I am ready to take the next step toward a career in welding, determined to build not only structures, but opportunities—for myself, my family, and the Texas community I am proud to call home.