From the pews of St. Vitus to the robotics lab at New Castle High, I've discovered that engineering and Catholicism share a common purpose: solving human problems through disciplined creativity. My faith doesn't just coexist with my STEM pursuits - it elevates them, transforming technical work into sacred service. This integration shapes how I lead teams, approach problems, and envision my future as an engineer. During my summer internship at Ellwood Group's local plant, I faced an ethical dilemma that crystallized this connection. Management wanted to automate a finishing process that would eliminate twelve union positions. While the numbers made engineering sense, my Catholic conscience rebelled. I spent nights researching alternatives, eventually proposing a human-machine collaboration system inspired by Pope John Paul II's Laborem Exercens. My solution used automation for dangerous tasks while creating new technician roles overseeing quality control, improving both safety and job security. When the plant manager (a fellow parishioner) approved the plan, I realized engineering decisions carry moral weight far beyond spreadsheets. This ethical framework directly impacts my technical leadership style. As captain of our First Robotics team, I've instituted what teammates jokingly call "Sacred Scrum" - blending agile methodology with Catholic social principles. Before each sprint, we reflect on how our robot could serve others. This approach bore fruit when we pivoted our competition robot into a prototype mobility aid for Ms. Romano, our school's disabled cafeteria worker. The joy on her face when she used our lift mechanism to reach high shelves surpassed any tournament trophy. My faith also informs how I handle failure - an inevitable part of engineering. When our solar-powered water purification system failed during a mission trip to Honduras, I recalled St. Josemaría Escrivá's teaching about offering up work. Rather than despairing, we worked by flashlight to create a manual filtration alternative, teaching villagers maintenance techniques through our translator. This experience taught me that sometimes the best engineering solutions aren't the most technologically advanced, but the most human-centered. Looking toward my mechanical engineering studies at Penn State, I'm particularly drawn to biomedical applications that honor the sanctity of life. I've already begun prototyping 3D-printed prosthetics using our parish school's makerspace, with designs that accommodate growth in pediatric patients. My ultimate aspiration is to establish a Catholic engineering cooperative that measures success by both technical innovation and lives served - perhaps developing affordable medical devices for developing nations or sustainable infrastructure for inner-city parishes. As I prepare to enter the engineering field, I carry two guiding principles: that every calculation represents a person made in God's image, and that the most elegant solutions serve both practical needs and human dignity. Whether I'm designing tomorrow's technologies or mentoring future engineers, I hope to demonstrate that faith and science aren't contradictory realms, but complementary paths to truth - and that the best engineering doesn't just build things, but builds up people. This vision was affirmed when Bishop Zubik visited our robotics team last Advent. After blessing our machines, he reminded us that we weren't just creating technology, but participating in God's creative work. That moment cemented my belief that engineering, when guided by faith, becomes more than a career - it becomes a vocation, a modern expression of the Church's timeless mission to heal, serve, and elevate human flourishing through loving action.

Growing up in New Castle, PA, I've been fortunate to have strong role models when it comes to money management. My parents didn't just tell me to save - they showed me how. From an early age, they involved me in small financial decisions, like comparing prices at the grocery store or helping plan our family vacation budget. They taught me that financial responsibility isn't about how much you make, but what you do with what you have. In school, my business teacher, Mr. Johnson, made personal finance interesting. We didn't just learn abstract concepts - we did real-world projects like creating budgets for different career paths and simulating stock market investments. I remember one project where we had to plan a monthly budget for someone earning minimum wage - that opened my eyes to how careful you need to be with money. These lessons have shaped how I handle my finances. When I started working at the local diner, I immediately put into practice what I'd learned. I divided each paycheck using the 50/30/20 rule - 50% for needs, 30% for wants, and 20% for savings. My parents matched my first $500 in savings as an incentive, which taught me the power of setting goals. Now, I'm proud to say I've saved enough to pay cash for my first car. As I look toward college, I'm applying these principles to avoid debt. I've spent hours researching scholarships, comparing financial aid packages, and even considering community college for my first two years to save money. My family showed me how they budgeted for my education since I was little, and now I understand why that planning mattered. Looking ahead, I want to keep building on this foundation. I'm teaching my younger brother what I've learned, starting a small Roth IRA with my summer job earnings, and learning about responsible credit card use. In a town where many struggle financially, I realize how lucky I am to have had these lessons. My goal isn't to get rich - it's to have choices and security, and to pass on this knowledge to others someday. The financial habits I'm building now, like living below my means, planning, and making informed decisions, will help me whether I stay in New Castle or move elsewhere after graduation. Money isn't everything, but understanding it means one less thing to worry about as I start my adult life.

My grandmother's basement is unfinished and is a perfect living space for all types of spiders, and it is very common to find one to two-inch spiders down there. One day, while my uncle was visiting, he excused himself to the restroom and decided to use the one downstairs. He, a 6ft 5in man, went into the basement to use the bathroom. It couldn't have been 30 seconds until we heard a loud bang and a scream close to that of a baby goat. The entire house jumps to their feet and rushes to the basement door, only to see my uncle clawing his way up the stairs like he saw a ghost. Pale in the face, panting like a dog, and sweating bullets, my uncle finally reached the top of the stairs. After a second to catch his breath, my uncle looks up at us and says, "It was the biggest spider I have ever seen in my life." The room was loud with laughter everyone, including my uncle, was bursting with laughter. I thought I was going to fall over with how hard I was laughing. After a while, everyone calmed down enough to go look for the spider that scared him so badly. Everyone was walking on eggshells, looking for a spider big enough to scare my uncle. We tiptoed around the corner, separating the stairs from the rest of the basement and inching our way to the bathroom. After a stressful 15-foot walk, we made it to the bathroom door, and on pins and needles, my dad reached for the door and flung it open. Like it was straight from a Scooby-doo cartoon, everyone poked their heads into the bathroom. Then we began searching. We looked in the cabinets, the shower, the garbage can, in the towels. everywhere, and we just could not find this spider. The one place we hadn't checked was the toilet. I walked over and lifted the lid, and there it was. A spider no bigger than my fingernail was sitting right on the seat. "Here it is!" I yell, pulling everyone to me. They all gathered around, and my uncle, red-faced, softly admitted that it was the spider that caused him to shriek and run like a little girl. The house was once again filled with laughter, with everyone laughing harder than before. To this day, he has never lived that moment down.

Growing up in New Castle, Pennsylvania, as an Italian American has deeply influenced who I am—my beliefs, my relationships, and my dreams for the future. This small, hardworking town, with its strong sense of community, and my family’s Italian heritage have taught me the value of loyalty, perseverance, and giving back. These lessons will stay with me no matter where life takes me. Family is everything in Italian American culture, and in New Castle, that’s no different. Some of my fondest memories are of Sunday dinners at my grandparents’ house, where the table was always overflowing with homemade pasta, braciole, and enough food to feed half the neighborhood. My nonno would talk about his parents coming over from Italy with nothing, working in the mills and factories, and building a life through sheer determination. Those stories made me proud of where I came from and taught me that hard work and family support can overcome any obstacle. Even now, no matter how busy life gets, I make time for my family because they’ve always been my foundation. Beyond my family, New Castle itself has shaped how I connect with others. This is a place where people know each other, where neighbors help neighbors, and where you’re never just a face in the crowd. Whether it’s at the local diner, Friday night football games, or church festivals, there’s a real sense of belonging here. At the same time, growing up in a town that’s seen its share of economic struggles has given me perspective. I’ve watched friends’ parents work long hours in factories or drive hours for better jobs, all to provide for their families. That work ethic has rubbed off on me. When it comes to my career, my background has made me want to make a difference here. I’ve seen how job losses have hit towns like mine, but I’ve also seen the resilience of the people who call them home. That’s why I’m drawn to an engineering career, something that lets me help rebuild and strengthen communities like New Castle. Being Italian American in a place like New Castle has given me a strong identity. It’s taught me that success isn’t just about personal achievement—it’s about lifting others along the way. My grandparents didn’t work so hard just for me to forget where I came from. So as I move forward, I’ll carry those Sunday dinners, those stories of struggle and triumph with me.