Ghost I lived my childhood in a haunted house. I admit that I was once a lost soul walking in and out of vacant rooms. I had no destination nor any motivation. “Life” wasn’t even a fantasy, nevertheless within my reach. I lived with dead memories that dance in the halls. Those dancing dreams comforted me with illusions of favored situations. I lived with a ghost. A ghost that I called my dad. Many years ago, my father walked out leaving my mother, sister, and I on our own. For many years I struggled with processing the tenderness. My heart shattered into millions of pieces and my mind was torn in half. I wanted to kill something inside of me that made me sensitive. I started to kill my emotions, I killed my joyful spirit, but I couldn’t kill my soul. After self-sabotaging everything that made me who I was, eventually, I lost myself within the shattered pieces that I had left of me. I stood as only an empty soul but walked back to where I had stripped down what I was. I saw something that I never thought I would see again. Faith. The core of my soul still shone brightly despite all of the dead buried over it. There was a glow just illuminated enough that I also realized what I was made out of. I decided to rebuild and restart. Instead of using a corrupt and unstable foundation. I promised no matter what I’ll lean on my faith in God. With the proper mentality, I started my second chance. I repainted my abandoned walls and reinstalled the appliances. I also rejuvenated the memories in it. Those same abandoned memories started to speak to me about my forgotten truths. Later, they motivated me. Living life again meant I had to move from where I was, so I had to face my fears. I had to look at myself in the mirror and admit humbly that the divorce wasn’t my fault and that I do resemble my father. Without him, the trauma their decisions cost me, I wouldn’t be able to live up to my full potential. The moment I let go of everything that I was once so dependent upon; I felt a load of peace wash over me. That was when I began to live again. I grew pessimistic. I grew up seeing what not to be. I have set standards for myself that will place me slightly above average. My divided household taught me that habits can correlate to a person's level of success. I picked the habits that I saw my father could have improved on. I also learned that with success comes failures. With failures, I need to be vulnerable. My ghostly father taught me that it's okay to have empathy and emotions, but I learned how to control them rather than them controlling me. I birthed patience and consistency which were two traits I didn't see growing up seeing, but I was determined to achieve them. My absent and inconsistent father taught me a bad example of what not to be, so I may be everything that he wasn’t. To move into that I had to understand that I’m just as human as he is. Well honestly, I don’t think I was living with a ghost, but rather a human. I think I was the ghost who couldn’t stand to be human. However, I do know my human father taught me how to be human and to live life to the fullest. The hardest pill I ever had to swallow.

Many years ago, my father walked out leaving my mother, sister, and I on our own. For many years I struggled with processing the tendernessI wanted to kill something inside of me that made me sensitive. I started to kill my emotions, I killed my joyful spirit, but I couldn’t kill my soul. After self-sabotaging everything that made me who I was, eventually, I lost myself within the shattered pieces that I had left of me. I stood as only an empty soul but walked back to where I had stripped down what I was. I saw something that I never thought I would see again. Faith. The core of my soul still shone brightly despite all of the dead buried over it. There was a glow just illuminated enough that I also realized what I was made out of. I decided to rebuild and restart. Instead of using a corrupt and unstable foundation. I promised no matter what I’ll lean on my faith in God. With the proper mentality, I started my second chance. I repainted my abandoned walls and reinstalled the appliances. I also rejuvenated the memories in it. Those same abandoned memories started to speak to me about my forgotten truths. Later, they motivated me. Living life again meant I had to move from where I was, so I had to face my fears. I had to look at myself in the mirror and admit humbly that the divorce wasn’t my fault and that I do resemble my father. The moment I let go of everything that I was once so dependent upon. That was when I began to live again. I grew pessimistic. I grew up seeing what not to be. I have set standards for myself that will place me slightly above average. My divided household taught me that habits can correlate to a person's level of success. I picked the habits that I saw my father could have improved on. I also learned that with success comes failures. With failures, I need to be vulnerable. My ghostly father taught me that it's okay to have empathy and emotions, but I learned how to control them rather than them controlling me. I birthed patience and consistency which were two traits I didn't see growing up seeing, but I was determined to achieve them. My absent and inconsistent father taught me a bad example of what not to be, so I may be everything that he wasn’t. To move into that I had to understand that I’m just as human as he is. Well honestly, I don’t think I was living with a ghost, but rather a human. I think I was the ghost who couldn’t stand to be human. However, I do know my human father taught me how to be human and to live life to the fullest. The hardest pill I ever had to swallow. I want share this story to my community and show them that they aren’t alone.

I’ll be the first to admit that I have a “father”, but not a “daddy”. When I look into my father’s eyes I see layers of agony and anger ripping his soul apart. His invisible detachment from reality creates fantasies. He envisions the perfect household, but can’t be consistent with owning one. I understand his confusion. My father is a lost fifteen-year-old boy from the hood of Milwaukee. His father deserted him and his family for the satisfaction of operating a church. Thirty years later; that fire of the confused, broken and lost boy flares bright. He couldn’t be a daddy to me because deep down he was still his father's son. He was stuck which stunted my development. I admit that I don’t ever expect him to step up to be something that he isn’t. Hunter and I were paired from the organization Big Brother Big Sister. He is in his early thirties and he’s successfully happy. He held that job that paid well until he got financially stable, then he quit the job in pursuit of his passion for teaching. I met Hunter when I was around eleven years old and it was a big culture shock for me. It had me questioning, “What could a white man teach a black kid?” I never saw a white male hold out his hand for a black kid like me, genuinely with no alternative intentions. After processing the culture shock he exposed me to things I never thought of. He showed me how to drive a truck, how to tailgate, how to game, and how to accept change. Hunter has helped open my eyes to a new world I never knew even existed. It took me humbling everything I had, so I could accept the change to everything he could offer. Pastor Dobbs and Boomerang are complete equal opposites. Pastor Dobbs is an assistant pastor for The Potter House of Dallas. Boomerang is a Que in a fraternity. Pastor Dobbs was the first man that I saw cry. I never was the crying type because in my community at school and in sports crying was seen as weak or feminine, especially in today’s society. I did what most men do and that was to bottle up my emotions and release them when I can’t take anymore. Pastor Dobbs taught me real men cry, but also how and when to be vulnerable. Since then I was able to control my emotions and not let them control me. Recently, when I feel like I don’t have much left to give I let people know that I can’t and that I need some time, rather than shutting down and avoiding the situation entirely. However, Boomerang taught me how to balance vulnerability with masculinity. Some trait he guided me to improve in is how to stick up for myself even when I’m standing alone. He always says to be the smartest in the room and to have receipts. Keep your word and know your history. He not only taught but demonstrated leadership qualities that will benefit me as a young African American man in this world. Both powerful black men helped me improve my habits. These three father figures guided me through caves of journeys that my dad couldn’t take me through. They all helped shape me into the man that I am today. These role models ultimately taught me how to love myself for who I am, and not hate myself for what I am not.

Ghost I lived my childhood in a haunted house. I admit that I was once a lost soul walking in and out of vacant rooms. I had no destination nor any motivation. “Life” wasn’t even a fantasy, nevertheless within my reach. I lived with dead memories that dance in the halls. Those dancing dreams comforted me with illusions of favored situations. I lived with a ghost. A ghost that I called my dad. Many years ago, my father walked out leaving my mother, sister, and I on our own. For many years I struggled with processing the tenderness. My heart shattered into millions of pieces and my mind was torn in half. I understood my mother’s pain, but I couldn’t grasp my father's ways. Yet, I wanted my father to come back which went against what my mother wished. I wanted to kill something inside of me that made me sensitive. I started to kill my emotions, I killed my joyful spirit, but I couldn’t kill my soul. After self-sabotaging everything that made me who I was, eventually, I lost myself within the shattered pieces that I had left of me. I stood as only an empty soul but walked back to where I had stripped down what I was. I saw something that I never thought I would see again. Faith. The core of my soul still shone brightly despite all of the dead buried over it. There was a glow just illuminated enough that I also realized what I was made out of. I decided to rebuild and restart. Instead of using a corrupt and unstable foundation; I used a foundation that would be unshakable which is what I believe in. I’ll never be how I was, but I can strive to be better. I promised no matter what I’ll lean on my faith in God. With the proper mentality, I started my second chance. I repainted my abandoned walls and reinstalled the appliances. I also rejuvenated the memories in it. Those same abandoned memories started to speak to me about my forgotten truths. Later, they motivated me. Living life again meant I had to move from where I was, so I had to face my fears. I had to look at myself in the mirror and admit humbly that the divorce wasn’t my fault and that I do resemble my father. Without him, the trauma their decisions cost me, I wouldn’t be able to live up to my full potential. The moment I let go of everything that I was once so dependent upon; I felt a load of peace wash over me. That was when I began to live again. I grew pessimistic. I grew up seeing what not to be. I have set standards for myself that will place me slightly above average. My divided household taught me that habits can correlate to a person's level of success. I picked the habits that I saw my father could have improved on. I also learned that with success comes failures. With failures, I need to be vulnerable. My ghostly father taught me that it's okay to have empathy and emotions, but I learned how to control them rather than them controlling me. I birthed patience and consistency which were two traits I didn't see growing up seeing, but I was determined to achieve them. My absent and inconsistent father taught me a bad example of what not to be, so I may be everything that he wasn’t. To move into that I had to understand that I’m just as human as he is. Well honestly, I don’t think I was living with a ghost, but rather a human. I think I was the ghost who couldn’t stand to be human. However, I do know my human father taught me how to be human and to live life to the fullest. The hardest pill I ever had to swallow. This lesson is what I want to preach to the world through my writing and speaking.

Imagine waking up before the sun as the night wrestles with the morning light. The chilling breeze ripples through my bones, freezing my soul, warms my heart, and clears my mind. That God-given peace sweeps me from my feet off the dew-wet turf. Passion fuels my veins, igniting the motivation to start the practice off right. The dreams I've been told to keep dreaming of seem to be within arms reach. I see a glimpse of what could be from Varsity, college, and NFL. Imagine that kid who was constantly told he was destined to make it and believed the prophecy spoken to him. Imagine him giving all he possibly had to pursue his passion despite naysayers, injuries, the sacrifices. Imagine that now all he can do is imagine. He knew football had an end date, but he didn’t expect that it would happen at his peak. Now I can only imagine… He was a hero to me, but more like an educator. He brought out the best version of me. He would scream like a father encouraging his son, “Never give up!” He spoke those same words not only to me but deep in the hearts of young men across the nation. Somewhere out there in the spotlight and the shadows, there’s a worldwide passion named Football. Unconsciously, he carries millions of dreams on his shoulders. He walks diligently with blood, sweat, and tears for young men like me. Like many, I began to wrap my identity around football and what he could help me do. Football as the game itself has been my best coach and my biggest supporter. I began to let ambition and obsession eat me alive. I began to try to live a life that wasn’t mine- It’s insane that it still stands true that one picture can say over a thousand words. “It is finished.” That was what my surgeon said, but the X-rays said so much more. The words that the X-ray etched in my heart make scars that dug so deep. Those unspoken words from the X-ray shattered my soul and caused a famine of ambition to settle deep in my heart. That break in my ankle demolished my dreams and made fantasies laughable. Without football, it was like darkness, and sorrow and anger swept over me. Like I had an ocean of tears that couldn't even express the immeasurable pain that soaked me. Those throbbing words ached in me in depths where I didn’t know that I had. My soul was as shattered as the bones, but not my spirit- “Never give up!” The unforgettable words that he whispers to me, “Never give up!” Under the rubble in my broken soul, my spirit managed to stay complete and whole, but still buried. The screams of lies of false hope slowly became whispers until they went mute. Voices of the fear of quitting and giving up silently spoke truths. The medicine started to flow into the broken pieces left in my heart. I admit that it’s going to be a long process, just like it would be for everyone who was resurrected and now is in rehabilitation. In my eye of the storm, a sense of peace and long-needed joy swept over me. That was enough to keep me moving. I didn’t see it then, but even without football, I had to remember not to part from the lessons that football had taught me. My injury-ending career reignited and realigned the “why” of my purposes in this life.

I’ll be the first to admit that I have a “father,” but not a “daddy.” When I look into my father’s eyes, I see layers of agony and anger ripping his soul apart. His invisible detachment from reality creates fantasies. He envisions the perfect household, but can’t be consistent with owning one. I understand his confusion. My father is a lost fifteen-year-old boy from the hood of Milwaukee. His father deserted him and his family for the satisfaction of operating a church. Thirty years later; that fire of the confused, broken and lost boy flares bright. He couldn’t be a daddy to me because deep down he was still his father's son. He was stuck, which stunted my development. I admit that I don’t ever expect him to step up to be something that he isn’t. I learned that I can only learn so much from someone who quit living after fifteen, so I turned to men who were placed in my life that eventually became father figures whether they know it or not. Pastor Dobbs and Boomerang are complete equal opposites. Pastor Dobbs is an assistant pastor for The Potter House of Dallas. Boomerang is a Que in a fraternity. Pastor Dobbs was the first man that I saw cry. I never was the crying type because in my community at school and in sports crying was seen as weak or feminine, especially in today’s society. I did what most men do and that was to bottle up my emotions and release them when I can’t take anymore. Pastor Dobbs taught me real men cry, but also how and when to be vulnerable. Since then I was able to control my emotions and not let them control me. Recently, when I feel like I don’t have much left to give I let people know that I can’t and that I need some time, rather than shutting down and avoiding the situation entirely. However, Boomerang taught me how to balance vulnerability with masculinity. Some trait he guided me to improve in is how to stick up for myself even when I’m standing alone. He always says to be the smartest in the room and to have receipts. Keep your word and know your history. He not only taught but demonstrated leadership qualities that will benefit me as a young African American man in this world. Both powerful black men helped me improve my habits. These three father figures guided me through caves of journeys that my dad couldn’t take me through. They all helped shape me into the man who I am today. These role models ultimately taught me how to love myself for who I am, and not hate myself for what I am not. It motivated me to be ambitious towards my goals, but flexible with my methods. Pursuing my purpose will feel more like an accomplishment because I will feel complete implementing my gifts while being myself.

When my father left stability wasn't even a word around our house. It became hard financially and being independent was a fantasy. This scholarship will help open doors for me to walk confidently into opportunities. I want to be able to pour into the kids in positions like me, but first I need my education. I’ll be the first to admit that I have a “father,” but not a “daddy.” When I look into my father’s eyes, I see layers of agony and anger ripping his soul apart. His invisible detachment from reality creates fantasies. He envisions the perfect household, but can’t be consistent with owning one. I understand his confusion. My father is a lost fifteen-year-old boy from the hood of Milwaukee. His father deserted him and his family for the satisfaction of operating a church. Thirty years later; that fire of the confused, broken and lost boy flares bright. He couldn’t be a daddy to me because deep down he was still his father's son. He was stuck, which stunted my development. I admit that I don’t ever expect him to step up to be something that he isn’t. I learned that I can only learn so much from someone who quit living after fifteen, so I turned to men who were placed in my life that eventually became father figures whether they know it or not. These three father figures guided me through caves of journeys that my dad couldn’t take me through. They all helped shape me into the man who I am today. These role models ultimately taught me how to love myself for who I am, and not hate myself for what I am not. It motivated me to be ambitious towards my goals, but flexible with my methods. Pursuing my purpose will feel more like an accomplishment because I will feel complete implementing my gifts while being myself. I had to remember not to part from the lessons that they had taught me. These men reignited and realigned the "why" of my purposes in this life. Which is to be able to have the leverage to be able to invest in people, businesses, and ideas. Financially, mentally, or physically I want to make an investment. When I write I shut my logical mind and open my emotional heart. I express vulnerability and search for undiscovered buried treasure somewhere in my soul. Whether acceptable or not, we all deal with pain differently, but my authentic poetic flow is my armor and my weapon against oppositions that are thrown at me.

Imagine waking up before the sun as the night wrestles with the morning light. The chilling breeze ripples through my bones, freezing my soul, warms my heart, and clears my mind. That God-given peace sweeps me from my feet off the dew-wet turf. Passion fuels my veins, igniting the motivation to start the practice off right. The dreams I've been told to keep dreaming of seem to be within arms reach. I see a glimpse of what could be from Varsity, college, and NFL. Imagine that kid who was constantly told he was destined to make it and believed the prophecy spoken to him. Imagine him giving all he possibly had to pursue his passion despite naysayers, injuries, the sacrifices. Imagine that now all he can do is imagine. He knew football had an end date, but he didn’t expect that it would happen at his peak. Now I can only imagine… He was a hero to me, but more like an educator. He was my inspiration and gifted me motivation, but he was more of a standard. He made it more than just a game, he made it a part of me. He brought out the best version of me. He would scream like a father encouraging his son, “Never give up!” He spoke those same words not only to me but deep in the hearts of young men across the nation. Somewhere out there in the spotlight and the shadows, there’s a worldwide passion named Football. Unconsciously, he carries millions of dreams on his shoulders. He walks diligently with blood, sweat, and tears for young men like me. Like many, I began to wrap my identity around football and what he could help me do. Football as the game itself has been my best coach and my biggest supporter. I began to let ambition and obsession eat me alive. I began to try to live a life that wasn’t mine- It’s insane that it still stands true that one picture can say over a thousand words. “It is finished.” That was what my surgeon said, but the X-rays said so much more. The words that the X-ray etched in my heart make scars that dug so deep. Those unspoken words from the X-ray shattered my soul and caused a famine of ambition to settle deep in my heart. I had an ocean of tears that couldn't even express the immeasurable pain that soaked me. Those throbbing words ached in me in depths where I didn’t know that I had. My soul was as shattered as the bones, but not my spirit- “Never give up!” The unforgettable words that he whispers to me, “Never give up!” Under the rubble in my broken soul, my spirit managed to stay complete and whole, but still buried. The screams of lies of false hope slowly became whispers until they went mute. Voices of the fear of quitting and giving up silently spoke truths. The medicine started to flow into the broken pieces left in my heart. I admit that it’s going to be a long process, just like it would be for everyone who was resurrected and now is in rehabilitation. In my eye of the storm, a sense of peace and long-needed joy swept over me. That was enough to keep me moving. I didn’t see it then, but even without football, I had to remember not to part from the lessons that football had taught me. My injury-ending career reignited and realigned the “why” of my purposes in this life.

Being forced to step up to the plate at an early age to fill the role of a man with whom I had no prior experience of being nor seeing was difficult. However, those lessons I dreaded when I came face-to-face with them helped me appreciate the value of consistency and the impact of one’s presence. Being forced to step up to the plate at an early age to fill the role of a man with whom I had no prior experience of being nor seeing was difficult. However, those lessons I dreaded when I came face-to-face with them helped me appreciate the value of consistency and the impact of one’s presence. My father might not have been there, but I learned to humble myself and help others. Just dwelling in their presence and listening to that alone creates space for growth, forgiveness, opportunity, and peace. I learned to be a miracle for others and watch others smile. By appreciating the simple things. Happiness is contagious and it opened up my heart and provided space in my mind. As well as being consistent in this situation I have discovered my purpose in helping others in a unique sense that makes me feel fulfilled. The shift of perspective in the decision of either sulking over the past or making a new future has blessed me countless times. Now, I am a healthy young man who no longer just fumbles around life hopelessly. I found that life has no meaning within itself; it's an opportunity to make a meaningful difference. I have also discovered that a man is a situational provider. Not just for others, but for himself too. That divorce made me who I am today, so in a classroom where change is inevitable, the one thing that will give me an edge is to stay balanced and remember who I am. The shift of perspective in the decision of either sulking over the past or making a new future has blessed me countless times. Now, I am a healthy young man who no longer just fumbles around life hopelessly. I found that life has no meaning within itself; it's an opportunity to make a meaningful difference. I have also discovered that a man is a situational provider. Not just for others, but for himself too. That divorce made me who I am today, so in a classroom where change is inevitable, the one thing that will give me an edge is to stay balanced and remember who I am.

Many years ago in a small neighborhood in Texas from a distance you could hear yelling and screaming. With explosions of expansive dishes crashing and blood pounding knocks against hardwood doors. Once a lovely couple; now it's a battle between the sexes and all hope seems to be lost. In the background they must have forgotten: their little five year old boy protecting his four year old sister from the bone chilling noises just outside their rooms by holding her precious ears together as she closed her eyes. As the noise continues, the sister eventually falls asleep with her tear-crusted eyes. Awake and overwhelmed, the boy starts to write his first poem called "Clouds." I was just hitting the age where a father figure would be important in a boy's life. Especially coming from a background of the stereotypical black fathers that bounce. At that young golden age, I already had the odds against me. Growing older I longed for any fill-in for my shotgunned heart. Then, I ran across music - poetry to be exact. It helped me be able to express how I was feeling internally, spiritually, and physically. It was my voice when I was speechless. Poetry is my niche - it was also my therapy. Public speaking began to ignite the hearts of men when I dedicated my time to serving my church. My mentors and pastors placed me in positions for my voice to be heard. I began speaking at conferences, fundraisers, and various stages around DFW. I love initiating my voice and utilizing it for making genuine connections with others. The words in my heart especially go feeling internally, spiritually, and physically. It was my voice when I was speechless. Poetry is my niche - it was also my therapy. Public speaking began to ignite the hearts of men when I dedicated my time to serving my church. My mentors and pastors placed me in positions for my voice to be heard. I began speaking at conferences, fundraisers, and various stages around DFW. I love initiating my voice and utilizing it for making genuine connections with others. The words in my heart especially go out to children like me and adults with dreams. They still have faith in something and that's where I operate best. My secret weapon is my voice, and I want to continue to learn how to speak with affluence and confidence.

Imagine waking up before the sun as the night wrestles with the morning light. The chilling breeze ripples through my bones, freezing my soul, warms my heart and clears my mind. That God-given peace sweeps me from my feet off the dew-wet turf. Passion fuels my veins, igniting the motivation to start the practice off right. The dreams I've been told to keep dreaming on seem to be within arms reach. I see a glimpse of what could be from Varsity, college, and NFL. Imagine that kid who was constantly told he was destined to make it and believed the prophecy spoken to him. Imagine him giving all he possibly had to pursue his passion despite naysayers, injuries, the sacrifices. Imagine that now all he can do is imagine. He knew football had an end date, but he didn’t expect that it would happen at his peak. Now I can only imagine. Agony’s scorching hell-like fire burnt up my left leg, like a forest fire racing as she destroys everything in sight. It paralyzed me through the core of my soul and slammed the door when it was inches from my face. I was crushed when I was carted away from the home field. I shared the trauma like a little child being stripped away from her parents whom she loved dearly and would do anything for. My soul cried an ocean of bleeding tears that day. Especially when the surgeon told me that I will not be able to be back on the field. I was considered an orphan in this thing called life. I am labeled an unfortunate story. However, with every valley, you must continue up to at least make it back to the flat plains, but I prefer mountain ranges. I rather work harder for a better view of this world that one day I’ll leave behind. I might not see a spectacular waterfall, but there’s also a possibility that I can see some significant savannas, priceless rainforests, deserts, and diverse cities. My optimistic perception kept my hope alive. Every day in this foreign world I stay present and appreciate the little things and show gratitude for what will happen. I don’t know how to quite explain the peace from within that balanced me through my hurricane, but it has to be God-given. I’m stubborn about my goals but flexible with my methods. I had to remember my “why” for pursuing football. That equilibrium of passion and satisfaction of using what I got and investing it into them; so they may not only challenge me but also for them to surpass me. I love competition because we learn from each other, but I want you to surpass me and make it into rooms I find impossible. My injury-ending career reignited and realigned the “why” of my purposes in this life.

The longest yard has impacted me the most. It taught me how to still get dispite the adversity coming your way. Your imagination will take you far a lesson that the longest yard taught me. Imagine waking up before the sun as the night wrestles with the morning light. The chilling breeze ripples through my bones, freezing my soul, warms my heart and clears my mind. That God-given peace sweeps me from my feet off the dew-wet turf. Passion fuels my veins, igniting the motivation to start the practice off right. The dreams I've been told to keep dreaming on seem to be within arms reach. I see a glimpse of what could be from Varsity, college, and NFL. Imagine that kid who was constantly told he was destined to make it and believed the prophecy spoken to him. Imagine him giving all he possibly had to pursue his passion despite naysayers, injuries, the sacrifices. Imagine that now all he can do is imagine. He knew football had an end date, but he didn’t expect that it would happen at his peak. Now I can only imagine. Agony’s scorching hell-like fire burnt up my left leg, like a forest fire racing as she destroys everything in sight. It paralyzed me through the core of my soul and slammed the door when it was inches from my face. I was crushed when I was carted away from the home field. I shared the trauma like a little child being stripped away from her parents whom she loved dearly and would do anything for. My soul cried an ocean of bleeding tears that day. Especially when the surgeon told me that I will not be able to be back on the field. I was considered an orphan in this thing called life. I am labeled an unfortunate story. However, with every valley, you must continue up to at least make it back to the flat plains, but I prefer mountain ranges. I rather work harder for a better view of this world that one day I’ll leave behind. I might not see a spectacular waterfall, but there’s also a possibility that I can see some significant savannas, priceless rainforests, deserts, and diverse cities. My optimistic perception kept my hope alive. Every day in this foreign world I stay present and appreciate the little things and show gratitude for what will happen. I don’t know how to quite explain the peace from within that balanced me through my hurricane, but it has to be God-given. I’m stubborn about my goals but flexible with my methods. I had to remember my “why” for pursuing football. That equilibrium of passion and satisfaction of using what I got and investing it into them; so they may not only challenge me but also for them to surpass me. I love competition because we learn from each other, but I want you to surpass me and make it into rooms I find impossible. My injury-ending career reignited and realigned the “why” of my purposes in this life.

Imagine waking up before the sun as the night wrestles with the morning light. The chilling breeze ripples through my bones, freezing my soul, warms my heart, and clears my mind. That God-given peace sweeps me from my feet off the dew-wet turf. Passion fuels my veins, igniting the motivation to start the practice off right. The dreams I've been told to keep dreaming of seem to be within arms reach. I see a glimpse of what could be from Varsity, college, and NFL. Imagine that kid who was constantly told he was destined to make it and believed the prophecy spoken to him. Imagine him giving all he possibly had to pursue his passion despite naysayers, injuries, the sacrifices. Imagine that now all he can do is imagine. He knew football had an end date, but he didn’t expect that it would happen at his peak. Now I can only imagine… He was a hero to me, but more like an educator. He was my inspiration and gifted me motivation, but he was more of a standard. He made it more than just a game, he made it a part of me. He brought out the best version of me. He would scream like a father encouraging his son, “Never give up!” He spoke those same words not only to me but deep in the hearts of young men across the nation. Somewhere out there in the spotlight and the shadows, there’s a worldwide passion named Football. Unconsciously, he carries millions of dreams on his shoulders. He walks diligently with blood, sweat, and tears for young men like me. Like many, I began to wrap my identity around football and what he could help me do. Football as the game itself has been my best coach and my biggest supporter. I began to let ambition and obsession eat me alive. I began to try to live a life that wasn’t mine- It’s insane that it still stands true that one picture can say over a thousand words. “It is finished.” That was what my surgeon said, but the X-rays said so much more. The words that the X-ray etched in my heart make scars that dug so deep. Those unspoken words from the X-ray shattered my soul and caused a famine of ambition to settle deep in my heart. That break in my ankle demolished my dreams and made fantasies laughable. Without football, it was like darkness, and sorrow and anger swept over me. Like I had an ocean of tears that couldn't even express the immeasurable pain that soaked me. Those throbbing words ached in me in depths where I didn’t know that I had. My soul was as shattered as the bones, but not my spirit- “Never give up!” The unforgettable words that he whispers to me, “Never give up!” Under the rubble in my broken soul, my spirit managed to stay complete and whole, but still buried. The screams of lies of false hope slowly became whispers until they went mute. Voices of the fear of quitting and giving up silently spoke truths. The medicine started to flow into the broken pieces left in my heart. In my eye of the storm, a sense of peace and long-needed joy swept over me. That was enough to keep me moving. I didn’t see it then, but even without football, I had to remember not to part from the lessons that football had taught me. My injury-ending career reignited and realigned the “why” of my purposes in this life.

Imagine waking up before the sun as the night wrestles with the morning light. The chilling breeze ripples through my bones, freezing my soul, warms my heart, and clears my mind. That God-given peace sweeps me from my feet off the dew-wet turf. Passion fuels my veins, igniting the motivation to start the practice off right. The dreams I've been told to keep dreaming of seem to be within arms reach. I see a glimpse of what could be from Varsity, college, and NFL. Imagine that kid who was constantly told he was destined to make it and believed the prophecy spoken to him. Imagine him giving all he possibly had to pursue his passion despite naysayers, injuries, the sacrifices. Imagine that now all he can do is imagine. He knew football had an end date, but he didn’t expect that it would happen at his peak. I can only imagine… He was a hero to me, but more like an educator. He was my inspiration and gifted me motivation, but he was more of a standard. He made it more than just a game, he made it a part of me. He brought out the best version of me. He would scream like a father encouraging his son, “Never give up!” He spoke those same words not only to me but deep in the hearts of young men across the nation. Somewhere out there in the spotlight and the shadows, there’s a worldwide passion named Football. Unconsciously, he carries millions of dreams on his shoulders. He walks diligently with blood, sweat, and tears for young men like me. Like many, I began to wrap my identity around football and what he could help me do. I began to let ambition and obsession eat me alive. I attempted to live a life that wasn’t mine- It’s insane that it still stands true that one picture can say over a thousand words. “It is finished.” That was what my surgeon said, but the X-rays said so much more. The words that the X-ray etched in my heart make scars that dug so deep. Those unspoken words from the X-ray shattered my soul and caused a famine of ambition to settle deep in my heart. That break in my ankle demolished my dreams and made fantasies laughable. Without football, it was like darkness, and sorrow and anger swept over me. Like I had an ocean of tears that couldn't even express the immeasurable pain that soaked me. Those throbbing words ached in me in depths where I didn’t know that I had. My soul was as shattered as the bones, but not my spirit- “Never give up!” The unforgettable words that he whispers to me, “Never give up!” Under the rubble in my broken soul, my spirit managed to stay complete and whole, but still buried. The screams of lies of false hope slowly became whispers until they went mute. Voices of the fear of quitting and giving up silently spoke truths. The medicine started to flow into the broken pieces left in my heart. I admit that it’s going to be a long process, just like it would be for everyone who was resurrected and now is in rehabilitation. In my eye of the storm, a sense of peace and long-needed joy swept over me. That was enough to keep me moving. I didn’t see it then, but even without football, I had to remember not to part from the lessons that football had taught me. My injury-ending career reignited and realigned the “why” of my purposes in this life.

The weight of the light chills of winter fog over an empty meadow that stretches past the horizon blankets the earth like an innocent child wrapped up in grandma’s arms. With grandma whispering sweet stories of times of the past. Her prophetic passion's authenticity sweeps the atmosphere and settles over the little family room. Her passionate words slow time and allow space for truth. From the depths of the heart, her wisdom ignites through the vessels of the child’s mind. Painted stories come alive as they speak to me. They whisper convictions and universally forgotten truths. The influence in my voice that allows me to translate to the masses was passed down to me after many generations. This is my gift from God. Public speaking began to ignite the hearts of men when I dedicated my time to serving my church. My mentors and pastors placed me in positions for my voice to be heard. I began speaking at conferences, fundraisers, and various stages around DFW. I love initiating my voice and utilizing it to make genuine connections with others. The words in my heart especially go out to children like me and adults with dreams. They still have faith in something and that’s where I operate best. My secret weapon is my voice, and I want to continue to learn how to speak with affluence and confidence. Like a beautiful rose that grew from concrete, it once began as a seed. A delicacy wrapped up in blank pages. Rather than just waiting for the preordained stories that are carelessly handed out. I took advantage of change and had the inevitable work in my favor. I broke chains and went against the grains. I started to think outside the box and find solutions to situations. When I was involved in Triple-A which is an African-American Association, I took the initiative and not only gave my ideas to help expand the organization, but I also guided the leadership roles above me. We partnered together to pursue our future goals as a student-led organization. I learned from that experience that faith without work means nothing. I had to step up to an unorganized position and lead a group into a vision that eventually we made a reality. My voice is my secret superpower. My voice is my strength, but even the most beautiful flowers may have to be pruned every once in a while. I have to cut out the deceiving lies and excuses I might tell myself. I’m my biggest enemy as I am my hero. It keeps me balanced. Placing boundaries, so I don’t abuse power keeps me at peace. My voice was my missing piece in this puzzle of life. It completes me now just like a superhero and his superpowers. The business industry whispers convictions and universally forgotten truths. Like Grandma, the industry will open doors to those who are willing to listen. The influence in my voice that the industry will help me hone, will allow me to translate to the masses important information. I want to speak to people about literacy which would improve their financial and mental decisions.