I want to pursue a career in teaching because I believe in the power of education to change a student’s life. I’ve seen that impact firsthand. Growing up, school wasn’t just a place to learn; it was where I discovered who I was, what I cared about, and what I could become. And one teacher in particular made all the difference for me: my theatre teacher, Mrs. Wilson. Before I met her, I didn’t always feel confident speaking up or taking risks. I was the kind of student who stayed in the background, did my work quietly, and didn’t want to draw attention. Theatre changed that, and Mrs. Wilson was the reason. She didn’t just teach acting or stagecraft; she taught courage, creativity, teamwork, and self‑expression. She saw potential in me long before I saw it in myself. Mrs. Wilson had a way of making every student feel important. She created a classroom where we felt safe to try, fail, try again, and grow. She pushed us, but always with kindness. She celebrated our strengths and helped us work through our weaknesses. She taught us that our voices mattered and that we had something worth sharing. Her classroom was a place where students learned to trust themselves. There was one moment that changed everything for me. She cast me in a role I never would have chosen for myself, something bigger, louder, and more challenging than anything I had done before, Beth in Little Women. I remember telling her I didn’t think I could do it. She looked at me and said, “I wouldn’t have given it to you if you couldn’t.” That simple sentence shifted something in me. She believed in me, so I started believing in myself. Those performances became a turning point in my confidence, not just on stage but in life. That’s the kind of impact I want to have as a teacher. Teaching, to me, is about helping students discover their strengths and giving them the tools to grow. It’s about creating a classroom where they feel supported, capable, and seen. It’s about being the adult who says, “You can,” at the exact moment a student needs to hear it. I want to be the kind of teacher who helps students build skills they’ll use long after they leave my classroom: communication, responsibility, confidence, and the ability to work with others. I’m drawn to teaching because it’s a career built on relationships, encouragement, and purpose, and my moms a teacher; she inspires me every day. Teachers shape futures, often in ways they never fully realize. Mrs. Wilson changed mine, and I want to pay that forward. I want to help students find their voice the way she helped me find mine. That’s why I’m choosing this path. I want to make a difference, one student at a time, just like Wilson did.

My life as a Native American is a profound source of pride and enlightenment. My great-grandparents were part of the Cherokee Nation, proud, stoic people who shared stories of their childhood in small-town Oklahoma. They often spoke of their grandparents, who endured the harrowing journey of the Trail of Tears, being forcibly relocated to Northeast Oklahoma. These stories painted a vivid picture of resilience and survival, and for much of my life, I believed my lineage was a simple, unbroken line tracing back to those ancestors. But life, like history, is rarely that straightforward. Growing up, I always felt an immense sense of pride in being Cherokee. My father, who deeply loves his heritage, passed that pride down to me through the stories he heard. He believed, as I did, that our lineage was clear-cut. According to family lore, I should be about one-quarter Cherokee. It wasn’t until I began exploring my ancestry that I discovered the truth, it’s much less than that. At first, this revelation surprised me, but it didn’t change how I felt. My connection to the Cherokee people and the pride I feel for my heritage are about far more than numbers. I’ve spent countless hours piecing together my family’s history, tracing it all the way back to my seven-times great-grandfather, who lived until 1911. He was just four years old when he and his six siblings were forced to leave North Carolina. Their family endured the brutal journey to Oklahoma, but they were among the fortunate ones who survived and built a life in Commerce, Oklahoma, after several stops along the way. As I dug deeper into their history, I learned how interconnected their lives became with others along the trail. Some family members fell in love with white settlers and started new families. My grandfather’s parents, for instance, helped care for another family during their four-month journey. Among that family was a girl about my grandfather’s age. Years later, they married. They always assumed she was Cherokee too, but the question of her heritage was never asked. These discoveries have shown me that the story of the Cherokee is not as linear as I once thought. It is a web of interconnected lives, blending with the people and cultures of their world. My family’s history reflects that complexity, and so does my identity. The struggles my ancestors faced, relocation, loss, and resilience, remind me to stay strong in the face of my own challenges. Whenever I encounter difficulties, I think of Jacob Greenberry Lackey, who endured so much and still thrived. If he could overcome those challenges, so can I. By keeping my past alive in my present, I honor my ancestors and draw strength from their legacy. There is nothing I can’t achieve when I carry that pride and determination forward.

When people hear I'm studying Family and Consumer Sciences, they often think I'm learning to sew and cook. What I'm actually studying is how to help families thrive in an increasingly complex world, and there's nothing I'd rather do with my life. My passion for FACS sparked during high school when I watched families in our community struggle with basic financial literacy, nutrition on tight budgets, and childcare resources. I realized that behind every statistic about food insecurity or financial stress is a real family trying to make ends meet. FACS isn't about perfecting recipes; it's about understanding the systems that impact human development and teaching families how to navigate them successfully. What drives me is the intersection of practical skills and human compassion. In my Human Development course, we studied how economic stress impacts child development. In Consumer Economics, we learned how predatory lending targets vulnerable populations. These aren't abstract concepts to me, they're challenges I see every day. I want to be the professional who helps families build financial stability, make nutritious meals on food stamp budgets, and access resources they didn't know existed. The sacrifices have been real and ongoing. This semester alone, I've spent hours hunting for affordable textbooks, comparing prices across multiple sites, and trying creative solutions like rental combinations just to access required materials. When financial aid fell short, I picked up extra shifts, knowing each hour at work meant less time for studying. I've missed social events to work, missed work to study, and missed sleep trying to balance both. Some nights, I question whether I can keep juggling everything. But then I remember why I'm here. My dad has shown me what it means to advocate for others, whether it's his warehouse team or helping me find textbook deals at midnight. He's taught me that real leadership means understanding systems and making them work for people, not against them. That's exactly what FACS prepares me to do. I've learned to see obstacles as puzzles to solve. When a $300 textbook threatened to derail my semester, Dad and I spent hours finding alternatives, comparing editions, checking international sellers. We got it down to $45. That experience taught me more about consumer advocacy than any chapter could, and it's exactly the kind of resourcefulness I want to teach other families. My cohort is small but mighty. We support each other through late-night study sessions and share resources whenever possible. When one of us finds a free PDF or a coupon code, we all benefit. This collaborative spirit is what FACS is about, lifting entire communities, not just individuals. After graduation, I plan to work in community development, focusing on family financial literacy and resource coordination. I want to create programs that meet families where they are, whether that's teaching budgeting at the local library or helping parents understand their children's developmental needs. Eventually, I'd love to develop a resource center that combines financial counseling, nutrition education, and child development support under one roof. Every sacrifice, every skipped party, every extra shift, every creative textbook solution, is an investment in this vision. When I help my first family avoid predatory lending or teach parents how developmental milestones work, it will all be worth it. FACS might not be the flashiest major, but it's about the most fundamental thing there is: helping families build better lives. In a world that often treats human services as afterthoughts, I'm proud to dedicate my career to proving that supporting families is the foundation of everything else.

My great-grandparents were Cherokee Nation people, proud, stoic storytellers from small-town Oklahoma who painted vivid pictures of ancestors surviving the Trail of Tears. Their stories of forced relocation to Northeast Oklahoma shaped my understanding of who I was. For years, I believed my lineage was simple: according to family lore, I was about one-quarter Cherokee. My father, who deeply loves his heritage, passed that certainty down to me like a treasured heirloom. Then I started digging into our actual ancestry, and the numbers told a different story. When I discovered my Cherokee blood was much less than a quarter, I sat with that knowledge for a while. The math didn't match the stories. But here's what I realized: my connection to the Cherokee people was never about fractions. It was about something deeper, a way of seeing the world, of facing challenges, of understanding that survival itself is an act of defiance. The more I researched, the more complex our story became. I traced our line back to Jacob Greenberry Lackey, my seven-times great-grandfather, who lived until 1911. He was just four years old when soldiers forced him and his six siblings from North Carolina. Imagine being four, watching everything familiar disappear behind you, not understanding why you're walking endless miles. Yet he survived, eventually settling in Commerce, Oklahoma, after several stops that became temporary homes. But here's where the story becomes a web rather than a line: My grandfather's parents helped care for another family during their four-month journey on the trail. Among them was a young girl about my grandfather's age. They shared the same dust, the same hunger, the same uncertainty. Years later, they married. Everyone assumed she was Cherokee too, the question was never asked. Why would it be? They'd survived the trail together. This is the truth I've uncovered: Cherokee identity isn't a pure bloodline stretching back untouched. It's a web of interconnected lives, people who fell in love with white settlers, who helped strangers survive brutal journeys, who built new families from the fragments of destroyed ones. Some threads are Cherokee, some aren't, but they're all woven together by shared survival and chosen kinship. My ancestors' struggles, relocation, loss, and the daily choice to keep going, remind me that I carry more than blood. I carry their resilience. When I face challenges in school, in business, in life, I think of four-year-old Jacob walking a trail he didn't choose, becoming a man who lived to see Oklahoma transform. If he could build a life from that beginning, what excuse do I have? The percentage of Cherokee blood in my veins might be less than family stories claimed, but my connection to that heritage has only grown stronger. By understanding the complex truth of how I came to be, I honor my ancestors more honestly than any simplified story could. I am not full blood Cherokee, I am one thread in an unbreakable web, woven by ancestors who turned forced journeys into new beginnings, who made families from whoever walked beside them, who taught their children that heritage is measured not in blood quantum but in how you carry yourself through this world. I am Cherokee. There is nothing I cannot achieve when I carry forward their true legacy: the understanding that we survive by weaving our lives together, and that strength comes not from pure lines but from the complex, beautiful web of who we choose to become.

Growing up in a small Kansas town means feeling connected to your neighbors, to the land, and especially to the local school, which isn’t just where you learn but where life happens. For me, that connection started at home. My mother wasn’t just a music teacher—she was a mentor, a creator, a steady force in the lives of countless students. And she was my first inspiration. Our house always hummed with melody. Sheet music spread across the dining table like confetti, her piano ringing with the notes of next week’s choir rehearsal. Teaching wasn’t just her profession; it was her purpose. She poured herself into every student, staying late to help with auditions, organizing school concerts, and crafting experiences that made music come alive. Watching her work with such commitment and care, I began to understand that teaching isn’t about the curriculum, it’s about connection. Even outside of school, her impact was visible. Students waved at her in the grocery store, stopped to chat at football games, and thanked her for believing in them. She knew their stories, their challenges, and their dreams. And they remembered her not just as their music teacher, but as someone who stood by them in life’s formative years. That kind of influence doesn’t fade, it echoes. Seeing her lead with grace, empathy, and high expectations planted a seed in me early on. I realized I wanted to make that same kind of difference. Teaching has the power to shape futures. It can take a shy voice and help it grow bold. It can unlock passion, spark curiosity, and remind someone they matter. I’ve seen it up close, day after day, in my mother’s classroom, and I want to live that same legacy. My decision to pursue a career in teaching isn’t just rooted in admiration. It’s also deeply personal. I want to give back to the community that raised me, to contribute in a way that’s lasting and meaningful. In small towns like mine, education is deeply woven into community life. Teachers don’t just educate, they support, uplift, and connect generations. As I prepare to step into the classroom myself, I carry with me not only the lessons I’ve learned through my schooling but the values instilled by my mom. Compassion, purpose, consistency these are the threads I want to weave into my own teaching. I want to help students find their voice through literature, challenge their thinking, and create space where they feel safe, valued, and inspired. My goal is to return to the same district where my mom built her career, continuing the legacy she’s created. I know the path won’t always be easy, teaching demands patience, creativity, and resilience. But I’ve seen what’s possible when you lead with heart. And if I can help just one student feel empowered the way my mother helped so many, I’ll know I’m doing exactly what I was meant to do.

Throughout my childhood I watched my mother navigate a challenge that reshaped our family routines and taught me the true meaning of resilience. Every grocery trip became a lesson in vigilance as we scanned ingredient labels, and each dinner required creative changes to make our favorite meals safe. I learned that what looks ordinary on the plate can carry hidden consequences. Seeing my mother balance joy in food with caution inspired me to become equally attentive in my own life. Those experiences shaped how I approach every part of my life, teaching me that attention and care can transform a routine into a mindful choice. Social gatherings were the hardest moments. At birthday parties, my mother waited while everyone grabbed pizza without a second thought. She adapted by bringing homemade treats that met her needs, smiling through disappointment. Instead of feeling sorry for her, I felt determined. I began replacing traditional flour with alternative grains, kitchen experiments taught me that limits can fuel innovation. In high school I channeled that same spirit of creativity into theater. I volunteered to bring snacks to rehearsals everyone could enjoy, no matter their dietary needs. That simple act built community and showed that caring for one another matters on and off stage. In choir I saw how careful preparation mirrored our family’s meal planning. As my mother learned to anticipate every ingredient, I learned to warm up my voice so I could perform with confidence. Each note I sang became a bridge between my mother’s challenges and my own pursuit of excellence. Athletics added another layer to my understanding of perseverance. I joined the track and field team to throw discus and javelin. At first my form was awkward and my throws barely reached the line. I kept training early mornings, focusing on spin and angle until my arm and mind worked in harmony. As my throws improved I felt the same quiet triumph I had discovered in a batch of gluten free muffins. Both endeavors taught me that growth comes from embracing challenges, not avoiding them. My mother’s journey also sparked my desire to empower others facing hidden hardships. In creative writing class I drafted a play about a family coping with a secret health issue to show how empathy and communication can transform isolation into connection. As I look ahead, I plan to study the humanities to explore how stories shape our understanding of struggle and triumph. I want to research how writers and performers have given voice to hidden experiences and examine how narrative fosters compassion. I also want to study literature to understand how stories have sparked social movements and given hope to those in need. My goal is to develop workshops, theater projects, and community readings that amplify voices often overlooked. I hope to create spaces where people find solidarity and strength and learn that they are not defined by their limitations. My mother’s silent battle has left an indelible mark on me. It taught me to read between the lines, honor the unseen, and turn barriers into opportunities for growth. By excelling in my passions in the kitchen, on stage, and on the field, and by sharing stories that encourage empathy, I aim to empower others to embrace their own resilience. I hope my journey inspires others to see possibility in every limitation.

Throughout my life I’ve been labeled the teacher’s daughter, expected to step into the spotlight and hit every note perfectly as if talent were inherited. People assumed I would mirror my mom’s musical legacy, never stopping to see the quiet pressure I felt behind the scenes. Those expectations became both a weight and a fire inside me, pushing me to prove that my success would be earned on my own terms. From the time I was young, singing felt like home. Whether it was lullabies with my mom or harmonizing during choir practice, I leaned into music to express what words alone couldn’t. But my voice wasn’t perfect, and when it cracked in front of a crowd, I felt exposed. That moment taught me that authenticity matters more than precision. I began to practice not to impress, but to connect—to sing with emotion, not just technique. Theatre gave me the chance to stretch my voice in new ways. I auditioned nervously in eighth grade and was shocked when I got cast in the musical. I had expected rejection, but found empowerment instead. Over the next four years I became a regular on stage and a committed member of the backstage crew. Setting lights, building props, painting sets—I found that creativity is often quiet, shared in teamwork and shaped by a willingness to learn. My interest in athletics grew from the same spirit of curiosity. Joining the track and field team, I focused on throwing discus and javelin. I had never done anything like it before. Each attempt was a challenge. My form was awkward at first, and my throws barely reached the line. But I kept training, arriving early and staying late. Slowly, I gained strength and precision. The satisfaction wasn’t just in competing—it was in witnessing myself grow through effort. Books and writing have always been a refuge. When pressure mounted in music, I turned to stories. I read about characters who faced judgment and found power in their voice. I wrote poems that helped me understand my emotions and essays that gave shape to my perspective. Through reading authors like Maya Angelou, I learned that storytelling could reveal truth, heal wounds, inspire change! Even though music has defined much of my world, it has never been simple. Every performance brought silent comparisons to my mom. I love her deeply and admire her brilliance. But I’ve had to learn where my voice begins, how to sing without fear of falling short, and how to embrace imperfections as part of the journey. One night, I stumbled during a solo, shaking from nerves. My mom met me afterward, not with critique but with warmth, reminding me that growth happens when we’re brave enough to try again. All of these experiences have drawn me to the humanities. In literature and theater, I see the same threads that run through my life: resilience, identity, and creativity. I want to study dramatic texts that show how people rise from adversity and write narratives that reflect the overlooked voices in our communities. I plan to explore how performance traditions and storytelling intersect with social change. I hope to create spaces where others feel seen and heard, just as I have come to feel through art and expression. The humanities offer the tools to understand people and challenge assumptions. I want to use those tools to foster empathy, celebrate courage, and help others discover their voice. My journey has been shaped by pressure, surprise, and growth. Studying the humanities is my next step, a way to honor everything I’ve learned and everything I hope to become.

If I could create a single class that every student from kindergarten through twelfth grade must take, it would be called The Academy of Life’s Little Magics. This course would blend practical skills and social–emotional learning in a playful, whimsical way but with real impact on day-to-day success. From age five through eighteen, students would practice small rituals and “spells” that build financial savvy, time-management chops, digital wisdom, empathy, and civic engagement. In early elementary grades, ages five through nine, the focus would be simple and hands-on. Under Coins & Coppers: Financial Wizardry, kindergarteners and first graders would play treasure-hunt games using play coins to learn the difference between needs and wants. They would decorate their own piggy banks and practice dropping a portion of classroom rewards into savings. Tiny timers and colorful charts would introduce the basics of time-management mastery. Under Heartcraft & Empathy Potions, young students would draw emotion creatures such as happy phoenixes and worried turtles and learn to name their feelings. As children move into upper elementary, ages eight through twelve, the course would introduce Quest Journals for time-turner mastery and goal setting. Students would craft DIY hourglasses and use them to balance reading, homework, and free time. They would set SMART goals; specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, and time-bound for everything from spelling tests to art projects. In Digital Guardianship: Navigating the Ether Realm, they would compare polite in-person conversations with online exchanges and learn that respectful behavior applies in both worlds. Simple checklists for verifying internet facts would support their budding research skills. Middle school students, ages ten through fourteen, would take deeper dives into each module. Coins & Coppers would evolve into Treasure Maps that chart checking and savings accounts, credit basics, and responsible spending. Time-management would expand into project planning, with group assignments that mimic real-world tasks. Digital Guardianship would introduce source-seeking spells for spotting clickbait and navigating social media responsibly. Heartcraft sessions would feature role-playing scenarios in which students practice I-statements, active listening, and peer mediation. High school students, ages fourteen through eighteen, would graduate to advanced masteries. They would design community quests under Civic Engagement & Community Bonds by volunteering for local cleanups, organizing charity drives, and presenting proposals to a mock city council. They would produce personal budgets, compare lease-versus-purchase options for hypothetical small businesses, and negotiate vendor contracts in simulations. Digital Guardianship would include media-literacy workshops with real-world case studies. Heartcraft workshops would tackle resilience, conflict resolution, and leadership skills that prepare teens for college and careers. By weaving these modules through every grade level, The Academy of Life’s Little Magics would create a seamless progression from simple games to authentic life-ready skills. Young children would grow confident naming emotions and saving pennies. Middle schoolers would learn to juggle schedules and projects. High schoolers would graduate not only with academic credentials but also with emotional intelligence, financial literacy, digital savvy, and civic leadership. The impact on students would be profound. Classrooms would hum with collaboration and respect, as empathy potions replace gossip curses. Families would see teenagers who manage money responsibly and balance their time with ease. Community organizations would benefit from fresh energy and thoughtful service. In the end, every graduate would carry a treasure chest of practical skills and emotional strength true magic for navigating life beyond the schoolhouse doors.

Why I Am Passionate About the Special Education Teacher Profession “I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence.” – Professor Harold Bloom, Possessed by Memory Professor Harold Bloom, one of the most respected literary critics and educators of the 20th century, believed that teaching was not just about instruction, but about awakening. His idea of bringing students to a sense of their own presence is something that deeply resonates with me, especially as someone preparing to enter the field of special education. To come to a “sense of presence” means recognizing one’s identity and worth. It is the moment a student sees themselves as real, valuable, and capable. It means they are no longer passive learners but engaged human beings who matter. For students with special needs, this awakening is not only powerful but essential. Many have been told, through systems or silence, that their presence does not matter. My passion for special education is rooted in the belief that it does, and that my role as a teacher is to help each student uncover and embrace their own light. Understanding the Quote Professor Bloom’s statement might seem abstract, but in the classroom it becomes very real. When he says the purpose of teaching is to guide students toward their own presence, he is describing a deeper kind of growth. This is not about memorizing facts or earning grades. It is about helping students recognize themselves as thinkers, feelers, and creators. This is not always an easy journey, particularly for students with disabilities. These students often face barriers—social, emotional, physical, or cognitive—that can leave them feeling invisible or unimportant. But when a teacher creates the right space, with patience and intention, that student can begin to feel their presence. They can begin to say, “I am here. I belong. I have something to offer.” This is the kind of teaching I want to do. My Mission in the Classroom My mission as a future special education teacher is to be a guide and a witness to the growth of my students. I want to create a space where students feel safe to be themselves and encouraged to become more. I do not believe in trying to “fix” students. Instead, I believe in helping them discover who they already are. Here are six ways I plan to guide students to a sense of their own presence: 1. Create a Space of Belonging My classroom will be built on acceptance and trust. I will greet each student by name, create visual routines, and make sure every child feels noticed. For students who experience sensory overload or anxiety, I will provide calming spaces. For students who need clear expectations, I will provide structure. A student who feels safe is a student who can begin to explore themselves. 2. Personalize Learning Every student has a unique way of understanding the world. Some may use speech, others may use pictures, gestures, or devices. I will take time to learn how each child communicates and learns best. This tells them, “You do not have to be like everyone else to be valued.” 3. Celebrate Every Victory Progress in special education is often quiet and personal. Tying a shoe, staying seated for a whole lesson, writing a single sentence—these are all big deals. I will celebrate these moments because they help students see that growth is happening, and that their hard work matters. 4. Build Communication and Self-Advocacy Skills Students cannot find their voice if they are not given one. Whether through language, assistive technology, or nonverbal tools, I want every student to learn how to express their wants, needs, and dreams. Self-expression is the bridge to self-awareness. 5. Teach Emotional Literacy Presence is emotional as well as intellectual. Many students with special needs struggle to name or manage their feelings. I will use visuals, stories, and emotional check-ins to help students build a language for what they feel. When students can say, “I am sad,” or “I am proud,” they are not just learning. They are discovering themselves. 6. Work Closely with Families Presence is not something students can maintain on their own. I will partner with families, learn from them, and create consistency between school and home. When families and teachers work together, students receive a message that they are supported and believed in on all sides. Through all of these efforts, I hope my students will leave my classroom not just knowing more, but feeling more—more valued, more empowered, and more themselves. The Lantern of Presence A Fairy Tale by Kennedy Once, in a village tucked between green hills and wide rivers, there lived a young teacher named Kennedy. She was not the tallest in the village or the loudest, but people said she had a gift. She could see the light inside people long before they could see it in themselves. Beyond the village lay a forest called the Whispering Woods. It was beautiful, with glowing mushrooms and winding trees, but it held a strange power. When children entered, something inside them began to fade. Their voices grew quieter. Their smiles dimmed. They forgot what made them special. The villagers feared the woods, but Kennedy did not. She believed no child should be forgotten. When she learned that more and more children had gone missing inside the forest, she packed her satchel, took her grandmother’s lantern, and walked into the trees. The lantern was unlike any other. It did not light the path ahead, and it could not burn through fog or shadow. Instead, it glowed only when someone nearby discovered their own light—their presence. Inside the forest, Kennedy walked for hours beneath trees that whispered discouraging words. “You are too slow.” “You are not enough.” “No one understands you.” Still, she walked. Soon she came upon a boy sitting alone. His name was Leo. He did not speak, and many believed he had nothing to say. Kennedy knelt beside him and offered a board filled with pictures. Slowly, Leo reached out and pointed. Hungry. Sad. Want to go home. The lantern flickered. Not brightly, not yet, but enough to know Leo’s light was still there. Kennedy and Leo continued through the woods. Together, they found Ava, who spun in circles and flapped her hands when she was excited. Others had told her to stop. “It is distracting,” they had said. So she had stopped moving. She had stopped smiling. Kennedy sat beside her, began to clap, and then danced in a small, joyful circle. She invited Ava to join. At first, Ava only watched. Then she took one step, and then another, until she was laughing and spinning freely again. The lantern glowed brighter. Next, they met Sam, a boy who solved puzzles faster than anyone, but who rarely looked up from the ground. Kennedy offered him a quiet space, a puzzle, and gentle praise—not for speed, but for creativity and care. The lantern shone like the moon. As the group traveled, Kennedy did not give them orders or tell them who to become. She simply saw each child for who they were. She did not change them. She reminded them that they had never needed to be changed. By the time they reached the forest’s edge, the lantern in Kennedy’s hand was glowing so brightly it lit the path behind them. Villagers came running to greet the children, surprised not only that they had returned, but that they returned proud, confident, and full of joy. Kennedy, the teacher who believed in presence, was no longer seen as just kind or quiet. She was known as the one who could walk into dark places and help children find the light they already carried. Conclusion Becoming a special education teacher is not just a career goal. It is a purpose. Professor Bloom’s words remind me that the most important work a teacher does is to help students discover who they already are. I want to be that kind of teacher. I want to help students with special needs see that they matter, that they belong, and that their presence is powerful. They already carry light. My job is to help them see it.

Mental health is important to me as a student because without it, nothing else works the way it should. I’ve learned this through personal experience. You can be the most organized, driven person in the world, but if your mind and heart are struggling, everything else starts to fall apart. That’s what happened to me. And because of it, I’ve made mental health a daily priority and something I talk about openly in my home and school life. My first year of college pushed me harder than I expected. I thought I could manage everything: classes, responsibilities at home, relationships, and the pressure I put on myself to succeed. I thought feeling anxious or overwhelmed was just part of the deal, and I kept telling myself to push through. But the truth is, I was struggling quietly, and pretending I wasn’t only made it worse. Eventually, I reached a breaking point. I was mentally and emotionally drained. I realized I couldn’t keep functioning like that if I wanted to succeed in school or be present for the people around me. So I did something I hadn’t done before. I asked for help. I talked to my mom first. She’s always been someone who gives her time and energy to others, so being honest with her felt safe. She didn’t rush to fix things. She just listened, and that made it easier for me to be honest with myself. Together, we came up with a plan. I connected with a counselor through school, started journaling to get my thoughts out, and became more intentional about checking in with myself. I also cut back on some outside activities and gave myself permission to rest, even if I felt guilty about it at first. Over time, I learned to recognize the signs that I was doing too much. I stopped waiting until I was completely burned out before making a change. That experience is what turned me into someone who advocates for mental health in my community. At home, I try to keep the conversations going. I talk to my younger siblings about stress in a way that makes it okay for them to open up, even if they don’t have all the right words yet. I make it normal to talk about feelings and remind them that it’s okay to not feel okay all the time. At school, I’ve become more open with my classmates about what I’ve been through. I’ve found that when one person speaks up, others start to feel safer doing the same. I’m not a therapist, but I do try to be someone people can talk to without fear of being judged. I’ve encouraged friends to reach out for help when they need it and shared resources when I’ve seen someone struggling. A lot of it is just listening, checking in, and making it clear that mental health is not something to be embarrassed about. Mental health matters to me because it affects everything. It impacts how we learn, how we connect with others, and how we show up in our lives. As I head into my second year of college and continue working toward becoming a teacher, I know this will always be part of how I live and lead. I want to create a classroom where students feel supported both academically and emotionally, because that’s the foundation for real learning and real growth.

When people talk about health, they usually focus on the physical side: eat better, drink more water, get eight hours of sleep. But for me, the real wake-up call came from learning how important it is to protect your mental and emotional well-being, even when it feels easier to push through and pretend you’re fine. Last year, I hit a wall. I was juggling school, helping out at home, staying involved in activities, and trying to be the person everyone could count on. My mom, who is a music teacher, has always modeled what it looks like to show up for people. But somewhere along the way, I forgot that showing up for myself mattered too. The stress wasn’t always loud. It built up slowly, and I kept ignoring it. I thought I could manage the late nights, the anxiety, the pressure to keep everything together. But one morning, I woke up and just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I felt exhausted, not just in my body, but deep in my spirit. I realized I was burning out at a time in my life when I should have been learning and growing. So, I asked for help. That might not sound dramatic, but it was one of the bravest things I’ve ever done. I opened up to my mom first. We had a long talk, the kind that doesn’t fix everything right away but makes you feel less alone just by saying things out loud. She didn’t try to solve it. She just listened. Then, together, we came up with a plan. I would talk to the school counselor, cut back on a few activities, and learn to check in with myself before things got too overwhelming. Making that shift changed everything. I started setting boundaries, which wasn’t easy at first. I learned how to say no to things that drained me and yes to things that helped me breathe. I took walks, wrote in a journal, and began to understand that mental health isn’t something you only deal with when you’re falling apart. It’s something you need to take care of every day. I learned that strength doesn’t always mean pushing through. Sometimes it means slowing down. Sometimes it means asking for a break before the pressure becomes too much. That lesson has shaped the way I handle everything now. As I head into my second year of college and continue preparing for a career in education, I know that new challenges are coming. There will be deadlines, pressure, and plenty of long days. But I’m better prepared now. I know how to listen to myself. I know that mental and emotional health isn’t optional. It’s a priority. And someday, when I’m a teacher, I want to pass that mindset on to my students. Kids need teachers who do more than tell them to push through. They need someone who shows them what healthy balance looks like. I want to be that kind of teacher. I want my classroom to be a place where asking for help is normal, where students are encouraged to take care of themselves, and where they learn that their value doesn’t depend on being perfect. This experience didn’t make life easier, but it made me stronger in a way that lasts. I’m proud of the way I handled it. And I’m even more proud of how I’ll carry that strength forward, both for myself and for the students I’ll work with in the future.

Why I Am Passionate About the Special Education Teacher Profession "I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence." – Professor Harold Bloom, Possessed by Memory Professor Harold Bloom, a renowned scholar and teacher, once spoke of teaching as a sacred act: not merely the transmission of facts, but the awakening of the self. His idea of helping students come to a “sense of their own presence” speaks deeply to me, especially as I pursue my passion for becoming a special education teacher. For me, teaching is more than academic support—it is guiding each student, regardless of their abilities or disabilities, toward understanding who they are, what they can achieve, and how they belong in the world. I believe that every student, including those with special needs, has a presence worth discovering and celebrating. What Does It Mean to Come to a Sense of One’s Own Presence? Professor Bloom’s quote points to the heart of education—not just as a mental process, but as an emotional and spiritual awakening. To “come to a sense of one’s own presence” means that a student learns to see themselves as active participants in their own lives, as individuals with value, voice, and power. It’s about recognizing their emotions, thoughts, abilities, and impact. It is the moment when a student begins to understand: I matter. I am here. I can think, feel, grow, and contribute. This is especially critical in special education, where students may struggle with disabilities that affect communication, learning, and self-esteem. Many special needs students may feel isolated or less capable than their peers. They may not have heard enough voices encouraging them to see themselves as powerful. Helping these students find their “presence” means helping them see their own worth—and that’s the mission that gives my future career its passion and purpose. My Mission: Lighting the Path to Presence As a future special education teacher, my mission is to be a guide, a support, and a cheerleader on each student’s unique journey toward self-awareness and confidence. Every child deserves a space where they feel safe to explore who they are and how they fit into the world. To do this, I plan to: 1. Foster a Classroom of Belonging Belonging is the soil where presence can grow. I will make sure that each student feels seen, heard, and valued. Whether through personalized greetings, visual supports, or daily check-ins, I will remind each child that they matter in our classroom community. I’ll create a culture where differences are celebrated and strengths are honored. 2. Meet Students Where They Are Presence begins with feeling understood. I will take time to learn how each student communicates, learns, and thrives. For some, that means using picture schedules and sensory tools. For others, it means providing extra processing time or emotional support. I want my students to feel that their needs are not obstacles, but parts of who they are—and every part is welcome. 3. Celebrate Small Successes In special education, victories come in many forms: a student tying their shoe for the first time, speaking in class, or finishing a worksheet independently. I will celebrate these moments with enthusiasm, helping students to realize their growth. When students begin to see their own progress, they also begin to sense their own presence. 4. Teach Self-Advocacy and Self-Expression To know oneself is to be able to speak up for one’s needs, feelings, and dreams. I will prioritize helping students communicate—whether through speech, sign language, AAC devices, or written words. I want them to say, “I need help,” “I’m proud of this,” or “I don’t like that” with confidence. Empowering them to express themselves gives them agency and voice. 5. Build Emotional Intelligence Presence is not just intellectual—it is emotional. I will teach students to identify their feelings, understand them, and manage them in healthy ways. Through visual emotion charts, role-playing, and social stories, I’ll help students build a vocabulary of the heart. Emotional intelligence will help them connect with others and with themselves. 6. Involve Families as Partners A child’s sense of self does not begin and end in the classroom. I will work closely with families to understand the whole child and to carry growth beyond school walls. Parent collaboration helps students feel supported from all sides, reinforcing the idea that their lives and voices are valued. In all of this, my goal is not just to help students meet academic goals, but to help them say, “I know who I am. I know I matter.” A Fairy Tale: The Whispering Woods and the Lantern of Light Once upon a time, in a quiet village near the edge of the Whispering Woods, there lived a young girl named Kennedy. Kennedy was known for her kind heart and curious mind. Ever since she was little, she had felt a deep calling in her heart—one that led her to believe her purpose was to help others see their own light. But there was a secret in the Whispering Woods: deep inside its winding paths, children who entered would slowly forget who they were. The woods were full of fog and shadows, whispering doubts into their ears. Many children with special gifts wandered in and lost their sense of self, becoming quiet, withdrawn, and afraid. Kennedy, brave and full of hope, set out on a journey. She carried with her a glowing lantern—passed down from her grandmother, a wise teacher before her. This lantern, called the Light of Presence, had one magic power: it could not show the path to a person, but it could help a person find the path within themselves. As she journeyed through the forest, Kennedy met many children. One boy, named Milo, could not speak, and believed he had nothing to say. Another girl, Aria, flapped her hands when she was excited, but the world had told her that was wrong. A third child, James, could solve puzzles in seconds but was often too anxious to share them. Kennedy sat with each of them, patiently shining her lantern not at them, but around them. With her gentle voice, she showed them pictures that matched their feelings. She built bridges of understanding with touch, movement, and song. She encouraged Milo to use pictures to share his ideas—and when he did, they were brilliant. She danced with Aria, showing her that joy was meant to be expressed. She gave James quiet space and celebrated his talents. With each child, the light of the lantern grew brighter—not because Kennedy lit the way, but because she helped them realize they had been glowing all along. One by one, the children began to walk out of the woods—head held high, eyes full of wonder. They had found their way not by following Kennedy, but by seeing themselves. Kennedy returned home, her lantern still glowing, her heart full. She had not changed the children. She had reminded them of who they had always been. And from that day on, the Whispering Woods were no longer feared. They became a place of discovery, where children and their teachers found strength in presence, joy in growth, and magic in believing. Conclusion The special education profession is more than a career for me—it is a calling. I believe with all my heart that every child deserves to experience the beauty and power of their own presence. Professor Bloom's words are a guiding light for me, reminding me that teaching is about awakening, not molding; guiding, not fixing; honoring, not judging. With compassion, creativity, and commitment, I will walk beside my students as they discover who they are and all that they can be. Like Kennedy in the fairy tale, I will carry my lantern with pride—not to light the path for my students, but to help them see the light they already carry inside.

During my junior year of high school, I had the opportunity to serve as both the section leader for my school’s choir and the captain of the cheerleading squad. Balancing these leadership roles presented a significant challenge, but it also allowed me to develop strong leadership, time management, and problem-solving skills. As a choir section leader, my primary responsibility was ensuring that my section mastered its vocal parts and maintained harmony during performances. Many of my peers struggled with sight-reading music, which made rehearsals inefficient. To address this, I initiated weekly practice sessions outside of regular rehearsals, using digital tools to break down complex harmonies. I also created a group chat where I shared recordings and tips to reinforce learning. This initiative helped improve the overall confidence of my section and resulted in a more polished performance at our competitions. Simultaneously, as the cheer captain, I faced the challenge of keeping my team motivated and cohesive. Midway through the season, a few members began experiencing burnout due to the rigorous practice schedule. Morale dropped, and teamwork suffered as a result. To counter this, I implemented team-building activities, such as themed practice days and a mentorship system where experienced cheerleaders supported newer members. I also collaborated with our coach to adjust practice schedules, incorporating more breaks and recovery time. These efforts not only boosted morale but also strengthened our performances, leading us to place first in a regional competition. Balancing these two leadership roles required immense dedication, adaptability, and perseverance. Through trial and error, I learned the importance of clear communication, active listening, and fostering a supportive team culture. Both in choir and cheer, I recognized that leadership isn’t just about giving instructions; it’s about uplifting and empowering those around me to succeed. Looking ahead, I plan to apply these leadership skills to my future career as a high school English teacher. Just as I helped my choir and cheer teams grow and succeed, I aim to create an inclusive, motivating, and engaging classroom environment. I will use innovative teaching strategies to cater to different learning styles, ensuring that every student feels supported and capable of achieving their academic goals. Additionally, my experience in leading teams has prepared me to mentor students beyond the classroom, whether through extracurricular activities or academic support programs. Ultimately, my experiences in choir and cheer have shaped me into a leader who values teamwork, resilience, and adaptability. These qualities will be instrumental in making a positive difference in my future students' lives, inspiring them to reach their full potential both academically and personally.

Music has always been a powerful force in my life, shaping my experiences, emotions, and aspirations. Growing up, I was surrounded by the beauty of choral harmonies and the dedication it takes to bring music to life, thanks to my mother, who is a high school choir director. Watching her inspire young voices and cultivate a love for music in her students instilled in me a deep appreciation for the impact that music education can have on young people. My passion for music stems not only from its emotional and expressive power but also from its ability to bring people together, teach discipline, and provide a source of comfort and inspiration. As I pursue my own career, I plan to give back to the youth by using my experiences and knowledge to guide them toward discovering their own love for music and the arts. Music is more than just sound; it is an outlet for expression, a bridge between cultures, and a tool for emotional and personal growth. I have experienced firsthand the ways in which music can uplift and transform lives. From singing in choirs to attending my mother’s rehearsals and concerts, I have seen how music can turn a shy student into a confident soloist, teach teamwork and discipline, and create a sense of belonging. These experiences have fueled my passion and solidified my belief that music education is essential in the development of young people. One of the most significant lessons I have learned from my mother is that music is not just about performance—it is about the process and the growth that comes with it. She has dedicated her career to nurturing her students' talents, helping them develop their voices, and teaching them the value of hard work and perseverance. Seeing the pride on her students’ faces when they accomplish something they never thought possible has shown me the importance of mentorship and support in a young person’s journey. I want to follow in her footsteps, using my career to help students find confidence and joy through music. While my career goal is to teach high school English, I plan to incorporate music into my teaching and extracurricular involvement. I believe that literature and music are deeply connected, as both serve as forms of storytelling and artistic expression. I hope to create a classroom environment where students can explore the musicality of poetry, analyze song lyrics as literature, and appreciate the rhythm and flow of language. Additionally, I plan to support music programs by volunteering with school choirs, helping organize performances, and encouraging students to engage with the arts. Beyond the classroom, I want to advocate for arts education and ensure that music remains an accessible opportunity for all students. Whether through fundraising efforts, community outreach, or supporting local music initiatives, I want to contribute to the preservation and growth of music programs in schools. I have seen the impact that music has on students’ confidence, academic performance, and emotional well-being, and I want to ensure that future generations continue to benefit from these opportunities. Music has been a defining part of my life, thanks to my mother’s influence and the experiences I have had through choral music. As I pursue my career, I am committed to giving back to the youth by inspiring them to embrace the arts, providing opportunities for creative expression, and supporting music education in any way I can. I believe that by fostering a love for music, I can help students grow not only as artists but also as individuals who appreciate the beauty and power of artistic expression.

Throughout my entire educational journey, I have been fortunate enough to have my mom as one of my teachers. As a music and vocal education teacher, she brings energy, passion, and drive to every class, every concert, and every interaction with her students—every single day. I strive to do the same. Growing up in a small town and being surrounded by incredible teachers has deeply influenced me. Over the years, I’ve “stolen” little bits of inspiration and wisdom from each one, tucking them away for the day it’s my turn to make an impact on a child’s life. In kindergarten, there was Mrs. M. It was her first year teaching, and she was nothing short of magical in the classroom. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and she had a way of connecting with us—even as we learned to read or explored with paint. Thirteen years later, she still holds a special place in my heart as my favorite teacher. Then, in third grade, there was Mrs. L. Her commitment to excellence was unparalleled. She had a way of bringing out the best in every single student and celebrated victories, big and small, with genuine joy. Fast forward a few years, and my love for learning had only grown. Each teacher along the way, with their unique style and approach, added something new to my “pocket” of inspiration—lessons from their successes and their struggles alike. When I reached high school, the experiences became even more profound. Theatre 1 brought me Mrs. W, who gave me a chance when I didn’t expect one. The Advanced Theater class needed one more person for a musical, and as a newly promoted 8th grader, I nervously asked if I could try out. I was hoping for just the experience, but I actually got the part! That opportunity changed my life. Four years later, I’ve been in every high school musical, and I’ve also discovered a love for behind-the-scenes work. Mrs. W even let me use a drill to help build a set—and I managed not to hurt myself (or anyone else). And then there’s my mom—Mrs. Terrell. She’s more than a teacher; she’s my mentor, my beacon, and my biggest inspiration. She loves every single student she works with, no matter their background or ability. She sees potential in each of them and stokes their spark into a flame. My mom embodies everything a teacher should be: passionate, caring, understanding, and dedicated. While I don’t plan to follow in her footsteps as a music teacher, I want to follow her example as a person. I hope to carry the torch she’s lit and use it to guide and inspire others. My dream is to be the kind of teacher every child deserves—to be a source of hope, encouragement, and opportunity for students, just as so many amazing educators have been for me

My life as a Native American is a profound source of pride and enlightenment. My great-grandparents were part of the Cherokee Nation—proud, stoic people who shared stories of their childhood in small-town Oklahoma. They often spoke of their grandparents, who endured the harrowing journey of the Trail of Tears, being forcibly relocated to Northeast Oklahoma. These stories painted a vivid picture of resilience and survival, and for much of my life, I believed my lineage was a simple, unbroken line tracing back to those ancestors. But life, like history, is rarely that straightforward. Growing up, I always felt an immense sense of pride in being Cherokee. My father, who deeply loves his heritage, passed that pride down to me through the stories he heard. He believed, as I did, that our lineage was clear-cut. According to family lore, I should be about one-quarter Cherokee. It wasn’t until I began exploring my ancestry that I discovered the truth—it’s much less than that. At first, this revelation surprised me, but it didn’t change how I felt. My connection to the Cherokee people and the pride I feel for my heritage are about far more than numbers. I’ve spent countless hours piecing together my family’s history, tracing it all the way back to my seven-times great-grandfather, who lived until 1911. He was just four years old when he and his six siblings were forced to leave North Carolina. Their family endured the brutal journey to Oklahoma, but they were among the fortunate ones who survived and built a life in Commerce, Oklahoma, after several stops along the way. As I dug deeper into their history, I learned how interconnected their lives became with others along the trail. Some family members fell in love with white settlers and started new families. My grandfather’s parents, for instance, helped care for another family during their four-month journey. Among that family was a girl about my grandfather’s age. Years later, they married. They always assumed she was Cherokee too, but the question of her heritage was never asked. These discoveries have shown me that the story of the Cherokee is not as linear as I once thought. It is a web of interconnected lives, blending with the people and cultures of their world. My family’s history reflects that complexity, and so does my identity. The struggles my ancestors faced—relocation, loss, and resilience—remind me to stay strong in the face of my own challenges. Whenever I encounter difficulties, I think of Jacob Greenberry Lackey, who endured so much and still thrived. If he could overcome those challenges, so can I. By keeping my past alive in my present, I honor my ancestors and draw strength from their legacy. There is nothing I can’t achieve when I carry that pride and determination forward.

I have been lucky enough to have my mom as one of my teachers for my entire educational adventure. She's a music and vocal education teacher and brings a spark and drive to every class time, every concert, every interaction with every student, every day. I do the same. Growing up in a small town and being taught by the best of the best teachers soaks in after a while and you hope to be like them someday. I was stealing just a little bit of every teacher and keeping it in my pocket until it is my turn to impact a child's life with my stolen gifts. Kindergarten, Mrs. M, was her first year teaching and was just a light to behold in the classroom often bringing her still young and untarnished enthusiasm to the classroom. If it’s painting or helping me learn to read, she expressed herself in a way I could understand and learn and grow. These thirteen short years later she is still my favorite. Third grade, Mrs. L, just wow, she has an attitude of excellence and brings it out of every kid. Never failing her students and never failing to celebrate every victory, big and small. Let us jump ahead a few years. Over these last 8 years, my enjoyment of school and learning has grown exponentially. Chewing up everything I can from every teacher and still keeping it in my pocket, good and bad. Welcome to High School. Theatre 1, Mrs. W, she gave me a chance, when I didn't deserve it. The Advanced Theater class was one person short for a musical and as a newly promoted 8th grader, I asked if I could try out expecting nothing but an opportunity. I got the part!!! Now, 4 years later I have been in every musical produced at my High School and gained a love for the behind-the-scenes work. She let me use a drill to build a set and I did not hurt myself, or anyone else. Finally, Mrs. Terrell. my mom, my vocal teacher, my mentor, my beacon. She LOVES every student that she gets to work with. She sees the spark and stokes the fire. My mom is everything that every teacher should strive to be. She is everything that I want to be—passionate, peaceful, caring, understanding. My pockets overflow with what I have learned from her. Even though I don't plan on being a music teacher like her, I want to be a person like her. A teacher to every student, no matter their background or ability. My drive is to carry the torch my mom lit, to light the way for a kid like me, to be the teacher every kid deserves. With Hope and Love, Kennedy Terrell

I have been lucky enough to have my mom as one of my teachers for my entire educational adventure. She's a music and vocal education teacher and brings a spark and drive to every class time, every concert, every interaction with every student, every day. I do the same. Growing up in a small town and being taught by the best of the best teachers soaks in after a while and you hope to be like them someday. I was stealing just a little bit of every teacher and keeping it in my pocket until it is my turn to impact a child's life with my stolen gifts. Kindergarten, Mrs. M, was her first year teaching and was just a light to behold in the classroom often bringing her still young and untarnished enthusiasm to the classroom. If it’s painting or helping me learn to read, she expressed herself in a way I could understand and learn and grow. These thirteen short years later she is still my favorite. Third grade, Mrs. L, just wow, she has an attitude of excellence and brings it out of every kid. Never failing her students and never failing to celebrate every victory, big and small. Let us jump ahead a few years. Over these last 8 years, my enjoyment of school and learning has grown exponentially. Chewing up everything I can from every teacher and still keeping it in my pocket, good and bad. Welcome to High School. Theatre 1, Mrs. W, she gave me a chance, when I didn't deserve it. The Advanced Theater class was one person short for a musical and as a newly promoted 8th grader, I asked if I could try out expecting nothing but an opportunity. I got the part!!! Now, 4 years later I have been in every musical produced at my High School and gained a love for the behind-the-scenes work. She let me use a drill to build a set and I did not hurt myself, or anyone else. Finally, Mrs. Terrell. my mom, my vocal teacher, my mentor, my beacon. She LOVES every student that she gets to work with. She sees the spark and stokes the fire. My mom is everything that every teacher should strive to be. She is everything that I want to be—passionate, peaceful, caring, understanding. My pockets overflow with what I have learned from her. Even though I don't plan on being a music teacher like her, I want to be a person like her. A teacher to every student, no matter their background or ability. My drive is to carry the torch my mom lit, to light the way for a kid like me, to be the teacher every kid deserves. With Hope and Love, Kennedy Terrell

I have been lucky enough to have my mom as one of my teachers for my entire educational adventure. She's a music and vocal education teacher and brings a spark and drive to every class time, every concert, every interaction with every student, every day. I do the same. Growing up in a small town and being taught by the best of the best teachers soaks in after a while and you hope to be like them someday. I was stealing just a little bit of every teacher and keeping it in my pocket until it is my turn to impact a child's life with my stolen gifts. Kindergarten, Mrs. M, was her first year teaching and was just a light to behold in the classroom often bringing her still young and untarnished enthusiasm to the classroom. If it’s painting or helping me learn to read, she expressed herself in a way I could understand and learn and grow. These thirteen short years later she is still my favorite. Third grade, Mrs. L, just wow, she has an attitude of excellence and brings it out of every kid. Never failing her students and never failing to celebrate every victory, big and small. Let us jump ahead a few years. Over these last 8 years, my enjoyment of school and learning has grown exponentially. Chewing up everything I can from every teacher and still keeping it in my pocket, good and bad. Welcome to High School. Theatre 1, Mrs. W, she gave me a chance, when I didn't deserve it. The Advanced Theater class was one person short for a musical and as a newly promoted 8th grader, I asked if I could try out expecting nothing but an opportunity. I got the part!!! Now, 4 years later I have been in every musical produced at my High School and gained a love for the behind-the-scenes work. She let me use a drill to build a set and I did not hurt myself, or anyone else. Finally, Mrs. Terrell. my mom, my vocal teacher, my mentor, my beacon. She LOVES every student that she gets to work with. She sees the spark and stokes the fire. My mom is everything that every teacher should strive to be. She is everything that I want to be—passionate, peaceful, caring, understanding. My pockets overflow with what I have learned from her. Even though I don't plan on being a music teacher like her, I want to be a person like her. A teacher to every student, no matter their background or ability. My drive is to carry the torch my mom lit, to light the way for a kid like me, to be the teacher every kid deserves. With Hope and Love,

I have been lucky enough to have my mom as one of my teachers for my entire educational adventure. She's a music and vocal education teacher and brings a spark and drive to every class time, every concert, every interaction with every student, every day. I do the same. Growing up in a small town and being taught by the best of the best teachers soaks in after a while and you hope to be like them someday. I was stealing just a little bit of every teacher and keeping it in my pocket until it is my turn to impact a child's life with my stolen gifts. Kindergarten, Mrs. M, was her first year teaching and was just a light to behold in the classroom often bringing her still young and untarnished enthusiasm to the classroom. If it’s painting or helping me learn to read, she expressed herself in a way I could understand and learn and grow. These thirteen short years later she is still my favorite. Third grade, Mrs. L, just wow, she has an attitude of excellence and brings it out of every kid. Never failing her students and never failing to celebrate every victory, big and small. Let us jump ahead a few years. Over these last 8 years, my enjoyment of school and learning has grown exponentially. Chewing up everything I can from every teacher and still keeping it in my pocket, good and bad. Welcome to High School. Theatre 1, Mrs. W, she gave me a chance, when I didn't deserve it. The Advanced Theater class was one person short for a musical and as a newly promoted 8th grader, I asked if I could try out expecting nothing but an opportunity. I got the part!!! Now, 4 years later I have been in every musical produced at my High School and gained a love for the behind-the-scenes work. She let me use a drill to build a set and I did not hurt myself, or anyone else. Finally, Mrs. Terrell. my mom, my vocal teacher, my mentor, my beacon. She LOVES every student that she gets to work with. She sees the spark and stokes the fire. My mom is everything that every teacher should strive to be. She is everything that I want to be—passionate, peaceful, caring, understanding. My pockets overflow with what I have learned from her. Even though I don't plan on being a music teacher like her, I want to be a person like her. A teacher to every student, no matter their background or ability. My drive is to carry the torch my mom lit, to light the way for a kid like me, to be the teacher every kid deserves. With Hope and Love, Kennedy Terrell

I have been lucky enough to have my mom as one of my teachers for my entire educational adventure. She's a music and vocal education teacher and brings a spark and drive to every class time, every concert, every interaction with every student, every day. I do the same. Growing up in a small town and being taught by the best of the best teachers soaks in after a while and you hope to be like them someday. I was stealing just a little bit of every teacher and keeping it in my pocket until it is my turn to impact a child's life with my stolen gifts. Kindergarten, Mrs. M, was her first year teaching and was just a light to behold in the classroom often bringing her still young and untarnished enthusiasm to the classroom. If it’s painting or helping me learn to read, she expressed herself in a way I could understand and learn and grow. These thirteen short years later she is still my favorite. Third grade, Mrs. L, just wow, she has an attitude of excellence and brings it out of every kid. Never failing her students and never failing to celebrate every victory, big and small. Let us jump ahead a few years. Over these last 8 years, my enjoyment of school and learning has grown exponentially. Chewing up everything I can from every teacher and still keeping it in my pocket, good and bad. Welcome to High School. Theatre 1, Mrs. W, she gave me a chance, when I didn't deserve it. The Advanced Theater class was one person short for a musical and as a newly promoted 8th grader, I asked if I could try out expecting nothing but an opportunity. I got the part!!! Now, 4 years later I have been in every musical produced at my High School and gained a love for the behind-the-scenes work. She let me use a drill to build a set and I did not hurt myself, or anyone else. Finally, Mrs. Terrell. my mom, my vocal teacher, my mentor, my beacon. She LOVES every student that she gets to work with. She sees the spark and stokes the fire. My mom is everything that every teacher should strive to be. She is everything that I want to be—passionate, peaceful, caring, understanding. My pockets overflow with what I have learned from her. Even though I don't plan on being a music teacher like her, I want to be a person like her. A teacher to every student, no matter their background or ability. My drive is to carry the torch my mom lit, to light the way for a kid like me, to be the teacher every kid deserves. With Hope and Love, Kennedy Terrell

I have been lucky enough to have my mom as one of my teachers for my entire educational adventure. She's a music and vocal education teacher and brings a spark and drive to every class time, every concert, every interaction with every student, every day. I do the same. Growing up in a small town and being taught by the best of the best teachers soaks in after a while and you hope to be like them someday. I was stealing just a little bit of every teacher and keeping it in my pocket until it is my turn to impact a child's life with my stolen gifts. Kindergarten, Mrs. M, was her first year teaching and was just a light to behold in the classroom often bringing her still young and untarnished enthusiasm to the classroom. If it’s painting or helping me learn to read, she expressed herself in a way I could understand and learn and grow. These thirteen short years later she is still my favorite. Third grade, Mrs. L, just wow, she has an attitude of excellence and brings it out of every kid. Never failing her students and never failing to celebrate every victory, big and small. Let us jump ahead a few years. Over these last 8 years, my enjoyment of school and learning has grown exponentially. Chewing up everything I can from every teacher and still keeping it in my pocket, good and bad. Welcome to High School. Theatre 1, Mrs. W, she gave me a chance, when I didn't deserve it. The Advanced Theater class was one person short for a musical and as a newly promoted 8th grader, I asked if I could try out expecting nothing but an opportunity. I got the part!!! Now, 4 years later I have been in every musical produced at my High School and gained a love for the behind-the-scenes work. She let me use a drill to build a set and I did not hurt myself, or anyone else. Finally, Mrs. Terrell. my mom, my vocal teacher, my mentor, my beacon. She LOVES every student that she gets to work with. She sees the spark and stokes the fire. My mom is everything that every teacher should strive to be. She is everything that I want to be—passionate, peaceful, caring, understanding. My pockets overflow with what I have learned from her. Even though I don't plan on being a music teacher like her, I want to be a person like her. A teacher to every student, no matter their background or ability. My drive is to carry the torch my mom lit, to light the way for a kid like me, to be the teacher every kid deserves. With Hope and Love, Kennedy Terrell

My life as a Native American is a source of pride and enlightenment. My great-grandparents are both part of the Cherokee Nation. Prideful and stoic, always telling tales of their lives as young natives growing up in small-town Oklahoma and sharing their stories of their grandparents who were moved to Northeast Oklahoma on the Trail of Tears. I always thought that my lineage was a straight line. Was I wrong!!! I love being part of the Cherokee People. but I didn't know of the struggles, the pain, the loss that came with it. I get my pride from my dad, he loves his heritage too and because of the stories he heard, he believed that the same line was straight. Then comes along ancestry and family trees. By story, I should be about one-quarter Cherokee, I'm not. It's much less, but that doesn't change my pride. I have spent a little time every day following the line back to my 7-time great grandfather who lived until 1911, he was just 4 when his family was moved from North Carolina with his 6 siblings. He and his family were lucky enough to make it all the way to Commerce Oklahoma and live full lives, with a few stops along the way. Some of them met and fell in love with white men and women and started families on that trail. My grandfather's parents started taking care of a family on their 4 month journey and helped them get moved into Oklahoma with them. A girl, about the same age as my grandfather, was part of that family and after years of friendship, they got married. always assuming she was Cherokee as well the question was never asked and they had children, then their children had children, and so on, until me. I guess the story of the Cherokee is not as straightforward as I thought. Their stories wind and interweave with all the people of their world, like mine. The challenges my family faced so long ago and the challenges I face today are very different in most ways but a challenge is a challenge and I keep my ancestor's struggles in my head every time I have a challenge. Thinking, if Jacob Greenberry Lackey could do it, I can do it. If I can keep my past in my present, there is nothing I can't accomplish and bring pride and stoicism to myself and my family.

I have been lucky enough to have my mom as one of my teachers for my entire education adventure. She's a music and vocal education teacher and brings a spark and drive to every class time, every concert, every interaction with every student, every day. I do the same. Growing up in a small town and being taught by the best of the best teachers soaks in after a while and you hope to be like them someday. Stealing just a little bit of every teacher and keeping it in my pocket until its my turn to impact a child's life with my stolen gifts. Kindergarten, Mrs. M, It was her first year teaching and was just a light to behold in the classroom. often bringing her still young and untarnished enthusiasm to the classroom. If its painting, or helping learn to read she expressed herself in a way I could understand and learn and grow. These 13 short years later she is still my favorite. Third grade, Mrs. L, just wow, she has an attitude of excellence and brings it out of every kid. Never failing her students and never failing to celebrate every victory, big and small. Lets jump ahead a few years. Over these last 8 years my enjoyment of school and learning has grown exponentially. Chewing up everything I can from every teacher and still keeping it in my pocket, good and bad. Welcome to High School. Theatre 1, Mrs. W, She gave me a chance, when I really didn't deserve it. The Advanced Theater class was one person short for a musical and as a newly promoted 8th grader, I asked if I could try out expecting nothing but an opportunity. I got the part!!! Now 4 years later I have been in every musical produced at my High School and gained a love for the behind the scenes work. She let me use a drill to build a set and I didn't hurt myself, or anyone else. Finally, Mrs. Terrell. my mom, my vocal teacher, my mentor, my beacon. She LOVES every student that she gets to work with. She sees the spark and stokes the fire. My mom is everything that every teacher should strive to be. She is everything that I want to be. Passionate, peaceful, caring, understanding. My pockets overfill with the what I have learned from her. Even though I don't plan on being a music teacher like her, I want to be a person like her. A teacher to every student, no matter their background or ability. My drive is to carry the torch my mom lit, to light the way for a kid like me, to be the teacher every kid deserves. With Hope and Love, Kennedy Terrell