If I could create a class that all students from kindergarten through 12th grade were required to take, it would be called **"Understanding Ourselves and Others."** This class would blend social-emotional learning (SEL), cultural literacy, and disability awareness, with a strong focus on empathy, communication, and identity. The goal would be to equip students not just with academic knowledge, but with the emotional intelligence and perspective-taking skills needed to succeed in a diverse world. At its core, this class would help students understand who they are—emotionally, socially, and culturally—while also learning how to respectfully and thoughtfully engage with others who are different from them. Lessons would include topics like: * Emotional awareness and self-regulation * Healthy communication and conflict resolution * Understanding different learning styles and abilities * Exploring cultural backgrounds, family structures, and traditions * Recognizing bias and promoting inclusion * Practicing active listening and empathy * Developing a strong sense of personal and social responsibility The class would grow with students over the years. In elementary grades, it would look like stories and play-based activities that teach kindness, feelings, and teamwork. In middle school, it would involve group discussions, identity exploration, and real-world scenarios. By high school, students would be engaging in deeper conversations about race, disability, privilege, mental health, advocacy, and allyship. The impact of this class would be profound. Too often, students go through school without being explicitly taught how to relate to others in healthy, inclusive ways. Many students with disabilities, for instance, are still socially isolated or misunderstood by peers—not because their peers are unkind, but because they don’t have the tools or context to understand them. Likewise, students from different cultural or linguistic backgrounds may struggle with identity in a system that doesn’t fully reflect them. By making this kind of learning a core part of every student’s education, we would create schools that are more respectful, collaborative, and compassionate. Students would grow up learning how to handle conflict, advocate for themselves and others, and engage with the world as empathetic citizens. It would reduce bullying, support mental health, and build stronger classroom communities. Most importantly, it would teach students that their differences are not problems to overcome—but strengths to celebrate. As a future educator, especially one committed to special education and equity, I see this kind of class not as a luxury, but a necessity. We can no longer afford to treat social-emotional and cultural learning as an add-on. It must be foundational—because our students are not just future workers or test-takers. They are future neighbors, leaders, caretakers, and changemakers. And they deserve an education that prepares them for all of it.

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 To me, Professor Bloom’s statement means that the true purpose of education is not merely to pass along facts or prepare students for tests—it is to awaken something within them. To guide each child toward a realization of who they are, what they can do, and how they belong in the world. This is especially vital for students with disabilities, who are too often underestimated, excluded, or seen only through the lens of their challenges. My passion for becoming a special education teacher comes from a deep belief that every child has a unique presence worth recognizing, celebrating, and empowering. A student’s “sense of presence” is the moment they realize they matter—not just in the classroom, but as human beings with voices, thoughts, and dreams. It’s the confidence to raise a hand, the courage to try again after failure, or the joy of expressing an idea and knowing someone listened. For many students with special needs, this sense of presence is not automatically granted. They often face environments that expect less of them or fail to accommodate how they learn. My mission is to be the kind of teacher who not only sees these students, but helps them see themselves. I plan to do this by fostering a classroom rooted in patience, trust, and high expectations. I will use differentiated instruction, individualized supports, and strength-based teaching to meet each student where they are and help them grow. Just as importantly, I will create a culture where differences are respected and every student is given a chance to lead, contribute, and shine. Whether a student communicates with speech, gestures, or devices, my goal is to help them realize their voice matters and that their learning journey is their own—valid, valuable, and full of potential. I chose special education because I want to help students discover who they are, not just academically, but personally. I want to guide them toward pride in their identities, abilities, and goals. I’ve seen how powerful it is when a child who once stayed silent starts participating with excitement. That moment—when a student experiences their own presence—is when real learning begins. Optional: A Brief Fairy Tale — The Teacher and the Mirror of Presence Once upon a time, in a village of quiet whispers and closed doors, there was a young teacher named Matthew. The village was filled with children who had been told they were “too different” to learn like others. They had gifts buried under labels, talents hidden behind fears, and voices locked away by silence. Matthew had heard of a legendary object called the Mirror of Presence, said to show each person their true potential when they looked inside it with belief. But the mirror was lost—hidden deep in the Forest of Doubt, guarded by shadows of Misunderstanding and Fear. Matthew set out on a journey, carrying only a lantern of Patience and a backpack filled with Tools of Adaptation. Along the way, he met children who had never been asked what they loved, never been given the chance to try, never been told "you can." With every step, he listened to their stories, handed them small tools—visual cues, gentle routines, songs turned into lessons—and invited them to walk beside him. Together, they reached the heart of the forest. There, the Mirror of Presence stood tall and silent. But when the children looked inside, they didn’t see anything—until Matthew knelt beside them and whispered, “You belong here. Try again.” With those words, the mirror lit up. One by one, each child saw themselves—not as broken or behind, but as brilliant, brave, and ready. The village changed after that. The children returned with pride, and Matthew built a school where every child was seen, heard, and valued. The Mirror of Presence remained, not in glass, but in every moment a child found the courage to believe in themselves. And so, Matthew—the teacher—became not the keeper of answers, but the awakener of presence. And he taught others to do the same. The end.

I chose the field of education—particularly early childhood development—because I’ve seen firsthand how deeply the early years shape a child’s identity, confidence, and future success. The first few years of a child’s life lay the foundation for everything that follows: language, social skills, emotional regulation, and the ability to learn and thrive in a classroom setting. As someone who has worked with young children for over six years in daycare, after-school programs, and Sunday school settings, I’ve witnessed the transformative power of patient, responsive, and intentional care. That’s the kind of educator I strive to be. My plan to support early childhood development begins with creating environments that are inclusive, nurturing, and structured for all types of learners. Children don’t come to us as blank slates—they come with unique experiences, strengths, and challenges. Some need extra help with language development, some with motor skills, and others with social-emotional growth. As a future dual-certified teacher in both Childhood and Special Education, I am equipping myself with the skills to meet these needs early and effectively. I want to intervene before learning gaps widen and provide consistent support that helps every child feel seen, capable, and empowered. In practice, this means building classrooms where play-based learning, sensory exploration, and strong relationships are central. It means using visual schedules for children who need routine, offering quiet corners for self-regulation, and embedding language development into every interaction. It also means working closely with families—because caregivers are a child’s first and most important teachers. I plan to foster partnerships with parents so that home and school can work together to give children consistency, trust, and support. I chose this field not just because I enjoy working with children, but because I believe that early intervention and strong foundational teaching are the keys to long-term equity in education. When we meet children where they are and support them from the very beginning, we give them tools they’ll use for the rest of their lives. My goal is to be a teacher who makes a difference early—so students don’t fall behind later. I want to help children develop not just academically, but socially and emotionally, so they can grow into confident, compassionate learners. I’m dedicated to this work because I’ve seen how even small moments—an encouraging word, a breakthrough in learning, a calming presence—can shape a child’s sense of self. Supporting early childhood development is more than a career for me—it’s a lifelong commitment. And I’m ready to take on that responsibility with care, intention, and passion.

As a future educator, I believe one of the most powerful ways to empower women is through equitable, inclusive, and inspiring education—beginning in childhood. My dedication to advancing the cause of gender equity stems from the belief that every girl and young woman deserves to grow up knowing she is capable, intelligent, and worthy of opportunity. Throughout my experience working in early childhood and elementary settings, I’ve seen how gender roles and expectations begin shaping children from a young age. Whether it’s through limiting messages in books, unequal treatment in the classroom, or the absence of female role models in curriculum, these early signals can reinforce inequality before a child even understands the concept. My mission as an educator is to change that narrative by fostering classrooms where girls are encouraged to lead, explore, and express themselves without barriers. Though I am not a woman myself, I recognize the responsibility I carry as an ally in education. I aim to uplift girls and advocate for their voices, while also teaching boys to value equity, empathy, and respect. I believe real progress happens when we create environments where all children see one another as equals—and that begins with educators who are conscious, inclusive, and committed. My career goals reflect this dedication. I am currently pursuing a dual degree in Childhood Education and Special Education at SUNY Old Westbury, with the intention of becoming a public school teacher in New York. I want to work in diverse and underserved communities, where I can have the greatest impact by providing high-quality, inclusive education to all students—especially those who face systemic barriers. Beyond the classroom, I hope to become involved in curriculum development and policy reform, with a focus on cultural literacy, gender equity, and disability inclusion. Eventually, I plan to pursue a master’s degree in educational leadership or literacy so I can mentor new educators and advocate for equitable instructional practices across entire schools and districts. Empowering women begins with empowering girls. I plan to make a difference by making sure every student I teach feels capable, seen, and free to pursue whatever path they choose. My role isn’t just to teach math or reading—it’s to build confidence, foster curiosity, and help students break down the barriers that society may place in front of them. If I can help even one young girl realize her potential, then I’ll know I’m making a difference that extends far beyond the classroom.

Working with children has always been more than a job for me—it’s a responsibility and a privilege. Over the past several years, I’ve had the opportunity to work in various educational settings, from daycare centers and after-school programs to Sunday school classrooms. Each child I’ve worked with has left a mark on me in some way, but there is one student I’ll never forget. It was my second year working in a daycare program when I was assigned to help support a four-year-old boy named Leo. Leo had just transferred from another center and came with a reputation: “uncontrollable,” “nonverbal,” “aggressive.” When I first met him, I didn’t see a difficult child—I saw a frustrated one. He rarely spoke, pushed away other children, and would often lash out when routines were disrupted. Many of the other staff members avoided working directly with him, but I felt drawn to help him find a way to connect. I began by simply being present. I learned Leo’s routines, sat near him during playtime, and gave him space without pushing for interaction. Slowly, I introduced structure and predictable cues—using visual cards for transitions, calming sensory tools, and even mimicking some of his stimming behaviors to show understanding. I noticed that he loved lining up toy animals and repeating their names under his breath. That became our bridge. Each morning, I’d greet him with a new animal figure, and he would quietly add it to his collection. Soon, he began expecting me, even seeking me out. Over time, Leo began using simple words during our play sessions. “Elephant,” he would whisper. “Giraffe.” One day, he looked me in the eyes and said, “Mr. Matt, help.” That moment changed everything—not just for Leo, but for me. Helping Leo grow wasn't about fixing him; it was about creating an environment where he felt safe, understood, and valued. Once communication opened up, his entire personality bloomed. He started participating in circle time, formed friendships with his peers, and began engaging in learning activities with confidence. His aggressive behaviors decreased, not because they were punished, but because he was finally being heard. That year, I worked closely with his parents and the center’s director to implement simple accommodations based on what we had learned together. We created a visual schedule for home and school, taught basic sign language to the classroom, and helped his parents connect with early intervention specialists. When Leo graduated from our program, his mother gave me a handwritten card that I still keep in my drawer. It said, “You were the first person to see him, not just his behavior. Thank you for giving my son a voice.” That experience solidified my calling. I realized that making a difference in education doesn’t always come from grand gestures—it often comes from consistent, quiet effort. From listening. From adapting. From believing in a child, especially when others have stopped trying. Leo reminded me that no child is unreachable. Every student has potential, but not every environment gives them a chance to show it. That’s why I’m pursuing my degree in Childhood Education and Special Education at SUNY Old Westbury. I want to build classrooms where all students, regardless of their labels or challenges, can thrive. My goal is to become not just a teacher, but an advocate—someone who looks beyond behavior and finds the root of a child’s needs. Education, to me, is about equity and relationships. It’s about making students feel seen, heard, and capable. And it’s about understanding that sometimes the biggest victories come in the smallest moments—a spoken word, a shared laugh, a breakthrough in connection. Looking back, I didn’t “save” Leo. He had the strength all along. All I did was listen, believe, and stay by his side. And that’s the kind of teacher I strive to be.

Passion for Education and Impact on My Community From a young age, I knew I wanted to work with children. Over the years, that desire evolved into a passion for education—particularly for creating learning environments that are inclusive, responsive, and meaningful for all students. As a first-generation college student and future educator pursuing a dual degree in Childhood Education and Special Education at SUNY Old Westbury, I have dedicated myself to understanding the needs of diverse learners and equipping myself with the tools to serve them effectively. My passion for education is rooted in my belief that every child deserves a teacher who sees their potential. Having worked for over six years in daycare centers, after-school programs, and Sunday school classrooms, I’ve seen firsthand how powerful early and intentional support can be in shaping a child’s future. I’ve worked with children with a wide range of abilities, and those experiences helped me recognize that learning is not one-size-fits-all. Some students need differentiated instruction, assistive technology, or simply a teacher who will believe in them when no one else does. That teacher is who I strive to be. Education is more than academic achievement; it is also about building cultural awareness and emotional resilience. In our increasingly diverse world, I believe cultural literacy must be woven into every classroom. I aim to foster spaces where students see their identities reflected in what they learn—where history is not just facts, but a conversation; where reading includes voices from all backgrounds; and where students are taught to think critically about the world around them. Through my degree and future teaching career, I plan to give back to the communities that shaped me. I want to work in New York public schools, ideally in undeserved districts where effective and empathetic educators are needed most. My goal is not only to teach but to advocate—for better support services, more inclusive curricula, and stronger collaboration with families and communities. I plan to continue growing professionally, eventually pursuing a master’s degree in literacy or educational leadership so I can help shape school policy and mentor future educators. I believe that real change begins in the classroom. A great teacher can open doors for students, especially those who feel unseen or left behind. With my degree, I want to be a voice for equity, a role model for resilience, and a guide for students as they discover their strengths. My work will center on building bridges—between students and their goals, between families and schools, and between education and the broader community. This scholarship will support more than just my education—it will support the future students whose lives I hope to impact. With the right support and training, I will be able to create a classroom where every child feels valued, capable, and inspired to learn.