Going into high school it was just me and my mom. At first it was school, basketball, homework, repeat. That was, up until my sophomore year, when we moved my Grandpa John into our home. My Grandpa John is an U.S. Veteran with Parkinson’s disease, a neurological disorder which affects his movement and his speech. His muscles are weaker making his mobility limited, his speech is slurred, and he tends to have excessive saliva when he talks. With my Grandpa experiencing all these symptoms, it meant he needed help with almost everything. At first I had mixed emotions about him moving in, as selfish as it may seem, I didn’t like having to be there at someone’s beck and call. On top of that I was embarrassed to have company. Because of his trouble with movement, he isn’t able to clean himself without help, so if we had a visitor it might’ve smelled like poop near his room since he’s incontinent or he might not have had the nicest odor to him that would linger throughout the house. Or because he cannot get up and go to the bathroom with ease, he walks around with pull-ups for precaution, with drool spilling from his mouth to the floor because of his condition. As a 10th grader it was humiliating, I didn’t want my friends to go around saying or thinking that my house stinks or it’s dirty because of my Grandpa. But fortunately, as time moved on, it hit me. I had to realize that it isn’t my Grandpa’s fault he developed Parkinson’s. It wasn’t fair for me to be embarrassed of something that’s out of his control. I was subconsciously judging my Grandpa for something he has no power over. It was at this point, I realized that instead of being ashamed of my Grandpa, I should be taking pride in being able to care for someone who has loved and cared for me my whole life. I recognized that I had to confront my own immaturity and push past the shame I felt. So from this point forward, I started to embrace my responsibility, taking initiative when it came to his care. Versus me waiting on him to request things, I made things easier on both of us by performing tasks or prepping ahead of time. I would make his food when I decided to eat my dinner, putting all his food in medications out and then serving it to him, instead of me waiting for him to tell me when he was ready to eat. I started to offer things more like his eyedrops, taking off his compression socks, offering to help him dress and undress him quicker. Overall, my experience of being a part time care taker has shaped me into becoming someone who exercises more sympathy than shame, who takes initiative versus being someone who waits until the last second. Not only has going through this shaped me into a more mature person, but it has also shaped my career interest in Nursing. At first I couldn’t see myself going into the medical field, but after witnessing my Grandpa smile more often from my assistance, it inspired me to want to help others feel like they’re loved. Adapting to this new responsibility didn’t just change how I viewed my grandfather but it also shifted how I viewed myself and my purpose. So with that being said, I started taking CNA classes over the course of this summer and am now a registered CNA who is looking forward to majoring in Pre-Nursing.

My mom has made the biggest impact on my life, especially when she gave me a new outlook on life. I remember vividly, it was up until July 20th, 2025, I never had a favorite tree, let alone thought about what a tree might mean. That changed when my mom said she wanted us to get matching  palm tree tattoos. At first, I was confused, why would she want us to have a tree out of all things? Then she explained how palm trees represent resilience; every time they go through a storm, they bend, but never break. When the storm passes, they remain standing tall and their roots learn to adapt. My mom has been through a number of trials and tribulations for as long as I can remember. In the fifth grade she miscarried my little sister, Se’riah. By eighth grade, she experienced infidelity, divorcing her husband, and losing a source of income. My sophomore year she took a risk, quitting her day job to pursue a career teaching CNA and Phlebotomy courses, while moving in my grandfather, becoming his full-time caretaker. Most recently, she lost her closest sibling, my precious Uncle Donell. Though these moments left her emotional or withdrawn at times, they never broke her. Like palm trees swaying back and forth against the wind of a storm, these challenges shaped her into a fighter. Witnessing her endure so much while keeping her spark alive, has only deepened my admiration for her, inspiring me to carry these traits as I transition into this next chapter of life. She’s shown me that vulnerability is okay, but, don’t let a low moment take away from the power I possess. The tattoo is more than just matching ink, but a symbol, reflecting my mother’s life story. Understanding the hidden meaning behind a palm tree, I recognized that while assisting with caring for my grandfather, I’ve grown to acquire these same attributes. Over time, learning to care for my grandfather became overwhelming. I had to break my daily routine,  and pay close attention to the specifics— what medications to give him, how to clean up after him, and his dietary restrictions. Balancing my academics, athletics, and the weight of watching his health decline was intense. But I overcame, adapting to my environment and persevering  just as I’d seen my mom do. I was no longer witnessing her strength, but reflecting it. 
 With this new outlook, I now find myself constantly referencing the palm tree. Whenever I feel overwhelmed — by college applications, financial stress, athletics, or family responsibilities, I think back to my mom managing her hardships. Using the palm tree as a reminder of her power, guiding me to find my own. That’s the mindset I want to take into college. I want to major in a field where physics and biology play a huge role in my success, but ironically enough science classes were never my strong suit. Knowing that I’ll have to go the extra mile to succeed in an area I struggle, often fosters doubt. But watching my mom lead by example and mirroring her, I believe I’ll be able to go far beyond that doubt. I never thought a tree could carry such a powerful meaning. Though my mom and I have yet to get our tattoo, the roots of its message are already planted within us. The more I grow, the more I recognize that my willingness to fight through adversity  comes from the grit I’ve seen in her all along. She’s more than just an inspiration, she’s a symbol that keeps me grounded.

I have a love-hate relationship with basketball. I hate the suicides and Indian runs as punishments, the long lectures after a rough loss, and the moments when the team couldn’t get on one accord. But I loved it for the lifelong friendships, the excitement of winning district championships every year, the growth I saw among my team, and the recognition I received from people I didn’t know were watching. A proud accomplishment of mine was becoming a starter and co-captain of a team that I once rode the bench for during my freshman year. Not only did we dominate our district, but we were seen as underdogs and held our own against teams we were projected to lose to. Even though I was a starter, I wasn’t much of a scorer. My strength was showing up on the defensive end—stopping fast breaks, putting pressure on the ball, and making it easier for my team to execute in transition. Now I know people say “defense wins championships” and while this is true, me not contributing to the team offensively as much made me question my ability. I struggled with confidence. Our entire starting five all had the green light, whether it was to shoot, take it to paint, or dribble around like we were Steph Curry. Our coach trusted us enough to do the right thing with the ball. However, because I wasn’t confident in my skills, I missed a number of opportunities, passing up open shots and hesitating when I could’ve attacked. Anytime I was open I would be hesitant to make a move. My mindset was “Why score when somebody else can?” So I gave the ball up. One thing my coach told me that stuck with me was: basketball was more than just a sport—the habits you have on the court will follow you off the court. If you give up when a drill is too complicated or when a team is too tough to beat, you’ll do the same whenever you encounter another tough task in life, and he was right. I started to recognize how my lack of confidence began to affect me in other areas of life. I saw myself giving up opportunities: not advocating for myself, not applying for scholarships, or not going to camps. I was playing it safe because I was either scared or I felt like those opportunities weren’t meant to be mine, doing myself a disservice. Fortunately, basketball also acted as an outlet for me to change that about myself. Teaching me that you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. With that, I started to take more chances, embracing the opportunities I was given. Slowly but surely, I learned how to believe in myself and take advantage of what was being handed to me. As I look towards my future, I plan to carry that lesson with me. Not to limit myself because of doubt, but to give myself the chance to be great and pursue different challenges as they present themselves. Basketball showed me that no matter what obstacle may be in front of you, you should take the shot anyway.

What is America without Black history? In my eyes, Black history is the heartbeat of America. It isn’t something that is limited to the shortest month of the year but it’s the foundation on which this country was built. As a Black girl attending school in Downtown Detroit, I’m constantly surrounded by Black history, from the teachers who’ve made a difference, to the street names like MLK and Rosa Parks Blvd, the murals around the city, the Fist, and so much more. Seeing these different depictions allowed me to recognize that Black history wasn’t just something to learn, but it was something I lived. Detroit is a city that carries the soul of Black history. From the Motown sound that changed music forever and the movements led by Blacks who demanded better for themselves, to Detroit being frowned upon for the longest. This city has shown me that strength and resilience is something that is part of our DNA. Seeing all the history and culture of our people reminds me that nobody waited around for something to change but they created the change themselves. One area where I feel that same call to action is in sports medicine. With me being an athlete, I’ve always wondered why my lower body gets so tight after running at a track meet or why I have shin splints after a workout and how I can prevent them. That curiosity sparked my interest to major in Kinesiology and Exercise Science with my dream of becoming an athletic trainer or sports medicine specialist. Researching this field, I’ve come to realize how few Black women are represented, less than 3 percent at that. That’s why I don’t just want to work in this field—I want to become a part of the history that encourages other women of color to raise that percentage. The underrepresentation in this space doesn’t create doubt, but creates determination. If there is anything I’ve learned from our history, it’s that progress rarely ever comes easily. I look back at women like Jackie Joyner-Kersee, an Olympic medalist who grew up running on dirt tracks barefoot because she didn’t have proper equipment. Katherine Johnson who despite her intelligence being doubted because of her color, played a major role assisting NASA on the Apollo mission. These women overcame their environment, battling hostility, judgment, and lack of resources to make a way for themselves while setting examples for those who came after. I want to do the same in sports medicine—to not just succeed, but to open doors for others. Attending an HBCU will be a powerful part of that journey. Being surrounded by students and professors who understand my experiences and value my background will empower me in ways a traditional college environment might not. HBCUs have always been painted as places where you can find yourself, expand cultural knowledge, and experience growth and transformation. Being in that environment—where black excellence is expected, nurtured, and celebrated—will help me build the confidence and community I need to thrive. It goes beyond the concept of education but it’s an affirmation of my identity and who I hope to become. Black history isn’t just about the past. It’s about how we carry those stories forward. This scholarship will empower me to continue my education at an HBCU, where I will honor my Detroit roots, challenge the statistics, and work to help close the representation gap, becoming living Black history myself.