“Natalie!” I hear my name behind me in the bustle of class change in the common area. Turning over my left shoulder, I see a familiar face. A member of my band class approaches me, out of breath from trying to chase me down in the crowded hallways. “I really hate to ask you this,” he begins, “but my mom is working really late tonight, and I have baseball conditioning after school…” He pauses for a moment in hesitation, but finally asks, “Can you drive me home?” I stopped, looked at him for a moment, processing what he had asked. I know I have marching band practice after school as well, so I will already be here, but I also know I have a mountain of homework and a really important test tomorrow that I need to get home quickly for. He can see I am thinking through all of this and immediately reverses his question, telling me he can ask someone else. Now, I think about his single mom who is working so hard to make ends meet, how he probably has homework to do too, and the other responsibilities that await him at home; how long will he have to wait outside, in the cold, if I do not take him home? I tell him not to worry about it and that I will gladly take him home. He thanks me profusely, and we go our separate ways to class. I drove him home, and when I got home myself, I worked extra diligently to make sure I got everything done. Even though it cost me “comfortable,” relaxed studying and a bit of sleep, it was far more rewarding to take my classmate home, ensuring his mom could work for as long as she needed, and he could get home quickly and safely to do his own work. This is just one of many small ways I have been fortunate enough to serve someone in need. As a fourth-year cadet and Commanding Officer of my Marine Corps Junior ROTC program, I am provided with several opportunities to give back to those who most need it. Whether it be sorting toys for lower-income families through the Marine Corps’ Toys for Tots program or putting in some elbow grease to clean up a local American Legion post with an elderly population, I see and put selflessness into action. My instructors, both with 20+ years of selfless service to our nation, are excellent role models and coaches to me in the discipline of selflessness, encouraging me to do the “little things” for my cadets such as driving them to and from practice, allowing them to eat before me, and spending time to get to know each of them personally. Through my church’s youth group, I receive incredible opportunities to serve the disadvantaged. In conjunction with my peers, we collect and bag food for Thanksgiving care kits for families in need of food during the holidays. At an annual weekend conference, we package nutritious meals for those in countries of extreme need. We write letters to the aging in our parish who can no longer join us to let them know they are still in our thoughts and prayers. The most important thing I have learned from all these exercises in selflessness is this: Selflessness is not a one-time action or something that can be done halfway. It is a lifestyle and a renewed, full commitment to others each day.

As the bell rings for the first class change of the year, there is a lively bustle in the hallway. I am excited - after a boring study hall, I am headed for the band room for woodwinds sectionals. Making my way there, I pass hundreds of students, all of diverse ethnicities, nationalities, and backgrounds. However, I hardly notice this as I hurry towards my favorite class. When the bell rings for class to begin Mr. Frank, my director, takes attendance. As he does so, I notice a particular new student, Sebastian. He is tall, wore a black baseball cap, and sat off to the side of the band. When he hears his name called, his face lights up - almost as if he has had an epiphany of some sort from the sound of his name. After the roll is called, Mr. Frank goes around the room and asks what instruments the new students play. There was a plethora of new flutes and saxophones - even new oboe and a few clarinets. When it was Sebastian’s turn to share his instrument, he looked confused and stressed. Our senior oboist, Kelvin, turned to him and began to speak Spanish, recognizing the language barrier that caused his frozen expression. Moments later, Kelvin, returning to English, said, “He plays the alto sax.” From that moment forward, our woodwind class, as a whole, worked together to eliminate that language barrier as much as possible. Kelvin helped Mr. Frank work on his numbers in Spanish so he could communicate to Sebastian at what measure he planned to start rehearsing. Several students, who also took Spanish, took the opportunity to practice. Sebastian used the hospitable and patient environment to practice his English when asking to use the restroom or to practice a particular section over again. We did everything we could to include Sebastian in an environment where he was unaccustomed to understanding and participating. The most beautiful thing, for me, that came from this experience was the realization that music is truly a language in itself - and it is a way to communicate with others - even if they do not communicate in the same language that I read, write, and speak in every day. Sebastian was a phenomenal musician with fabulous expression and an uncanny ability to play by ear. Through his presence in the class, I not only improved my Spanish, but I also became a better musician. Even in a school as diverse as mine, I had rarely encountered language barriers like the one Sebastian experienced. This moment, however, forced me to realize the fact that, every day, students struggle to make friends, learn new materials, and have fun because they simply do not understand English. Sebastian exemplified how music is the universal language and can bring anyone together.