Growing up an adopted black-Hispanic female with white parents in small-town America was difficult. Throughout elementary school, I insisted my mom straighten my hair, and I dressed to match my peers. Being the only cheerleader of color on the team, with less than a handful out of 140+ in the league, I was literally and figuratively the black sheep of the flock. I emulated the girls on the team, and it worked so well that my friends eventually stopped seeing my race. While this camouflage approach helped me make friends with teammates, it isolated me from the few kids who looked like me. In high school, I was fortunate to spiral upward. I started wearing my hair in braids or down and curly and choosing clothes that appealed to me. Despite being diagnosed with severe anxiety as a child from exposure to drugs in utero, cheerleading built so much confidence in me. I was no longer shy and awkward, smiling and chanting in the front row, lifting girls high, tumbling across the sidelines, and even competing nationally. The discipline required to learn complex routines and stunts and persevere for hours when every part of my body was in pain instilled a deep work ethic in me. I refused to quit when I fell, and when I wanted to give up, the strength and dedication I had built from years of cheering helped push me through the physically and mentally exhaustive times. In addition to cheerleading, I began competitive weightlifting my sophomore year as a 5' tall athlete with no experience, one of only two girls of color on the 80+ athlete team. I am proud to say we finally became state champions twice before I graduated. I was not the most muscular girl on the team; in fact, there were times that I scratched on lifts I had previously made. However, the perseverance and dedication to continue, despite the challenges, showed me that I could be part of something bigger than myself. Academically, I struggled with comprehension and information retention and studied twice as hard and long as my peers. I had little free time, spending hours on homework to ensure my grades remained high. I began looking for where I wanted to attend college the summer before my junior year. Neither of my parents attended college, so we were in unchartered territory. My family and I started researching colleges and their average first-year students' profiles. We realized my first ACT score was lower than it needed for me to be accepted at my dream school, Florida State University. Lacking the knowledge and expertise to be able to help instruct me in areas I needed to improve upon, they sought a professional tutor. Over an entire year, my family worked very hard to afford assistance so I could continue to prepare for a retest. It would take four more tests over eight months to score where I needed for admission, and I rose 16 points through tutoring and studying. The college admission process was also very complex and required months of forms, financial data, collection of letters and transcripts, and countless essays written. I am ecstatic that I was accepted at Florida State University and began to earn a Bachelor of Nursing undergraduate degree this past summer. After that, I plan to continue my education at the FSU College of Nursing in the Doctorate of Nursing graduate program. Being a first-generation college student has opened opportunities on campus for additional resources, support, career and academic advising, counseling, and financial support. I realize that seven years of higher education, clinicals, and certifications seem daunting to someone who struggled more than most, particularly with under 10% of doctors and nurses being BIPOC. However, I will always go back to the foundations of my sports experiences, continuously pushing to reach and exceed the goals I set for myself, achieving more than I thought possible, putting in long hours of work, and dedicating myself to perfecting my routines and technique as the foundation that will carry me through college and eventually graduate school. With over 200 hours of serving my community, I plan to continue that commitment by practicing in rural and underserved locations where access to quality medical care is limited. My journey inspired me to meet my birth family this past summer. I spent an extraordinary week meeting and learning about my extended family. Seeing my features in their faces for the first time was surreal and filled a significant void I had long felt. I am seeking higher education for myself first and foremost, but to represent both my birth and adoptive families as the first to obtain a college degree is priceless.

Growing up an adopted black Hispanic female with white parents in small-town America was not easy. Throughout elementary and middle school, I insisted my mom straighten my hair, and I dressed to match the other students in large bows and frilly monogrammed outfits that you’d see in a southern boutique ad. Being the only cheerleader of color on our team, and with less than a handful out of 140+ girls in the league, I was literally and figuratively the black sheep of the flock. I spoke so properly that I avoided all contractions. I emulated the girls on the team, and it worked so well that eventually, my friends stopped seeing my race. While this camouflage approach helped me make friends with teammates, it isolated me from the few kids who looked like me. In middle school, I was fortunate to spiral upward. I started wearing my hair in braids or down and curly and choosing clothes that appealed to me instead of my peers. Cheerleading had built so much confidence in me. I was no longer shy and awkward, smiling and chanting in the front row, lifting girls high, and tumbling. I wanted everyone to see my talents and not my skin color. In our family, giving back to the community was ingrained in us when we were little. My mom was committed to growing diversity and accessibility in the local cheer program. I assisted her with fundraising to pay for underserved student fees and reaching out to other girls of color to invite them to free camps and make them feel included and belonged. I spent over 90 hours in the summer and fall of my junior and senior years of high school as a mentor and assistant coach in the very youth recreational league where I began. In 2022, I helped co-found Project Formal. It aims to collect as many gently used formal wear dresses as possible and match the dresses with underserved students who would not otherwise be able to afford to attend Homecoming or Prom dances. I helped collect, sort, and organize hundreds of dresses in our first year. Over 90 girls were matched, and collection is underway again for 2023. In July 2021, I was accepted to the FSU College of Medicine Summer Institute. FSU's College of Medicine's purpose of serving the elderly, rural, minority & underserved populations in Florida, spoke to me personally. I arrived on campus and learned all about Clinical Professions degree programs. Putting on the provided scrubs the following day for the first time felt real and important, and I was proud that I had a purpose in helping. As part of medical shadowing, I spent 70 hours volunteering by assisting and observing staff with exams and testing. I earned certifications in CPR and STOP THE BLEED. These collective experiences helped shape my path to seek a Clinical Health Professions degree, after which I plan to pursue a graduate degree as a Physician Assistant or Nurse Practioner. I plan to practice in rural areas with limited quality medical care and access to care. Statistics reflect that only approximately 10% of medical professionals are African American, and only 6% are Hispanic. I'll leverage the courageous spirit I developed as a child of color in non-diverse spaces to create safe and inclusive environments where I am a part. I’ll seek to understand the medical disparities in my community and use my voice, education, resources, and time to improve those challenges. As a first-generation college student, I will help other minority students seek higher education opportunities and promote diversity in medicine.

I was adopted from a rural F.L. town at two days old. My birth mother was a young, minority female who struggled to access the mental and medical resources needed, contributing to her decision to place me for adoption. Similarly, my adoptive mother grew up in rural Appalachia, VA. She described the lack of medical care for poor families and widespread thyroid issues amongst the women in the community due to water pollution. In high school, my desire to help people and my interest in a medical career increased. By the time I was of age to volunteer, COVID-19 restricted in-person hospital opportunities. I knew I wanted to be in a fast-paced setting where people counted on me, and every day posed a new challenge. In February of 2021, a friend told me about the FSU Summer Institute. After researching, I learned the FSU College of Medicine is very committed to its purpose of serving the elderly, rural, minority & underserved populations in Florida. As a black-Hispanic living in a rural county, this deeply interested me personally. Months after applying, a letter of acceptance arrived. In July of 2021, I arrived on campus, and putting on the provided scrubs for the first time felt real and important. I eagerly followed the staff as they performed exams and administered testing and was fascinated by the debriefs and large patient boards. I felt so proud and at home in this environment. While on campus, I earned certifications in CPR and STOP THE BLEED. These collective experiences helped shape my plan to begin a Bachelor of Science in Nursing at Florida State University, after which I will seek a graduate degree as a Nurse Practioner. I plan to practice in rural areas to assist families with limited quality medical care and access to care. Statistics reflect that despite 12.2% of the U.S. population being African American, only 10% of nurses and roughly 4% of physicians are of color. This unbalanced model has several critical concerns, including the unique medical conditions specific to the BIPOC community and the difficulty in accessing and affording care in underserved areas. Additionally, surveys reflect that patients trust nurses/doctors of their race or ethnicity more. Not having sufficient BIPOC representation could result in patients not following important instructions, not returning for follow-ups, electing not to undergo life-saving procedures, language barriers, or even possible misdiagnosis. While there are many truly heroic medical professionals of all colors and cultures, conscious and unconscious bias, as well as disparate treatment of minority females, are well-documented in the U.S. This could lead to a greater loss of life, insufficient care, and more than anything – long-term mental and psychological damage and fear of treatments. According to research by ABM Research Labs in December 2022, Indigenous Americans continue to suffer the highest rates of COVID mortality — a position they have held since early November 2020 — followed by Pacific Islanders and Black Americans. If service providers more closely represented the patients they served in areas where they also lived, would that have increased the survival and vaccination rate? Very possibly. I will leverage the courageous spirit I developed as a child of color in non-diverse spaces to create safe and inclusive environments in which I am a part. I’ll seek to understand the medical disparities in my community and use my voice, education, resources, and time to improve those challenges. As a first-generation college student, I will help other minority students seek higher education opportunities and promote diversity in medicine.

I was adopted from a rural F.L. town at two days old. My birth mother was a young, minority female who struggled to access the mental and medical resources needed, contributing to her decision to place me for adoption. Similarly, my adoptive mother grew up in rural Appalachia, VA. She described the lack of medical care for poor families and widespread thyroid issues amongst the women in the community due to water pollution. In high school, my desire to help people and my interest in a medical career increased. By the time I was of age to volunteer, COVID-19 restricted in-person hospital opportunities. I knew I wanted to be in a fast-paced setting where people counted on me, and every day posed a new challenge. In February of 2021, a friend told me about the FSU Summer Institute. After researching, I learned the FSU College of Medicine is very committed to its purpose of serving the elderly, rural, minority & underserved populations in Florida. This deeply interested me as a black-Hispanic living in a rural county. Months after applying, a letter of acceptance arrived. In July of 2021, I arrived on campus, and putting on the provided scrubs for the first time felt real and important. I eagerly followed the staff as they performed exams and administered testing and was fascinated by the debriefs and large patient boards. I felt so proud and at home in this environment. While on campus, I earned certifications in CPR and STOP THE BLEED. These collective experiences helped shape my plan to begin a Bachelor of Science in Nursing at Florida State University, after which I will seek a graduate degree as a Nurse Practioner. I plan to practice in rural areas to assist families with limited quality medical care and access to care. Statistics reflect that despite 12.2% of the U.S. population being African American, only 10% of nurses and roughly 4% of physicians are of color. This unbalanced model has several critical concerns, including the unique medical conditions specific to the BIPOC community and the difficulty in accessing and affording care in underserved areas. Additionally, surveys reflect that patients trust nurses/doctors of their race or ethnicity more. Not having sufficient BIPOC representation could result in patients not following important instructions, not returning for follow-ups, electing not to undergo life-saving procedures, language barriers, or even possible misdiagnosis. While there are many genuinely heroic medical professionals of all colors and cultures, conscious and unconscious bias, as well as disparate treatment of minority females, are well-documented in the U.S. This could lead to a greater loss of life, insufficient care, and more than anything – long-term mental and psychological damage and fear of treatments. According to research by ABM Research Labs in December 2022, Indigenous Americans continue to suffer the highest rates of COVID mortality — a position they have held since early November 2020 — followed by Pacific Islanders and Black Americans. If service providers more closely represented the patients they served in areas where they also lived, would that have increased the survival and vaccination rate? Very possibly. I will leverage the courageous spirit I developed as a child of color in non-diverse spaces to create safe and inclusive environments in which I am a part. I’ll seek to understand the medical disparities in my community and use my voice, education, resources, and time to improve those challenges. As a first-generation college student, I will help other minority students seek higher education opportunities and promote diversity in medicine.

Growing up an adopted black Hispanic with white parents in small-town America was not easy. Growing up, I insisted my mom straighten my hair and matched the other students in large bows and frilly monogrammed outfits. Being the only minority cheerleader of color on our team, and with less than a handful out of 140+ girls in the league, I was literally and figuratively the black sheep of the flock. I spoke so properly that I avoided all contractions. I emulated the girls on the team, and it worked so well that eventually, my friends stopped seeing my race. While this approach helped me make friends with teammates, it isolated me from the few kids who looked like me. In middle school, I was fortunate to spiral upward. I started wearing my hair curly and natural and choosing clothes that appealed to me versus what my peers were wearing. Cheerleading had built so much confidence in me, and I wanted to show everyone that I was worthy of respect and admiration for my talent, not my skin color. In our family, giving back to the community was ingrained in us from the time we were little. My mom was committed to growing diversity and accessibility in the local cheer program, and I assisted her with fundraising to pay for underserved student fees, as well as reaching out to other BIPOC to invite them to free camps and make them feel included and that they belonged. I spent over 90 hours in the summer and fall of my junior and senior years of high school as a mentor and assistant coach in the very youth recreational league where I began. In 2022, I helped co-found Project Formal. It aims to collect as many gently used formal wear dresses as possible and match the dresses with underserved students who would not otherwise be able to afford to attend Homecoming or Prom dances. I helped collect, sort, and organize hundreds of dresses in our first year. Over 90 girls were matched, and collection is underway again for 2023. In July 2021, I was accepted to the FSU College of Medicine Summer Institute. FSU's College of Medicine's purpose of serving the elderly, rural, minority & underserved populations in Florida spoke to me personally. I arrived on campus and learned all about Clinical Professions degree programs. Putting on the provided scrubs the following day for the first time felt real and important, and I was proud that I had a purpose in helping. As part of medical shadowing, I spent 70 hours volunteering by assisting and observing staff with exams and testing. I earned certifications in CPR and STOP THE BLEED. These collective experiences helped shape my path to a pre-medicine degree. With this scholarship, I will continue my education at Florida State University, after which I'll seek a graduate degree as a Physician Assistant. I plan to practice in rural areas to assist families with limited quality medical care and access to care. My journey led me to meet my birth mom and brother this past summer, and I feel so much more whole seeing myself in my new extended family's faces and celebrating Latin culture and traditions. I'll leverage the courageous spirit I developed as a minority in non-diverse spaces to create safe and inclusive environments where I am a part. I'll seek to understand the medical disparities in my community and use my voice, education, resources, and time to improve those challenges. As a first-generation college student, I will help other minority students seek higher education opportunities and promote diversity in medicine.

Black. Hispanic. Biracial. Adopted. In childhood, I insisted my mom straighten my hair and dressed to match other students in bows and frilly outfits. I was literally and figuratively the black sheep of the flock. I spoke properly and avoided using gestures when speaking like the black kids I knew. It worked so well that eventually, my friends stopped seeing my race, and I became isolated from the few kids who looked like me. As I got older, whenever racial comments were made, people would say that they weren't talking about me because I was "white on the inside." Instead, they were referring to "normal black people." Afraid to be excluded, I stayed silent, convincing myself that I was different and developing my own unfounded biases from what I heard at school. In high school, though, I was fortunate to spiral upward. I started wearing my hair and dressing in a way that appealed to me vs. my peers. My friend group also started to change, giving me the confidence to participate in new things I had previously been afraid to try. I was the first POC on the cheerleading and girls' weightlifting teams. I realized that to strangers, I am a "normal black person." Subject to the same dangers and biases. I realized my silence all those years growing up and not being honest with myself or others was doing all of us a disservice. I'm now confident enough to compassionately educate my peers on bias. I know most of these perspectives come from ignorance and not malice. Since I was a child, I've always envisioned myself in the healthcare field. Every career day, I put on a white lab coat with a toy stethoscope around my neck. My "why" is based on several life experiences. First, I have always been a "helper" to everyone around me, and I sincerely desire to care for others. Additionally, I was adopted from a rural FL town at two days old. My birth mother was a young, minority female who struggled to gain access to the mental and medical resources needed, which contributed to her decision to place me for adoption. These collective experiences helped shape my goal of attending Florida State University, which I began this past summer towards a Clinical Professions degree, after which I will seek my master's degree as a Physician's Assistant. I plan to practice in rural areas where quality medical care and access to care are limited. I will leverage the courageous spirit I developed as a child of color in non-diverse spaces to increase diversity and promote inclusion and belonging in environments in which I am a part. I'll seek to understand medical disparities and use my voice, education, resources, and time to improve those challenges. As a first-generation college student, I will help other POC students seek higher education opportunities. I will always be black, Hispanic, biracial, and adopted…but I will become so much more than a string of nouns. We all are.

I was adopted from a rural FL town at two days old. My birth mother was a young, black Hispanic female who struggled to access the mental and medical resources needed, which contributed to her decision to place me for adoption. Similarly, my adoptive mother grew up in rural Appalachia, VA. She described the lack of medical care for poor families and widespread thyroid issues amongst the women in the community due to water pollution. In high school, my desire to help people and my interest in a medical career increased. By the time I was of age to volunteer, Covid restricted in-person hospital opportunities. I knew I wanted to be in a fast-paced setting where people counted on me, and every day posed a new challenge. In February of 2021, a friend told me about the FSU Summer Institute. After researching, I learned the FSU College of Medicine is very committed to its purpose of serving the elderly, rural, minority & underserved populations in Florida. This deeply interested me as a black-Hispanic living in a rural county. Months after applying, a letter of acceptance arrived. In July of 2021, I arrived on campus, and putting on the provided scrubs for the first time felt real and important. I eagerly followed the staff as they performed exams and administered testing and was fascinated by the debriefs and large patient boards. I felt so proud and at home in this environment. While on campus, I earned certifications in CPR and STOP THE BLEED. These collective experiences helped shape my plan to begin a pre-med Clinical Professions degree at Florida State University, after which I will seek a graduate degree as a Physician Assistant. I plan to practice in rural areas to assist families with limited quality medical care and access to care. Statistics reflect that despite 12.2% of the US population being African American, only 10% of nurses and roughly 4% of physicians are of color. This unbalanced model has several critical concerns, including the unique medical conditions specific to the BIPOC community and the difficulty in accessing and affording care in underserved areas. Additionally, surveys reflect that patients trust nurses/doctors of their race or ethnicity more. Not having sufficient BIPOC representation could result in patients not following important instructions, not returning for follow-ups, electing not to undergo life-saving procedures, language barriers, or even possible misdiagnosis. While there are many genuinely heroic medical professionals of all colors and cultures, conscious and unconscious bias, as well as disparate treatment of minority females, are well-documented in the U.S. This could lead to a greater loss of life, insufficient care, and more than anything – long-term mental and psychological damage and fear of treatments. According to research by ABM Research Labs in December 2022, Indigenous Americans continue to suffer the highest rates of COVID mortality — a position they have held since early November 2020 — followed by Pacific Islanders and Black Americans. If service providers more closely represented the patients they served in areas where they also lived, would that have increased the survival and vaccination rate? Very possibly. I will leverage the courageous spirit I developed as a child of color in non-diverse spaces to create safe and inclusive environments in which I am a part. I’ll seek to understand the medical disparities in my community and use my voice, education, resources, and time to improve those challenges. As a first-generation college student, I will help other minority students seek higher education opportunities and promote diversity in medicine.

If I had to choose one book for the world to read, it would be "The Diary of a Young Girl" by Anne Frank. Regardless of age, race, or religion - this book provides a personal and unique perspective on the Holocaust. Anne Frank, a young Jewish girl, wrote the diary while she and her family lived and hid in a very small space from the Nazis during World War II. The journal describes her experiences, thoughts, and emotions and is an extraordinary personal picture of her final days. It is important because it reminds us that the people who suffered during the Holocaust were real human beings with families, hopes, and dreams. Anne's writing gives us a glimpse into the life of an ordinary person caught up in extraordinary circumstances. This book would touch those worldwide because it is a testament to the resilience and determination of the human spirit. Despite the terrible difficulties she faced, Anne never gave up hope. Her diary contains passages expressing her belief in people's goodness and her faith that things would improve. This recounting can influence people from across the globe, both oppressors and oppressed, to have empathy and compassion and enables us to see the humanity in others. The book provides hope and resilience in the face of adversity. Anne's writing"The Diary of a Young Girl" is simple and profound, and it emotionally touches anyone who reads it deeply, giving them perspective on what her life could have been and millions like her. As a teenager roughly her age, when I read this book, her vivid descriptions, insightful observations, and poignant reflections provide an honest and powerful account of what life was like for Jews during the Holocaust. Her writing style is both direct and truthful, and it has the power to captivate readers of all ages. Additionally, the book serves as a reminder of the dangers of intolerance, hatred, and discrimination and encourages us to stand against injustice and work towards a better world. In conclusion, "The Diary of a Young Girl" is a powerful and unique book that is both truthful and emotionally moving. It's a beautifully written book that can inspire us to work towards a better world and reminds us of the importance of standing up against injustice and intolerance.

This past year, I have grown and evolved in ways that I believe will last forever. My journey began when I was adopted at two days old. My birth mother was a young, minority female who struggled to access medical and financial resources needed during her pregnancy, which contributed to her decision to place me for adoption. I was fortunate to be raised by amazing parents, both of whom are white. Growing up black-Hispanic in a rural Florida town was difficult. I insisted my mom straighten my hair, and I dressed to match the other students in large bows and frilly outfits that you’d see in a southern boutique ad. I was literally and figuratively the black sheep of the flock. I spoke so properly that I avoided all contractions and was careful not to use gestures so that I would fit in. It worked so well that eventually, my friends stopped seeing my race. However, this camouflage approach isolated me from the few kids who looked like me. In high school, I was fortunate to spiral upward. I started wearing my hair naturally and choosing clothes that appealed to me vs. my peers. My friend group also started to become more diverse. I gained the confidence to participate in new things I had previously been afraid to try. I was the first girl of color on the cheer team and the girl’s weightlifting team (in recent memory), and I thrived, determined to succeed despite my insecurities. I earned the All-American cheerleader award all four years of high school, and despite my lack of experience, earned a competitive spot at both District and Regional weightlifting competitions. However, I still had not evenly or totally evolved. Black Lives Matter didn’t seem real to me. It was as if athletes taking a knee or social justice protests weren’t real or needed where we lived. Until this summer, local police officers singled out, harassed, and tased a black student while at the beach I go to. I watched in disbelief, thinking I KNOW HIM! As he was carried away in handcuffs, I realized that strangers and society see me as a black-Hispanic person first and that I am subject to dangers and biases. I realized my silence all those years growing up and not being honest with myself or others, was doing all of us a disservice. I am now confident enough to have tough conversations and educate my peers on bias and prejudice, but with compassion. I know most of these perspectives come from ignorance and not malice. These collective experiences inspired me to meet my birth family. My parents were supportive and had prepared me for this my entire life. I felt free to express all the emotions following this reunion. I spent a wonderful week learning about my culture over summer break and meeting my birth mother, brother, and extended family. Seeing my features in someone else’s face for the first time was surreal and filled a significant void I had long felt. How I have grown most from this experience is in self-love and self-acceptance. I know where I came from, who I am today, and who I want to be as a person and in my community. I feel less rejection and abandonment and have more empathy and compassion for my birth mother and the sacrifice she made for me to have a better life. Black, Hispanic, biracial, adopted...all nouns that describe me...but I am so much more than those words. We all are.

Black. Hispanic. Biracial. Adopted. Those are the nouns most often used to describe me, but they don't tell my entire story. Throughout my early childhood, I insisted my mom straighten my hair, and I dressed to match the other students in large bows and frilly monogrammed outfits that you'd see in a southern boutique ad. I was literally and figuratively the black sheep of the flock. I spoke properly and avoided using my hands and rolling my head when speaking like the black kids I knew. It worked so well that eventually, my friends stopped seeing my race. While this camouflage approach helped me make friends, it isolated me from the few kids who looked like me. As I got older, whenever negative racial comments were made, people would say that they weren't talking about me because I was "white on the inside." Instead, they were referring to "normal black people." Afraid to be excluded, I stayed silent, convincing myself that I was different and developing my own unfounded biases from what I heard at school. In high school, though, I was fortunate to spiral upward. I started wearing my hair and dressing in a way that appealed to me vs. my peers. My friend group also started to change, giving me the confidence to participate in new things I had previously been afraid to try. I was the first POC on the cheerleading and girls' weightlifting teams (in recent memory), and it was a hard leap because I was painfully shy. I realized that to strangers, I am a "normal black person." Subject to the same dangers and biases. I realized my silence all those years growing up and not being honest with myself, or others was doing all of us a disservice. I am now confident enough to have tough conversations and educate my peers on bias, but with compassion. I know most of these perspectives come from ignorance and not malice. One thing that has never wavered since I was a child was that I wanted to have a career in the healthcare field. Every school career day, I put on a white lab coat from my dress-up set with a toy stethoscope around my neck. My "why" is based on several life experiences. First, I have always been a "helper" and sincerely desire to care for others. Second, I was adopted from a rural Florida town at two days old. My birth mother struggled to gain access to the mental and physical resources needed, which led to her decision. Third, my adoptive mother grew up in foster care in a rural town in Appalachia, Virginia. She often described the lack of inadequate medical providers for coal mining families and thyroid issues widespread amongst the women in the community due to water pollution. These collective experiences and impressions have helped shape the vision of my future as a Physician Assistant assisting families in areas where quality medical care and access to care are limited. I will attend Florida State University next summer and begin an Interdisciplinary Medical Sciences. My journey inspired me to meet my birth family this summer. What I learned most from this reunification was that I was given out of love to have a better life and chosen by my parents, who didn't raise me to be white. Instead, they raised me to be a good person. I will always be black, Hispanic, biracial, and adopted…but I will become so much more than a string of nouns. We all are.