Growing up, my education was of the utmost importance to me. By the time I was two years old, I could already read and write. My parents would spend their free time guiding me through vowel sounds and improving my spelling abilities. They believed I would turn out to be a childhood prodigy or a genius of some sort. While I was academically advanced for my age, I was no genius. In preschool I was years ahead of my peers; I could read, write, solve basic math equations, and I could speak in full sentences. At times I was excused from class to participate in a series of tests at the hands of our school counselor. She would have me draw pictures, complete assessments, and answer a multitude of questions. It was our district's way of determining whether or not I was eligible for the advanced programs. I was for a time, and it resulted in talk of pushing me ahead a grade. Thankfully, I was not. As I grew, my academic abilities further improved. In 4th grade, I was reading at an 8th-grade level. I passed every test put in front of me. I was on the honor roll for years, though it really felt like I was being awarded for being slightly better than average. When I finally reached middle school, I started exhibiting signs of ADHD and dyscalculia. I was no longer able to keep up with my peers. I found my studies too advanced, despite being placed in regular-paced classes. I was reading at a college level, but in every other subject I was falling behind. This became a continuing issue as I moved on to high school. By the time I was in 9th grade, my teachers and counselor felt I was a lost cause. I slipped through the cracks and suffered immensely for it. My grades went from A's and B's to C's, D's, and even the occasional F. My teachers sparsely offered to spend extra time with me, so I was left to my own devices. This led to my eventual choice to drop out and pursue my GED instead. It took a few years, but in March of 2021, I finally obtained it. Now that I'm in college, I've realized I was failed by my educators and school support system. As an educator, I pledge to be different. I believe that learning should be active, creative, and student-oriented. Every student brings their own unique needs, challenges, and strengths into the classroom. It's important to me, as a potential educator, to create an environment where all of my students feel valued and cared for. My role in their lives is to guide them to discovering their own answers to complex problems but also offer help when needed. I view education as a partnership between student and teacher; both should actively engage with the other. My classroom will be a place where students of all backgrounds are included, respected, and feel safe to express themselves. From personal experience, students are more engaged in their learning when they feel deeply connected to their teachers and education. Ultimately, my goal is to become a skilled learner but also a well-rounded educator. I hope to cultivate curiosity, encourage creativity, and empower my students to grow into the best versions of themselves--both inside and outside the classroom. Our children are the future, and the classrooms where they learn will determine the outcome for our world.

I don't know when the cycle started, but I do know I won't let it continue. Growing up, my childhood was the embodiment of your typical suburban upbringing. I had the toys I wanted, clothes to wear, and food on the table. On the surface, it seemed like we were doing just fine, just another family enjoying life in a quiet neighborhood. But beneath the surface, our reality was tragic. My parents were both hardworking, blue-collar workers, but no matter how hard or how long they worked, they weren't making ends meet. The dolled up barbies and large dollhouses came from church donations or children's services, there was no way my parents could afford them on minimum wage. My clothes were hand-me-downs, you could find shirts and pants covered in sewn up holes with bright and colorful patchwork throughout my closet. We would run out of food before the month ended, and had to rely on local food pantries to get us through to the first of the next month. I can remember the freezing cold winters when our heat was turned off, and the four of us would layer our clothes and carry blankets around the house. The summers were equally as challenging, as we couldn't always afford air conditioners. The unspoken struggles we carried were hidden from the outside world. As an adult, these financial difficulties continue to plague my life. Since my father's passing in 2016, my family and I have continued to live a paycheck to paycheck life. We're forced to rely on government assistance to cover basic necessities and living expenses. With the ever-increasing cost of living and inflation, it feels we're always falling behind and struggling to get our heads above water. Affording tuition has become more manageable, thanks to scholarships and limited financial assistance programs. However, with tuition fees on the rise, I worry about the day I won't be able to pay in full. I've learned that the stress of financial insecurity not only affects my wallet, but my mental health, relationships, and my future plans. Despite continuing to face this adversity, my experiences have taught me to be resilient, resourceful, and consistent. When life feels impossible, I know that there's a light at the end of the tunnel, even if I'm surrounded by the dark and can't see three feet in front of me. I plan to give back by supporting programs that help those in need, especially low-income families like my own. I'd like to begin by volunteering, advocating for equal access to resources such as housing, education, food, and basic necessities. I'm currently majoring in criminal justice, which allows me the knowledge to advocate for social justice and economic equity. I want to be a voice for those who feel invisible in the face of today's economy and living crisis. I wouldn't wish the struggle of poverty on anyone, no one should have to struggle to survive. By giving back to my community I can help families like mine thrive again, no matter what their struggling with.

Law enforcement officers are held to the highest standard. They're responsible for every life in their jurisdiction. That means every man, woman, and child. They are required to protect and serve everyone, regardless of their race, gender, age, sexuality, etc. Billions of lives are in their hands from sunrise to sunset. Growing up, officers in my hometown didn't believe they were responsible for every life. They believed that they were there to protect the lives of their families, friends, and the wealthy donors that helped build their department and fund their equipment needs. I watched as officers would ignore the calls of the poor, the working class, and the minorities. We would go without their help and rescue; we often had to come together and fix our problems ourselves. That meant dealing with child predators, arsonists, thieves, and attackers of all kinds. It was almost as if there was no justice system or law enforcement department at all. The grown- ups would convene and come up with the best solution for any issues plaguing our communities. The guilty party was at the mercy of hard workers, parents, and veterans. Sometimes I thought that they were better than our justice system. The process to determine the course of action was impartial, and the punishment was always fair. What's better than that? While the adults kept the community clean, safe, and happy, they couldn't handle every situation thrown their way. Sometimes a certain person would be more than they could manage by themselves. For example, when I was 10, there was a man who lived a few houses down from my parents and me. He had an interest in lighting matches. It started out as a small habit--nothing harmful at first. It quickly escalated into him setting multiple businesses and homes on fire. He also had a keen interest in little girls. An arsonist and a pedophile all mixed into one man. He was every parent's worst nightmare. Not only did they have to worry about him setting their homes on fire, but they also had to worry about him targeting their children. The community came together and decided he needed to go. They tried to push him out of town-- well throw him out, really. Unfortunately, he was like a cockroach; he always found a way back in and kept causing problems. Business owners and parents were absolutely furious. When enough was enough, they finally turned to the law. Officers arrested him for his crimes not long after. We finally felt that our community could go back to normal. That was short-lived, as he eventually got out of jail and returned to his old tricks. When the community called on the help of our law enforcement department after he got out, we were ignored time and time again. It was always "we have more important matters at hand" or "we're too busy." It was up to us all over again. That's when I decided that when I became a law enforcement officer, I would protect and serve EVERYONE. Not just those who I love and care about or those who provide me with benefits. Everyone. A good law enforcement officer protects their community and everyone in it. They provide protection, guidance, and security for those who need them. As a law enforcement officer, I will do that. Whichever community I'm chosen to protect, I will go above and beyond to ensure they never question whether I care about them. As for the man who was setting fires, he died. His own work killed him in the end.

First responders are the back bones and often times pillars of our communities. They save lives, hundreds in a days work. They’re angels on earth. If it weren’t for them, so many people wouldn’t be with us today. Our communities would be drastically different without them. That’s why I look forward to pursuing a career in either law enforcement or EMS upon my graduation from Kean University. I’ve always known that I’ve wanted to change lives, save them, keep my community safe. Growing up I had immense respect for the law enforcement officers, paramedics, and firefighters that whizzed around town responding to pleas for help. They worked hard, despite facing challenges at every turn. They don’t get nearly half the recognition they deserve. My mother herself was a paramedic for many years. She worked day and night, hustling and bustling around our hometown responding to calls from people who were sick, in need of help, dying, injured, or just plain scared. She was a valued paramedic and many people that she saved still remember her today. She’s since retired, but even at 63 she still has that mentality to save people regardless of her age and deteriorating health. Her continued attempt to help others is a testament to just how strong and resilient our first responders are. While there are many differing opinions about first responders today, especially with news reports describing incidents where patients were treated horribly. I still believe that we couldn’t function as a whole without them. Law enforcement protects and serves our communities, they keep the bad guys at bay. Paramedics rush to help those in dire need of medical care when they can’t be immediately treated at a hospital. Firefighters put their lives on the line to walk into burning buildings and not only pull out scared residents, but to also attack the raging flames face to face. I’m not entirely sure which career path I’ll choose. I’ve been leaning towards law enforcement, but I’ve always been interested in joining EMS since I was young. What I do know, is I want to make a difference in everyone’s lives. I want to give them a reason to smile. I want to make sure they get the help they need, that their family members and loved ones are given a chance at seeing tomorrow, that the people in my community are safe, and that no one is alone. This scholarship will allow me to take a step in the right direction. I’ll be able to continue my education with the money provided. The education I receive will be so incredibly important when trying to save lives. From what I’ve heard, brilliant minds save lives. I’d like to think our first responders would agree.

College is an unattainable dream for many in my family. There is no legacy of Ivy League schools, high end careers, or a happy ever after. The generations of Browns leave behind a legacy of teen pregnancies, drug & alcohol addictions, mental illness, chronic diseases, poverty, and an early invitation to the grave. Those of us who live past our teen years are often met with a grim fate not much longer after our twenties. We’re lucky if we get to see our sixties. The roots of my family tree date back centuries. The first of our names dates back before the Pilgrims. The branches of each blood line all share the same stories though. Children forced to grow up before the age of 15 to help their families survive. My parents included. In my mother’s very first day of high-school, my grandmother signed her out. She needed her to get a job so she could help put food on the table and keep the younger kids alive. She had to help pay the bills and raise kids that weren’t her own. She was an adult before she ever got the chance to be a child. She was only 14. My father was lucky enough to obtain his GED in his twenties. Shortly thereafter he joined the Navy. He served during the Vietnam war. His role was finding the dead bodies of soldiers and bringing them home. He never talked about the things he had seen. It was obvious that it was painful when you looked into his eyes. My cousins on both sides of my family are all teen parents, addicts, suffering from mental illness, or have cancer and are dying. None of them have ever attended college, some of them finished high school while others simply gave up. They all have the same life. I don’t want that life. I didn’t make it through high school either. My educators failed me when it was obvious I had a learning disorder. They failed me when I begged for time off to mourn the passing of my father when I was 15. They failed me when it was obvious that I could no longer focus on school because all I could think about was how I wanted my life to end. They failed me, so I took matters into my own hands. In February of 2018 I dropped out of high school to pursue my GED instead. It took me a few years to pass the exams, but I finally did it in March of 2021. The day I found out that I passed, I immediately applied to community college. I had one goal in mind. I was going to break the generational cycle. I was the first in my family on either side to attend college. I was the first to graduate as well. I graduated from Brookdale Community College in May of this year. It took so much hard work, but I did it. The tears my mother shed as she watched me walk across that stage were tears from everyone before me. My grandparents who never made it through high school. My uncles and aunts who never got the opportunity to go to college. Every last one. I may have walked the same path as many of them, but I was finally able to unlock the door at the end. I will pave a new way for future generations of my family. Our legacy will change. I will continue to break down the walls. I still have two years left, so my work isn’t done yet. -S

Growing up, from the time I was six years old to the time I was fifteen, I attended more funerals than birthday parties. Every year I was standing before a casket and saying goodbye to yet another loved one. My first funeral was my grandfathers. He had a military funeral and even today I can still hear the guns going off when they did the salute. His death changed the way I looked at the world from a young age. Instead of thinking about rainbows, happiness, and sunshine, all I could think about was sadness and loss. It affected my ability to make friends which resulted in being bullied for years. My first year of middle school I had a friend who threatened to end her life in a letter. Reading those words set me back to the moment I watched my grandfather being lowered in the ground when I was six years old. I told her mother and our teaches and she was sent to counseling. My choice led to her bullying me from the time I was 11 to 13. She tortured me nonstop in middle school. I wanted to end my life, when my only crime was trying to save hers. I was diagnosed with depression, bipolar, anxiety, and PTSD at the young age of 11. I always thought, what do I have to be sad about? I’m just a kid When I was 12 years old, the summer before 7th grade, I went on vacation to an Aunts house. My parents wanted me away from this girl and her friends. They still texted me and harassed me online the entire time I was there. I begged my Aunt to let me go home. She didn’t understand why and even called me a cry baby. What she didn’t know was that I was planning to end my life when I got home. Thankfully my mother found me before it was too late and saved my life. Had she not decided to check on me that day I would’ve never seen my middle school graduation, getting my GED, meeting my boyfriend who’s the love of my life, getting my first pet, getting into college, and meeting my baby sister. I was also around to prevent my own cousin from overdosing when I was 18. I saved his life when he was at his worst. Life today is still difficult while managing to cope with my diagnosis. I do everything in my power to stay alive.