For as long as I can recall, I've aspired to be the type of adult I lacked in school—someone who really gets students, looks beyond the exterior and recognizes them for what they are, and leads them to start believing in themselves. That's the reason I'm becoming a teacher: so that I can have a lasting impact on the life of a child, particularly one who feels invisible or not quite understood, as I once did. I never really bonded with any of my teachers when I was growing up. I frequently felt as though I was one of a crowd of faces—just another body to manage, not a person to invest in. It was not until I started volunteering with children that I realized the impact that a dedicated, compassionate adult can have. I now volunteer on a regular basis with special-needs kids, and it has been the most rewarding thing in my life. One does not do it for trophies and accolades—one does it for that smile on their face when they feel capable, included, and proud. There is a touch of magic when a child grasps an idea at last. I've witnessed it firsthand—the sparkle in their eye, the grin that creeps onto their face, the self-assurance that grows from the knowledge, "I can do this." That moment, however fleeting it is, is everything. It isn't always about learning math or reading more; it's about believing in themselves. That is the magic of education, and that is the sort of experience I wish to give my future students. What attracts me to teaching is not academics by themselves—it is the potential for a direct, human effect. I wish to be a steady presence in a child's life, a person who appears, hears, and cares. I wish to be that educator who notices the reserved pupil in the rear row who may be having a tough time, the one who praises small victories and makes available a secure space to develop. To me, being a good teacher is about building trust, guiding with empathy, and always showing students that they matter. It's not lost on me that teaching is difficult. It requires patience, imagination, effort, and a whole lot of heart. But I think that every obstacle is worth it when you're helping to shape a child's life. That's why I'm so set on following this path—not because it's simple, but because it's worth it. At the end of the day, I wish for children to be heard, seen, and empowered. I want to be that person who tells them they're capable when they don't even believe so themselves. Education can transform lives, and I'm willing to be that transformation.

Every student has a teacher like that—a teacher who makes all the difference—a teacher who sees your potential before you do and will not allow you to settle for less. Mine was Mrs. Fair. Mrs. Fair taught "Connecting," a course aimed at providing students with hands-on experience in working with students with special needs. I enrolled not quite sure what to anticipate, but soon the class—and Mrs. Fair—altered the direction of my life. What was initially just another elective quickly turned into the door through which I found my passion for special education. Right from the very first day, Mrs. Fair informed us that she required much from us—not effort, but heart. She invested her entire being in teaching disabled students, and she required the same from us. She never gave up on me when I gave up on myself or when I erred. That was what made her exceptional—she noticed something about me that I had not observed about myself yet. There were days I struggled. Days that I didn't feel like I was good enough, or that I didn't know what I was doing, or that maybe I didn't have the patience or the strength to actually do some good. But Mrs. Fair was always there to tell me to keep going. She'd say things like, "You have a gift, Sam. Don't let it go because things are hard right now." And eventually, I started to listen to her. What made her such a great mentor wasn't always her encouragement, though—it was candor. She spoke to me in ways that I did not always want to hear but that I needed to hear. If I was lazy, she called me out on it. If I could have done something differently, she taught me how. She never gave me any BS with her criticism but always framed it in a loving way. Her instruction wasn't of a critical nature—it was to make me better. Above all, Mrs. Fair taught me how to be present for other individuals. To be dependable. To show up. To advocate for those who might not always be able to speak up for themselves. She helped me realize that this work I do with individuals with special needs isn't just something I enjoy doing—it's something I was called to do. Because of her, I've volunteered countless hours with disabled students, and I'm going to get a degree in special education. Mrs. Fair helped me discover my passion, my confidence, and my calling. She pushed me to be better—not in the classroom, but in life. I can only hope to someday be to someone else what she was to me: a mentor, a coach, and a constant reminder that the best version of yourself is always worth fighting for.

When I initially became a member of the swim team, I figured it would be an excellent way to stay in shape. I did not realize how much it would define me—not only as an athlete but as a student, friend, and individual. Swimming has accomplished a lot more than keep me physically in shape; it has assisted me in making friends, building discipline, learning time management skills, and becoming patient. It is in the pool that I have made some of my closest friends. There is something that happens through early morning practice and late night meets that joins people in a special way. We encouraged each other through difficult sets, cheered each other on at meets, and nursed each other through injury. These were not the kind of friendships that dissolved when we left the pool—but formed the basis of my social life and a most significant support network in and out of school. Swimming provided me with a team, but it provided me with a family as well. Aside from friendship, swimming also taught me the value of discipline. Waking up before the sun, training until I was exhausted, and following the practice routine even when I felt like giving up—these were new for me in swimming. But the sport does not reward a half effort. You must be present every day, body and mind, if you are going to get better. That level of dedication has carried over into the way I tackle each area of life, from school to personal aspirations. Time management is yet another skill that I have swimming to thank for. With practices, meets, schoolwork, volunteering, and playing a second varsity sport, there is always something on my plate. Initially, I had trouble keeping up, but swimming compelled me to be organized. I figured out how to prioritize, plan, and make the most of the time that I had. These habits didn't only help me in sports—you improved my grades, my stress level, and my confidence in being able to manage responsibility. Finally, swimming has instilled in me patience. Improvement in this sport is not always fast or apparent. Sometimes you work for months to cut a few seconds from a time. There are injuries, plateaus, and plenty of times when you're convinced you're getting nowhere. But through the years, I learned to trust the process and simply keep at it—even when progress was slow. That patience has enabled me to remain calm and concentrated not only in the pool, but in life. Whether I am teaching special needs children, overcoming academic hurdles, or simply attempting to achieve personal goals, I now realize that good things come with time. Swimming began as yet another extracurricular activity beyond the school, but it has become one of the defining aspects of my personality. The friends I have made, lessons I have learned, and skills I have acquired have all helped shape me into a stronger, more well-adjusted individual. I will take with me long after I graduate from the pool the discipline, time management skills, patience, and friendships I have acquired.