Teaching, to me, is far more than standing at the front of a classroom and delivering information. It is about shaping lives, instilling values, and helping young people grow into the best versions of themselves. My years working as a corrections officer have made that truth impossible to ignore. Every day on the job, I witnessed a heartbreaking pattern, so many of the men and women behind bars had never truly experienced consistent guidance, compassion, or accountability from a strong, caring role model early in life. I began to notice something striking: most of these individuals were not inherently “bad” people. They were often hurt, lost, or misguided, carrying scars from childhoods where no one had stepped up to be a steady, positive presence. In many cases, they had never been told they mattered, never been shown how to make better choices, and never had someone believe in their potential. Without that foundation, small mistakes spiraled into bigger ones, until their paths led them to prison. Over time, I realized that if more young people had a strong male figure in their lives, someone who cared about them, guided them, and held them accountable with love, the number of inmates I saw each day would be drastically lower. That realization planted the seed for my decision to become a teacher. I want to be that figure in the lives of my future students, not to replace a parent, but to serve as another steady source of support and guidance. Beyond academics, I want my students to know they have someone in their corner who sees them not just for who they are now, but for who they can become. I believe that kind of presence can change the entire trajectory of a young person’s life. In my classroom, I hope my students will gain more than knowledge of the subject matter. I want them to develop resilience, the ability to face challenges without giving up. I want them to understand personal responsibility, to learn that choices have consequences, and that they have the power to steer their own futures. Most of all, I want them to feel valued, respected, and heard. When students know they matter, they are more likely to invest in themselves, make better decisions, and chase bigger dreams. I understand the role of a teacher is demanding, but I also know that it is one of the few professions with the potential to impact generations. My time in corrections showed me what can happen when people grow up without the guidance they need. My goal is to stand on the other side of that cycle, to be part of the solution, preventing those missteps before they happen. If I can help even one student avoid the path that leads to a prison cell, then every ounce of effort will have been worth it. For me, teaching isn’t just a career. It’s a calling, one rooted in the belief that care, consistency, and connection can change lives in ways no textbook ever could.

Working as a corrections officer for over three years has given me a different view of the lives of inmates. While I go to school, I still work at the county jail, and one thing I have noticed is that many of the men inside are missing the same important thing: a strong male figure to guide them. This absence seems to affect how they grow and how they handle life’s problems, especially things that a male role model might help with—things women sometimes find harder to teach. Not having a steady male presence is more than just missing a father or brother. It means not having someone who can show how to act, teach how to deal with stress, and help build emotional strength. Many inmates come from homes where women did their best but didn’t always have the experience to give the kind of guidance that young men need. This gap can lead to confusion, anger, and searching for respect in the wrong ways. From what I’ve seen, when there isn’t a strong male figure, boys often don’t get enough structure and discipline growing up. The men I meet in jail sometimes act out because they have deep emotional struggles or didn’t learn how to handle relationships or stress properly. Women are great caregivers, but some parts of growing up male—like dealing with pressure about masculinity, handling fights, or moving in male social groups—can be harder to understand without a male role model. This doesn’t mean women can’t be good mentors, or that every man without a father figure will have problems. Instead, it shows how important positive male role models are. For many inmates, learning how to be strong, respectful, and responsible in a healthy way is key to changing their lives and breaking the cycle of going in and out of jail. My experience has made me think about how important it is to have mentorship programs that focus on giving young men good male role models. If we do this early, fewer men might end up in jail later. In the end, the men I meet remind me that guidance isn’t only about gender—it’s about being there, supporting, and connecting in real ways. But there’s no doubt that a strong male figure can teach important lessons that help fill the gaps left by life’s challenges, and those lessons can change lives. Thank you, Thomas Seppala

Preserving Freedom Through Language The inability to be properly educated about one’s own government leaves people vulnerable to tyranny. History has shown us that censorship and indoctrination are powerful tools used by dictators to control not only actions but also thoughts and beliefs. If people don’t understand how their government works, or worse, are taught a version that benefits those in power, then it becomes incredibly easy to take advantage of them. As educators and citizens, we have to ask ourselves how we prevent this from happening again and again. The answer, while it may sound old-fashioned to some, is surprisingly simple. We must go back to the basics. We must teach students to read and write like our founders did. The Founding Fathers weren’t just revolutionaries with guns. They were thinkers and writers. They expressed complex, world-changing ideas through careful and thoughtful language. They wrote in cursive, used calligraphy, and relied on a deep understanding of formal English to build persuasive and logical arguments. That level of communication and thought didn’t come from casual conversation. It came from real education. That’s why if I had the chance to mandate a class, it would be one focused on formal English, with a strong emphasis on cursive writing, calligraphy, and deep vocabulary study. I believe this kind of course would not only improve literacy but also sharpen students’ ability to think critically. When students learn to read historical documents in their original form, they understand the gravity and depth of the ideas, not just the simplified or filtered version. When they learn the actual meanings of words instead of the watered-down or misused modern versions, they gain real power over language. And when you control language, you control thought. That is the real safeguard against tyranny and manipulation. Some might think this kind of class sounds outdated or impractical in our digital world, but I would argue that is exactly why it is so important. If everything becomes short, casual, and simplified, then complex thought becomes harder and harder. If people can't understand their Constitution, how can they defend it? How can they even recognize when something is not right? Teaching cursive or calligraphy might seem like a small thing, but it connects us to our past. It slows us down and makes us more intentional. It is not just about pretty handwriting. It is about slowing down enough to think clearly and speak truthfully. That, to me, is how we protect democracy: by making sure people can read, write, and think like free citizens.