The smell of chlorine, the sound of whistles, and the rush of adrenaline before a race have shaped much of who I am. For over ten years, swimming has taught me discipline, perseverance, and the importance of striving for excellence. As a club and varsity swimmer, I not only push myself to perform at my best but also mentor younger teammates, helping them build confidence, refine technique, and develop sportsmanship. I have worked one-on-one with novice swimmers to improve their strokes, encouraged them to overcome nerves before their first races, and celebrated their progress alongside them. At meets, I time races and organize swimmers on deck, ensuring competitions run efficiently. Through these experiences, I have learned that leadership is as much about supporting others as it is about achieving personal goals. My commitment to service extends beyond athletics. I volunteer at my local library, assisting with children’s programs, organizing activities, and helping young participants engage with reading. One of my most meaningful experiences has been participating in Lauren’s Angels, a clothing drive that raised funds to help a swimmer who became paraplegic after a diving accident. I helped collect and sort donations, assist with the event, and raise awareness in the community. Through our efforts, the organization was able to fund her first car, which was modified for her wheelchair, allowing her to gain independence and feel like a normal teenager again. Being part of a project that directly improved someone’s life and confidence taught me the real impact of dedication, teamwork, and compassion. I have also supported local youth sports organizations by running concession stands and assisting with fundraising. These opportunities have reinforced the idea that even small contributions can create meaningful change, and they have taught me patience, empathy, and a sense of responsibility. Academically, I challenge myself to excel while balancing athletics and volunteering. My coursework, combined with my extracurricular commitments, has taught me resilience, organization, and a strong work ethic. I strive not only to achieve personal success but also to inspire and assist those around me. Whether mentoring young swimmers, helping children engage with reading, or contributing to community events, I have learned that ambition paired with service can create a lasting impact. Receiving the Kalia D. Davis Scholarship would allow me to continue pursuing my academic and athletic goals while expanding my capacity to mentor, volunteer, and contribute meaningfully to my community. It would provide the resources to further develop my leadership skills, support others in achieving their potential, and create positive change in the lives of those around me. This scholarship represents an opportunity to embody the values of dedication, drive, and impact, and to continue making a difference in ways that reflect the qualities it seeks to celebrate.

Epictetus’ saying, “It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters,” really stuck with me when I first read it in my senior year honors philosophy class. At a time when school, college applications, and life in general felt overwhelming, these words gave me a fresh way to think about challenges. Instead of feeling powerless against things beyond my control, I realized I could focus on how I respond. That simple shift brought a surprising sense of calm and control that I had not felt before. It was as if a new door had opened, and it was a way to face difficulties without being swallowed by frustration or anxiety. What Epictetus is really getting at is that while we cannot choose everything life throws at us, we do have the power to decide how to react. That choice shapes whether we stay peaceful or let ourselves get overwhelmed. This idea hit home for me because it puts the responsibility in my own hands, reminding me that true happiness does not depend on outside events but on my mindset. I began to see that while I cannot control the stress of an AP exam or the outcome of my dream college decision, I can control my attitude toward these events. Instead of dreading the unknown or feeling like a victim of circumstance, I could meet each situation with calm and purpose. Stoicism teaches that real freedom comes from mastering ourselves, not trying to control everything around us. By learning to manage my reactions, I can stay grounded even when life gets messy. Holding onto that balance and patience is something I want to carry with me through college and whatever comes next. This kind of inner strength is not about suppressing emotions or pretending everything is fine. Instead, it is about acknowledging feelings honestly but choosing how to respond with wisdom rather than impulse. It is the difference between letting life’s waves toss me around and learning how to surf them. Reading this passage inspired me to slow down and think before reacting. It is about choosing how I respond in a way that matches who I want to be, instead of just reacting on impulse. Life will always throw curveballs, but now I see that peace comes from controlling my own thoughts and actions, not from controlling the world around me. This understanding has influenced how I approach conflict with friends and family, setbacks in school, and even everyday frustrations like unexpected changes in plans. Rather than reacting with anger or disappointment, I try to pause and remind myself of Epictetus’ wisdom. This pause often helps me find a better way forward. I also started to realize that this philosophy extends beyond personal emotions. It applies to how we interact with others and how we navigate social and political challenges. In a world full of uncertainty and rapid change, it is easy to feel overwhelmed by problems that seem beyond any one person’s control. Yet, Epictetus’ lesson reminds me that while I cannot fix every issue or change every opinion, I can control my response to them. Whether it is choosing to listen with empathy, engaging in thoughtful discussion, or simply maintaining hope and kindness, my reactions matter. They shape my character and influence the kind of community I want to help build. Epictetus’ wisdom feels like a guide I will keep coming back to as I move forward. It reminds me that while I cannot control everything that happens, I can always work on building my character and keeping a steady mind no matter what life throws my way. That understanding does not just bring comfort; it fuels a determination to face whatever comes next with clear eyes and an unshakable spirit. This mindset gives me confidence to embrace challenges as opportunities to grow rather than threats to avoid. It encourages me to keep learning and improving, knowing that my reaction is the one thing I truly hold in my hands. Looking back, I realize how this idea has already shaped moments in my life. In my robotics and engineering class, my battlebot repeatedly failed during testing and practice. Instead of giving up, I chose to analyze what went wrong and adjust the design. The setbacks could have been discouraging, but by focusing on my response, I stayed motivated and eventually helped our team build a stronger machine. When family relationships have been tested by misunderstandings at home, I have learned to respond with patience and communication rather than anger and slamming doors. And as I prepare to transition from high school to college, a time filled with both excitement and uncertainty, Epictetus’ teaching is a steady companion. It reminds me that I do not need to fear the unknown or try to control every detail. Instead, I can focus on how I react, grow, and move forward. In a larger sense, this philosophy encourages a kind of resilience that I believe is essential in today’s world. Life will always be unpredictable, and setbacks are inevitable. But the power to decide my attitude, to find calm in chaos, and to act with intention is something no external force can take away. Epictetus calls us to find freedom not by changing the world, but by changing ourselves. That is a challenge I am ready to accept as I begin this new chapter of my life.

Picture this: you stroll into your favorite coffee shop, order your go-to drink, and never have to worry about someone sneaking a peek at your payment info. That’s the kind of peace cybersecurity can bring; not just locking down data but protecting the people and moments that make a community feel like home. I want to use my skills to help local businesses and healthcare providers keep their digital doors locked tight against cyber threats. When we protect the stuff that matters, from wallets to well-being, we help everyone relax and enjoy life a little more. After all, life’s better when you can sip your coffee without a side of stress.

If life had an official soundtrack for me, it would probably be equal parts keyboard clicking, coffee brewing, and electric motor humming. As a first-year computer science student at the Rochester Institute of Technology, I’m on a mission to turn curiosity and caffeine into programs that actually make a difference. My tech journey got a major upgrade when I landed an internship at Oriva, a fintech startup. Working side-by-side with the founder on user experience testing, platform development, and launching new features taught me a few things. First, startups run on big ideas and way too much coffee. Second, turning code into tools people love is the best kind of challenge. That experience sharpened my technical skills and showed me firsthand how innovative ideas become real products that improve people’s financial lives. It made clear to me that I want to build technology that changes lives, not just lines of code. At RIT, I’m pursuing a combined Bachelor’s and Master’s degree in Computer Science and Software Engineering. I plan to focus on creating smart software that expands accessibility and education through fintech and sustainable electric vehicles. Imagine AI-powered budgeting apps that don’t just nag you but actually help you save, or embedded systems that make electric motorcycles run smoother than a fresh cup of espresso. Joining the RIT Electric Vehicle Motorcycle team is a no-brainer for me. Troubleshooting battery management or fine-tuning embedded software hits the same sweet spot as debugging code, just with more horsepower. I’m also excited to explore other clubs and projects that push my limits and connect me with like-minded innovators. My plan includes serious coursework and hands-on projects, but I’m not all books and no play. Instead of just hitting hackathons, I will be programming for RIT’s VEX Robotics team, applying my coding skills in a competitive, fun, and sometimes chaotic environment. Real-world experience like this helps me connect theory to practice and makes late nights debugging code a little less painful. Computer science, to me, is about more than just writing programs. It is the art of solving problems and making technology that works for people. Whether it’s refining algorithms to make fintech more accessible or creating software that powers clean energy vehicles, I want my work to have a meaningful impact. The time I'm spending with Oriva fires up my passion for innovation, and I’m ready to turn that passion into expertise and leadership at RIT. I plan to graduate not only with degrees but also with a portfolio full of projects and stories that prove I’m serious about making technology matter.

When you watch LeBron James play, it’s like witnessing a masterclass in basketball in real time. Every move is calculated, every pass is intentional, and every game is another chapter in one of the most remarkable careers in sports history. From the moment he entered the NBA as a teenager with the weight of the world on his shoulders, I’ve been a fan. I admire LeBron not just because of what he’s accomplished on the court, but because of the way he’s done it. He’s a rare blend of strength, skill, and intelligence. He can drop 40 points when needed, or he can step back and dish out 15 assists if that’s what the team needs. He makes the players around him better, and he does it with a level of poise and maturity that’s inspiring. What truly stands out, though, is his consistency. For over 20 years, he’s been a dominant force, never losing his edge. He’s played in more Finals than most players dream of, broken records that once seemed untouchable, and remained at the top of his game well into his 30s and now 40s. That kind of longevity is almost unheard of in professional sports. Off the court, he’s just as legendary. LeBron uses his platform to speak out on important social issues, something many athletes shy away from. He’s opened a school for at-risk youth in his hometown of Akron, Ohio, and has become a powerful voice for change. He’s also a savvy businessman and a role model who’s never lost sight of his values or his community. So is LeBron James the greatest basketball player of all time? That depends on how you define greatness. If championships are your standard, Michael Jordan’s six rings still hold strong. Jordan was fearless, dominant, and iconic, and he changed the game forever. But if greatness means more than just titles...if it includes leadership, versatility, longevity, and off-court impact...then LeBron has a serious claim to the throne. He’s the NBA’s all-time leading scorer, top five in assists, and still playing at an elite level in his 40s. He’s won championships with different teams in different eras, constantly adapting and evolving. For me, the GOAT debate isn’t about picking one name and shutting down the conversation. It’s about appreciating greatness in all its forms. LeBron James may not be everyone’s number one, but his impact on basketball and the world around him is undeniable. And that’s why I’m a fan. Because watching LeBron isn’t just watching a game, it’s watching history in motion.

Imagine a world without math. No phones, no internet, no pizza slices shared equally. Scary, right? That’s why I love math. It’s the quiet superhero behind everything we do. Math isn’t just about numbers or formulas; it’s a way of thinking that makes sense of chaos. I enjoy how math challenges me to solve puzzles that have clear, definitive answers. Unlike most things in life, math doesn’t argue with you. Two plus two will always be four, no matter how much you plead or bargain. What excites me most is the problem-solving adventure. Tackling a tough math problem feels like cracking a code. Sometimes it is frustrating, sometimes thrilling, but always rewarding. It sharpens my mind and keeps me curious. Plus, math is surprisingly creative. Finding different ways to solve the same problem reminds me that there is rarely just one right answer in life. Math’s impact on the real world also fascinates me. From coding apps to designing buildings, math is the foundation of innovation. It is the tool that transforms ideas into reality. Knowing this motivates me to keep learning because every new concept brings me closer to understanding and shaping the world. Math has also taught me patience and persistence. When a problem seems impossible, it is tempting to give up. But math encourages me to keep trying, to break big problems into smaller steps, and to celebrate small victories along the way. Ultimately, I love math because it combines logic, creativity, and practical power. It is a challenge, a puzzle, and a universal language all at once. And while it may not be the most glamorous subject, math is the reason we can build bridges, explore space, and yes, even share pizza slices fairly.

There was a point in high school when I could swim laps for hours and still feel like I was drowning in pressure. It was then I realized that physical strength means little without mental balance—and both are essential to thrive. Throughout high school, I competed on both my club and high school swim teams. Swimming was more than a sport for me; it was part of my identity. My schedule was intense: early morning practices, afternoon training sessions, weekend meets, and the constant drive to beat my personal best. I was proud of my physical discipline, but over time, I began to notice cracks beneath the surface. By junior year, the pressure of schoolwork, swim performance, and looming college decisions caught up with me. I was constantly tired, unmotivated, and on edge. At first, I chalked it up to normal stress, but eventually I recognized the signs: I was mentally and emotionally drained. Instead of pushing through like I always had, I made a choice that changed everything. I started meeting with a counselor once a week. Those sessions became a safe space where I could talk through my stress and learn tools to manage it—like setting healthy boundaries, breaking down overwhelming tasks, and building a more compassionate mindset. I began to understand that mental wellness deserves the same attention and training as physical strength. At the same time, I changed my relationship with swimming. I still trained hard, but I learned to listen to my body. I prioritized recovery, nutrition, and sleep. I focused on consistency over intensity, and that shift brought surprising results. I felt more grounded, more in control, and—ironically—faster in the water. This experience reshaped my definition of success. It’s not about perfection or pushing until you break. It’s about knowing yourself well enough to recognize when you need help, and strong enough to seek it. I became a better student, a more thoughtful leader on my swim team, and a more balanced person. As I prepare for college, these lessons are coming with me. I plan to continue swimming recreationally or competitively, and I’ll use campus mental health resources when needed. I know now that taking care of myself isn’t something I have to earn by succeeding—it’s the foundation that makes success possible. Choosing to prioritize my physical and mental health gave me more than better grades or faster swim times. It gave me clarity, resilience, and purpose. And in a world that often tells us to go faster, I’ve learned the value of slowing down just enough to stay strong.

My interest in computer science began not in a classroom but at my family’s kitchen table. As a middle schooler, I would watch my older cousin build websites for his small business clients. I was fascinated by how a few lines of code could bring something to life on a screen, something others could see, click, and use. He introduced me to HTML and JavaScript, and I started experimenting on my own. What began as curiosity quickly turned into a passion. I built simple webpages, dabbled in Python, and created a small text-based adventure game that sparked excitement in ways no other subject had before. In high school, I took AP Computer Science and realized this was more than a hobby. I loved how programming blended logic with creativity. I could build something from scratch, solve real-world problems, and constantly challenge myself to learn more. This led to an internship at a fintech startup, where I helped develop a platform that made collaborative payments easier for groups donating to causes or splitting expenses. There, I saw firsthand how technology can create positive social impact, and that solidified my desire to pursue a degree in computer science. My ultimate goal is to become a software engineer focused on building inclusive technology, tools that serve underserved communities, improve access to education, or empower individuals through financial tools. Whether I am working for a nonprofit, a tech company, or founding my own venture, I want my work to make life easier, fairer, and more connected for as many people as possible. I believe I am the best candidate for this scholarship because of my commitment to using technology for good and my proven work ethic. I have already applied my skills in real-world projects that benefited others, and I have done so while balancing academics, leadership roles, and community service. I do not see computer science as just a career path. I see it as a way to make a meaningful difference. I am not just passionate about coding; I am driven to solve problems that matter. This scholarship would not only support my educational journey but also fuel the larger mission I have already begun. It would allow me to continue pursuing opportunities that deepen my skills and expand my impact. With it, I can stay focused on what matters most: learning, building, and giving back through technology.

Making Giving Simple: My Internship with Oriva What if giving could be as easy as sending a text? That question sparked my passion for a project that became one of the most meaningful experiences in my journey as a young technologist. I spent the summer before college working as a Software Development Intern at Oriva, Inc., a pre-launch fintech startup on a mission to make collaborative payments easy and purposeful. Whether it was for charitable campaigns, group dinners, or shared expenses, Oriva aimed to simplify the process of pooling funds, bringing people together financially with just a few clicks. From the moment I joined, I was drawn to the company’s emphasis on social good. Oriva wasn’t just building a payment platform. It was designing a tool that empowered generosity. As someone who values both technology and community, I saw this as an opportunity to create something that could make a real difference. I contributed primarily to front-end development and user experience design. My role was to build and refine the collaborative payment flow, where multiple users could contribute to a single campaign. During internal UX testing, we ran mock charitable drives to see how early users interacted with the product. Their feedback helped me implement improvements like visual confirmations after each donation, invitation prompts that made it easier to loop in friends, and progress bars to show how close a group was to their goal. Seeing users react positively to these small features was incredibly rewarding. These changes weren’t just technical enhancements. They made people more confident and comfortable using the platform to give. That’s when I realized how even the tiniest piece of code could have an outsized human impact. As the team prepared for launch, I focused on optimizing the platform for mobile responsiveness and onboarding new users. I wanted the first impression to feel welcoming and clear. At the same time, I took part in broader strategy discussions, helping define user personas, analyze competitors, and shape the language we used to explain Oriva’s mission. Those conversations taught me how closely product development must align with real-world needs and values. Working on Oriva inspired me in two powerful ways. First, it showed me how software development can be a form of problem-solving that directly improves people’s lives. Second, it reinforced the idea that the best technology is human-centered. It doesn’t just run smoothly. It connects people, builds trust, and encourages action. This experience has shaped how I see my future in tech. I plan to pursue a degree in computer science, not just to learn how to write cleaner code or master new frameworks, but to keep working on projects that matter. I want to build tools that promote access, equity, and community, whether that’s through education, healthcare, or financial inclusion. Oriva showed me what’s possible when mission-driven development meets thoughtful design. It reminded me that code can be more than functional. It can be meaningful. And it taught me that being a technologist means more than solving technical problems. It means listening, adapting, and designing for the people who matter most: the users whose lives your work might touch.

Throughout school, I built a reputation as the guy who solves problems sideways. I don’t just tackle challenges head-on; I look for creative angles, strange solutions, and unconventional strategies. So, when my senior year rolled around and I faced the ultimate test in a BattleBots-style robotics competition, I was ready to put that reputation to the test. The competition was fierce, and my final opponent was no stranger. It was my academic nemesis, the know-it-all who had been in every advanced class with me since middle school. We had competed over grades, debates, and test scores for years. But this time, we weren’t battling with Scantrons. We were battling with bots. My robot, affectionately named Kill Dozer, was a miniature bulldozer built for strength and traction. It dominated the early rounds by flipping and shoving opponents out of the arena with raw force. I was confident my low, wedged design would give me the edge. But then I saw his robot. His design was short, wide, and nearly impossible to get underneath. The front plow hugged the ground so tightly it may as well have been glued to it. My bot’s main advantage—getting under and flipping opponents—was useless. For the first time in the tournament, I was stuck. I had two options: admit defeat or change the game. With only a few days before the final, I chose the latter. I thought back to when I used to roughhouse with my younger brother. I would hold his head away with my longer arms while he flailed helplessly. That memory sparked a new idea. If I couldn’t go under, maybe I could go over. I designed a detachable, jointed arm with a claw that could reach over his robot’s plow and grab the top. It sounded simple, but the execution was anything but. I had to 3D print new brackets, reprogram our control system, reinforce the bot’s center of gravity, and balance weight to keep the drive base stable. The arm was clunky at first, and testing was nerve-wracking. But the potential was there. On match day, the crowd expected the same head-on pushing match they had seen all tournament. Instead, they watched a mechanical chess game. His robot rushed in, plow first. Mine spun, raised its arm, and reached over the shield. The claw caught. With one awkward twist, I tipped his robot sideways. Its wheels spun helplessly in the air. The buzzer rang. I won. The crowd erupted. Judges and classmates rushed over, not just to congratulate me, but to ask how I had pulled it off. That moment, when others were surprised, impressed, and delighted by my unexpected, last-minute hack, was more satisfying than the trophy itself. This experience taught me that hacking and tinkering are not just about technical skill. They are about creativity under pressure, the courage to try something unconventional, and the persistence to keep working until an idea clicks. Since then, I’ve applied that same mindset to coding projects, design problems, and leadership roles. Yes, my rival is still bitter about the loss. But to me, the real victory was seeing others inspired by what can happen when you refuse to give up, think differently, and make something truly unexpected.

Most people think of calculus as the reason their high school GPA took a hit. Computer scientists know better. Behind every self-driving car, facial recognition system, and TikTok recommendation lies a hidden hero: calculus. It may not be the flashiest part of computer science, but without it, the field would lose its predictive power, optimization techniques, and problem-solving depth. In the world of computer science, calculus is not just useful. It is foundational. Algorithms that drive machine learning, computer vision, and even simple animation rely heavily on calculus concepts. For example, gradient descent, one of the core algorithms used to train neural networks, uses derivatives to find the minimum of a function by reducing error step by step. Without this calculus-based optimization, artificial intelligence would not be nearly as “intelligent.” When I first encountered calculus, I expected dry graphs and long equations. Instead, I found a toolkit for unlocking real-world problems. As someone deeply interested in computer science, I quickly saw how these concepts translated to code. Integration became a way to calculate total cost or accumulated change in a system. Derivatives were no longer abstract slopes; they were keys to improving performance in iterative algorithms. Calculus also plays a huge role in bringing realism to digital experiences. In game development and simulations, it determines object motion, lighting changes, and fluid dynamics. In cybersecurity, it is used in cryptographic algorithms and data analysis. In short, if a program needs to react, predict, or optimize, there is probably calculus behind the scenes making it happen. More than its applications, though, calculus teaches a valuable way of thinking. It emphasizes precision and logical structure. You learn to approach problems step by step, to test edge cases carefully, and to think not just about current values but how they will evolve over time. These are the same skills I use when debugging code, designing algorithms, or improving software performance. Calculus trained my mind for computational problem-solving even before I fully appreciated its power. What makes calculus especially important in computer science is its adaptability. It connects theory to practice. It allows us to model systems that evolve over time, whether we are analyzing the fluctuating load on a server or predicting the path of a drone. As technology continues to progress into fields like real-time data processing, robotics, and quantum computing, calculus remains a core tool in the problem-solver’s toolbox. In my own projects, from developing basic game physics engines to training simple machine learning models, I have seen how calculus transforms code from functional to intelligent. It is not about memorizing equations; it is about learning how to think systematically about change, complexity, and control. So, while some may see calculus as a difficult math class to get through, I see it as the engine behind innovation in computer science. It is not just part of the code; it powers what the code can become.

Most people bring school spirit to competitions; I brought a miniature killdozer. Throughout my school career, I built a reputation for solving problems in unconventional ways. But nothing tested my creativity and resilience more than my final high school robotics competition. It was the culmination of years of learning, building, and friendly rivalry. It was here that I faced tremendous adversity and, through persistence and ingenuity, achieved something I’ll never forget. The challenge was a BattleBots-style tournament, and my opponent in the final round was none other than my academic nemesis. He was the kind of classmate who always seemed a step ahead and never missed a chance to remind you of it. My robot, a tank-like brute designed to overpower with strength, had bulldozed its way to the finals by flipping and ramming opponents out of the arena. I felt confident. Then I saw his design. His robot was everything mine wasn’t: low-profile, deceptively simple, and functionally perfect. It had a wide plow that hugged the floor so closely that my robot’s main weapon, its lifting arm, was completely ineffective. Every tactic I tried failed. I couldn’t get underneath. I couldn’t push through. Every angle of attack was neutralized. I was stuck, and with the finals only days away, defeat seemed inevitable. In that moment of frustration, inspiration struck. I remembered something from childhood: how I used to keep my younger brother at bay by holding his head at arm’s length while he swung at air. That memory sparked a radical idea. If I couldn’t get under my opponent’s bot, what if I went over it? With only three days left, I completely reimagined my strategy. Instead of tearing my robot apart, I built an add-on. It was a detachable, jointed arm with a claw designed to reach over and grab the top of my opponent’s robot, bypassing the impenetrable plow entirely. The design was clunky and untested. I had to 3D-print new brackets, reprogram my bot’s controls, and redistribute internal components to maintain balance. I barely slept, troubleshooting one issue after another. Every part of the process pushed my limits, from mechanical engineering to time management to raw perseverance. The day before the match, I ran my first full test. The claw worked, just barely. It was slow, awkward, and imprecise. But it reached, and that was enough. During the final, the crowd expected another show of brute force. Instead, they saw strategy. As my opponent’s robot charged, I pivoted mine, raised the new arm, and clamped the claw down over the top of his machine. With one ungraceful pull, I tipped his bot sideways. His wheels spun helplessly in the air. The buzzer rang. I had won. That experience taught me that true achievement is not always about raw strength or perfect execution. It is about thinking differently under pressure, being willing to change course, and solving problems creatively even when the odds are stacked against you. It is a lesson I have carried into programming, engineering projects, and everyday challenges. I didn’t just win a robotics competition. I discovered the power of adaptability and resilience. And yes, my academic rival is still a little bitter. But to me, that victory was more than a trophy. It was proof that I can rise to any challenge, no matter how impossible it seems.

They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but in my case, it was served in a chlorinated pool, racing against my younger brother. I met Coach Bishop during my senior year, a time when most athletes are expected to lead. But instead of feeling confident, I felt uncertain. I had always loved swimming, but I wasn’t sure I had what it took to finish strong or make a lasting impact on the team. Then Coach Bishop stepped onto the pool deck, and everything began to change. He was new to our school but not new to coaching. From the start, he brought energy, structure, and a booming voice that could cut through the noise of even the busiest practice. What stood out most, however, was his heart. He learned our names within days, remembered our times, and made it clear that he cared about us as people, not just athletes. Coach Bishop reminded me of what I’ve learned about David G. Sutton. Like Dave, he was tough but fair, demanding but deeply supportive. He pushed us to be better swimmers, but more importantly, better teammates. He had a sharp wit and a sense of humor that made even the hardest sets bearable. He believed in showing up, working hard, and lifting each other up. One moment that defined his impact came before a meet against our biggest rival, which happened to be my younger brother’s high school. He had made varsity as a freshman, and I was determined not to let him beat me. I was so focused on winning that I lost sight of everything else. Coach Bishop noticed my tension and pulled me aside. He said, “Swim your race, not his. You don’t prove anything by beating someone else. You prove it by being your best.” That moment stayed with me. It wasn’t just about swimming. It was about character. I swam that race with a clear head and ended up setting a personal best. It happened not because I was trying to beat my brother, but because I was focused on my own growth. Coach Bishop helped me find that version of myself. He taught me that strength is not just physical. It is emotional and mental as well. He showed me that humor can break tension, that loyalty builds trust, and that belief in others can be the most powerful motivator of all. I try to carry those values with me every day. Whether it is encouraging a teammate after a tough practice or supporting a friend outside of school, I strive to be someone others can count on. I have learned that resilience means pushing through setbacks, and that real leadership is about lifting others up. As I prepare for college, I carry with me the lessons Coach Bishop taught me. These lessons reflect the legacy of David G. Sutton. Like Dave, Coach Bishop was one in a million. Thanks to him, I feel ready to face whatever comes next, one stroke at a time.

In a world where heroes often wear capes, I found mine in a cardigan. When I reflect on the individuals who have profoundly influenced my life, my best friend's father stands out. He is not just a mentor but a guiding light whose impact has been both meaningful and enduring. He embodies the qualities of a role model, a guide, and a steady presence. His influence is clear in his unwavering support. Whether inviting me to attend his college lectures at Villanova or cheering at weekend soccer games, he consistently makes time for others. His presence is never performative. It is genuine, quiet, and deeply felt. This reliability has taught me the importance of being present for others and that true leadership involves action, not just words. What makes his mentorship even more meaningful is how it’s wrapped in shared interests and moments of joy. One of the earliest connections we formed was over our mutual love of Star Wars. I still remember our animated debates about whether Luke or Anakin had the more compelling arc, or how we both agreed that The Empire Strikes Back was the pinnacle of storytelling. These conversations were not just about fandom. They were about values: hope, redemption, and the struggle between light and dark. Through these stories, he showed me that even flawed heroes can rise and that resilience often comes from the most unexpected places. Our bond deepened through our shared appreciation of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. He introduced me to the show, insisting that beneath the campy exterior was a narrative rich with metaphor and meaning. He was right. Watching Buffy navigate high school, demons (literal and figurative), and the weight of responsibility became a shared ritual. He pointed out how Buffy’s strength was not just in her powers but in her compassion, loyalty, and ability to keep going even when the world felt like it was falling apart. These were the same qualities I saw in him. His approach to guidance is rooted in empathy and understanding. He listens attentively, offers thoughtful advice, and encourages personal growth. His respect for others fosters an environment where people feel valued. This has inspired me to adopt a similar approach in my own relationships, striving to uplift and support those around me. A particularly memorable moment came when I faced a difficult decision about my academic future. His counsel helped me navigate the situation and emphasized the importance of aligning choices with personal values and long-term goals. He didn’t tell me what to do. Instead, he asked questions, listened, and helped me find clarity. That experience showed me the power of mentorship that empowers rather than directs. His influence extends beyond personal interactions. As a college professor, he demonstrates a commitment to excellence and a passion for education that resonates with his students. His dedication to creating a learning environment where curiosity is nurtured and critical thinking is encouraged has shaped how I view education and its role in personal development. In conclusion, my best friend's father exemplifies the qualities of a father figure through his consistent support, empathetic guidance, and dedication to excellence. Whether discussing the philosophy of the Jedi or the symbolism in Sunnydale, he has helped shape my values and aspirations. As I begin my college journey, I carry with me the lessons he imparted—lessons about integrity, compassion, and the quiet strength of those who lead not with capes, but with cardigans.

Swimming has been a central part of my life ever since elementary school. What started as a way to splash around and escape the summer heat quickly turned into an eleven-year adventure with my club team, followed by four years on my high school varsity swim team. If you had told me back then that I would be voluntarily waking up before sunrise for practice, I probably would have laughed loudly. But here I am, grateful for every early morning, every exhausting workout, and every race where I just hoped I did not embarrass myself too much. Swimming taught me discipline in a way that no amount of homework ever could. I learned that showing up is half the battle, but the other half is showing up and actually giving it your all, even when your muscles feel like jelly and your brain is still asleep. There were plenty of days I wanted to trade my goggles for a Netflix marathon, but swimming pushed me to keep going, and those lessons spilled over into my academics and daily life. It is a weird feeling to know that if you can survive a 5 a.m. swim practice, you can probably survive a tough test or a long day without losing your mind. Besides teaching me grit, swimming introduced me to an incredible group of people. Team practices were more than just drills and laps. They were a place where friendships grew, where inside jokes were formed, and where we celebrated even the smallest victories together. I have come to realize that the best part of the sport is not just shaving seconds off my time, but the support and camaraderie that come with it. Plus, if you ever want a great excuse to skip chores, saying you have swim practice is pretty foolproof. Looking ahead to college at Rochester Institute of Technology, I am excited to keep swimming on the club team. It will not be varsity-level competition, but I plan to bring the same passion, humor, and determination that swimming has taught me over the years. It is more than just a sport to me. It has been a constant reminder that hard work, community, and a little bit of humor can help you through any challenge. In the end, swimming has shaped who I am in so many ways. From the early mornings to the endless laps, I have learned resilience, teamwork, and how to laugh at myself along the way. I am thankful for every splash, every sore muscle, and every memory made in the pool. And honestly, I cannot wait to keep diving into whatever comes next.