Lake Michigan Credit Union
HUTT 2020 Celebrating 30 Years
ABOUT THE HUTT SCHOLARSHIP
Lake Michigan Credit Union is pleased to present the 2020 Lloyd F. Hutt Scholarship winners’ essays. LMCU takes great pride in its ongoing support of education, and encourages students to pursue their dreams. This scholarship program provides financial resources to help make those dreams a reality. Established in 1990, this scholarship program recognizes and honors the contributions of our founder, Lloyd F. Hutt. Applications were submitted from 17 states, including Michigan and Florida. We are proud to have provided $421,500 in scholarships to 252 deserving students over the years. Each year, a topic is selected to serve as the central essay theme. High school seniors are invited to develop and write an essay based on that theme. This year’s topic: “In 30 years, what’s the one thing you hope you still have and why?” An independent panel of judges was assembled to review all submissions. Each essay was evaluated for content and passion. Essays were assessed in a blind process in which the identities of all authors were concealed. Judges had no knowledge of entrants’ grades, accomplishments or school district. The essays that follow were selected as our 2020 Hutt recipients, and each student author will receive a $2,000 check to be used toward their higher education needs. The following essays appear as they were submitted by the student, without edits. Congratulations to this year’s winners!
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Essay Winners: Massan Akolly ................................................................................................................ 1-2 Iliana Argueta.................................................................................................................3-4 Lucas Babcock...............................................................................................................5-6 Isabelle Borr................................................................................................................... 7-8 Alexis Chandler ............................................................................................................9-10 Ella DeVries .............................................................................................................. 11-12 Erin Gaynor ............................................................................................................... 13-14 Mya Gregory...............................................................................................................15-16 Natalie Hammer ........................................................................................................17-18 Blaine Hynde............................................................................................................. 19-20 Malack Jallad ............................................................................................................ 21-22 Shaylee Lang .............................................................................................................23-24 Jenna Mustapha....................................................................................................... 25-26 Christina Soriero ....................................................................................................... 27-28 Maggie Zanlungo ...................................................................................................... 29-30 Judges: External Judging Panel.................................................................................................... 32
In 30 years if there is one thing that I can keep, it would be my confidence because my confidence is the reason why I surpassed my pass obstacles. It’s also the reason why I never gave up my dream even if it seems impossible to realize in some of my family members’ eyes. Let me tell you how my confidence helped in the past and the way it impacted my goal. With confidence, I am able to believe that I can realize goals that would be beneficial for the world.
Massan Akolly The Potter’s House High School Michigan State University Biochemistry
MY JOURNEY WITH CONFIDENCE
Being a girl and willing to go to college in my country especially in my family has been always a big question. I come from Togo which is a French country in West Africa. Neither of my parents graduated from college. My older sister didn’t have a chance to go to college after graduating from high school. I had been separated from my dad for a long time because of him trying to gain money in a foreign country so we could go to school. I had a hard time at Togolese’s school because some of my teachers would give me a bad grade and told me that girls are not supposed to have a better grade than boys. My teachers in Togo would always look down at me because I am a girl. They had finally accepted to give me the grade I deserved because I motivated some of my friends’ parents to advocate for us (the students who are being oppressed). I didn’t give up or just cry on my situation because I had confidence and I knew that I could do it. Not only girls’ parents advocate but, boys’ parents advocated also because I explained to them that by not giving the right grade to the girls, the boys’ dignity is being persecuted also. Confidence is an essential tool in my life because it led me to believe in my dream. I realized since when I was a kid that kids have dreams based on what surrounds them. When you ask kids what they want to do in the future, they all have an answer for it, usually based on their parents’ profession or their favorite activity. I was born and raised in Togo as you know it. If you had asked me when I was about 6 years old about what I wanted to do in the future, I would answer, “I want to become someone who works with money so my family will never be in need anymore.” Finances have been a consistent problem in my family, so that was my only concern when I was a kid. When I got into 4th grade, my mom and sisters got sick. I was the only one who didn’t get sick at that time, and I felt so useless because I couldn’t help them. When we got to the hospital, there were not enough doctors to help us and they would not do it without money. I have to go help my neighbors in order to gain a little money to call
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my father who lives in the USA to let him know what was happening. He didn’t have a stable job at that time so he was only able to send money to us after three weeks. I was devasted by the situation but I had confidence so I decided that I should become in order to prevent that situation to happen to anyone else. When I got to the 6th grade, I learned that one of my older sisters had passed away before I was born. She died because they didn’t have enough money to pay for her heart surgery. Since then, I have really wanted to become that person who would not let health-related drama happen to another family. I didn’t hate the healthcare workers for what has happened at that time but instead, it has given me the inspiration to become a better doctor than them. With having confidence, I know that it’s possible. Now I am sure about why I want to become a surgeon: to be able to help families like mine who need someone to help with surgery and other medical needs, regardless of money. My dream is to be able to perform surgeries for needy people all over the world. I have always been told that my dreams are so big that it is impossible to reach. Hearing those words would make many teenagers want to give up but not me. I never think about giving up because inside of me I have confidence I can do it. I know it would be difficult but I have always been a fighter in my life so I know I can accomplish my goals. In order for my dream to accomplish, I would have to go to college and be able to pay for it. As a fighter and someone who is really willing to accomplish her goals, I decided to work as a phlebotomist and a medical during my journey to become a surgeon. But, I know that that is not going to be enough to pay for college. For that reason, I am also applying for financial aid and scholarships. By having confidence in the present, I have been able to believe in my goals so, 30 years from now, I want to still have it in order to perform surgery on my patients with confidence and be able to also impact the medical field in the future. Thank you for your time. I hope you will consider me for the scholarship.
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Forty-Eight. Almost half a century’s worth of life experiences and growth. In thirty years, I hope to still have the motivation to break the stereotypes that society has for people like me. I am the daughter of a Salvadoran immigrant mother who worked endlessly to send me to private schools. My glazed brown skin set me apart from those in my predominately white schools. The stereotypes never failed. They followed me constantly. I was judged based off of the color of my skin rather than my character.
Iliana Argueta West Catholic High School Wayne State University Social Work
FORTY-EIGHT
School taught me what being a minority really meant. For most of my classmates I was their first encounter with someone who did not look like them. Elementary school was easy for the most part. Kids are always kinder at that age. However, I remember being made fun of for my accent. I asked a boy in my kindergarten ask if he, “wanted to be mi friend” and his response was a laugh. That night I went home and refused to speak Spanish with my family. I never wanted to feel that type of shame mixed with rejection again. I was six. I expected high school to be a better transition because I thought there would be more diversity. I was wrong. Once again I was one out of a handful of colored students in the entire school. However, high school exposed me to the misconceptions my peers had about my legal status. My freshman year was the beginning of Trump’s 2016 presidential campaign. Somehow Trump and his wall would come up in every class (or at least it seemed) and I immediately felt all eyes on me to see how I would react to his controversial statements. Many of my classmates would ask questions that hinted to whether or not I was an illegal immigrant. Some would ask, “But where are you really from?” As if a Hispanic person being born in downtown Grand Rapids was so hard to believe. Some would even go to the extent of degrading their class grade because, “English isn’t even your first language and you have a better grade in the class than me and I’ve spoken English my whole life.” My classmates were shocked that I was in advanced classes because I was not a native speaker; they only saw me for my color and expected me to fit their conception of a stereotypical Hispanic. I was fifteen. The summer going into my junior year I was fortunate enough to spend two weeks exploring ten states with fifty of my classmates. It was one of the most incredible life experiences. We visited Mount Rushmore on the eleventh day. My friends and I were taking pictures, laughing, and taking in the greatness. A few moments later, a parent chaperone came up to our small group and said,
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“I just went up to a group of Mexicans and asked if they thought Trump’s face should be added to the sculpture and they walked away. They’re probably illegal.” I always knew that I was different but it was in that moment that I realized what it meant to be an outsider. I was sixteen. Over the span of my eighteen years, I have heard many ignorant and hateful comments. These encounters did hurt for a moment but they always added fuel to my already burning fire. My grandmother and mother worked extremely hard to ensure that I could have more opportunities than they could imagine. They left everything they knew and struggled for grandchildren and children that at the time did not exist. I make sure to strive to be the best version of myself to ensure that their efforts were not in vain. Society paints people like me to be lazy, less educated, and unmotivated. These stereotypes push me to want to be better than I am. They push me to work harder and fight to show others that color does not determine character and ethic. Stereotypes leave people like me at an unfair disadvantage. Accomplishing goals is already hard; but, imagine first having to prove and then defend your worth. I am motivated to show those who have cast judgment on me based on my color that I am capable of so much more than their perceptions of me. I strive to be the best version of myself because not only do I represent myself but also the incredible women who sacrificed everything to give me the life they never had. In thirty years, I hope to continue bettering myself in order to help reinvent society’s view on minorities and say goodbye to the stereotypes that I know too well.
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I thought about this prompt for quite a while before I finally sat down to answer it. My mind went over the different possible answers, everything from materialistic objects to family and friends, before I finally realized something; I didn’t want to have to choose just one thing because I’m passionate about a lot of different subjects. The things that I believe in are part of what makes me who I am. With that though, I also have to acknowledge that over time those things can shift and people change. So I decided that it didn’t really matter what my future held for me, as long as I was passionate about it. If I had to choose just one thing that I still could have in life 30 years down the road, it would be passion.
Lucas Babcock Reeths Puffer High School Lansing Community College American Sign Language
THE IMPORTANCE OF PASSION
Defined as strong, barely controllable emotion or an intense desire or enthusiasm for something, passion in itself is the root of all joy and inspiration. While many things in a person’s life change over time, passion is the one thing that drives us, without it everything would lose its meaning. It gets people excited about things, and makes them happy to see the people they love the most. It is how people can recall happy memories so vividly, and how they keep going through obstacles to get what they want in life. Passion in my own life is how I’ve gotten to where I am now. I’ve pushed myself through a lot of exhausting days at work and a lot of tear-filled conversations to get to where I am today, and I believe that this has helped me grow as a person. I have realized that maturity isn’t only measured in age, but also in our experiences - how we handle ourselves through the good and the bad. With all the struggles I’ve been through with my own physical and mental health, my identity as an LGBT+ person, relationships with my family, friends and more, I have to thank whatever little part of my brain kept pushing me to fight. I know that if I hadn’t felt the need to live my truth and speak out for me and others with similar experiences that I would be a lot more nervous and insecure today. I strongly believe that we need to fight to get what we deserve in life and that we have to help bring others up with us. My passion for activism and equality have helped strengthen me and has given me insight into the views of other people as well, and I am very grateful for that. This, in turn, opened up more possible experiences for me. Just over the past few years I have changed so much, but my passion for what I know has only grown. It’s what took me from a confused little kid to the teenager that stays up late into the night on a regular basis teaching myself vocabulary and for my future career as a deaf and hard-of-hearing interpreter and a person who will stand
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up for others fighting to be accepted as they are, just as I had to - and still have to - for myself. I found the hobbies I love and the career I dream of through new experiences that turned into long-term hyperfixations. It’s why I have spent 10 years of my life cleaning out stalls and taking care of the animals at the barn instead of just taking normal riding lessons in exchange for a blue ribbon, Why I spend my time beta reading a new book by one of my favorite creators and storytellers for nothing in return, and why I can sit down at my desk and spend 15 hours a day painting portrait commissions. Passion is why I’ve taken so long to finish this essay that has a huge hand in defining my future, since I can’t seem to make it good enough for my standards. Passion is what drives humanity as a whole and keeps the world going round, and if I had to choose one thing to keep in my life, that’d be it. I cannot guarantee anything about the future, not mine nor anybody else’s, but I hope that this human drive to work to be the best person one can be remains forever. I want to make sure that no matter where I go in life, however my relationships, my career and my hobbies may develop and change that I worked for it all and loved every second of the journey.
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If I had been asked two years ago what the one thing Ihope to have in 30 years, I probably would have said something conspicuous like environmental protection, democracy, or tolerance. Don’t misunderstand – these are still very important to me, but my world view dramatically changed when my father unexpectedly passed away a couple of summers ago. Since then, his wit and wisdom have increasingly become the source of my mettle.
Isabelle Borr Wylie E. Groves High School Michigan State University International Relations
My father and I were close. While other friends often had a stay-at-home mom, I had a stay-at-home dad, and we spent a lot of time together. He was actively engaged, sometimes a little too much, in every aspect of my life – school, sports, friends and of course, Xbox. He was great at grounding me after a non-memorable fight with a friend or a disappointing end to a hard-fought basketball game. Always right there, he encouraged me from an early age to be kind, tenacious, self-disciplined, and ambitious. So, the answer to the question of what the one thing is I hope to have in 30 years is not something material that can be seen, purchased, or touched. It is something much more precious. It is the memory of my dad and putting into action the many life lessons he so lovingly imparted into my heart. Without further ado, here they are; dad’s three simple lessons for living your best life:
LIFE LESSONS
1. Confidence – the state of feeling certain about the truth of something. My dad was a no-nonsense guy who said I could achieve anything with a little dedication and hard work. While he was not one to give a false sense of security – there were definitely times he provided tough feedback to ensure I met my potential. With his support, I became confident in basketball and found my love for the game when I was ten years old. He encouraged, advised, and coached me on how to train, and I began to trust myself. His life lesson in confidence helped me earn Captain of the basketball team in both middle school and as a freshman in high school. While my skills did not compare to Stef Curry, my passion, camaraderie, and above all my confidence helped lift me and my team members on and off the court. 2. Kindness – being generous, helpful, and thinking about other people’s feelings. My dad was a strong advocate for underprivileged, elderly, and disabled people as well as animals in need. He guided me to do the right thing, show compassion, and help others, especially speaking up and being a voice for those that did not have one. These last few years, I have enjoyed working as a volunteer for
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the Special Olympics and most recently coaching a basketball team of mentally challenged teenagers. However, dad’s life lesson in kindness really hit home forme while grieving his death. For a while, I struggled socially to fit-in and carry-on, without much compassion being shown to me. While painful, I have grown immeasurably from this experience and am acutely aware of how actions and words affect others.
continue the journey to make the world a kinder and better place than I found it. This is not just for myself, my family and friends, or even people I don’t know – but for my dad, who is now living on in me every day. I’m confident his life lessons will not only continue in my heart, but in the hearts of many others – not just for 30 years, but for many generations to come – where it can have the greatest impact.
3. Greater Impact – having a strong positive effect on someone or something. My dad and I shared a passion for politics and fought together for causes we believed in – especially around freedom, and equity. He reinforced with me not to waste time on small issues that didn’t make any sense and wouldn’t even be remembered in the future. Instead, he guided me to focus on advocating for bigger things that would matter and stand the test of time. This life lesson of greater impact has been ringing in my ears ever since and has inspired me to study International Relations in college. I am passionate about making a large contribution and have a keen interest in resolving global conflict, especially in the Middle East. I already have years of practice, thanks to my dad, of speaking up for those without a voice and am truly excited now to study and prepare to fight for larger scale causes that can benefit the world. Sadly, my time with my dad was cut short, but the quality and affect he imprinted on me has been massive. It has been almost two years since his death and to be honest, some of my memories have gotten fuzzier. It’s harder to remember his face as clearly, and I forget some of the smaller moments until I am prompted. It scares me to think that in 30 years, I am at risk of not being able to recall the details that are so vivid today. I’ve also realized, however, just how successful my dad was in making a lasting impression on this world by practicing confidence, kindness, and focusing on the greater impact. These are sage lessons firmly implanted in me; they will not fade or dull with time. Giving back to my community, standing up for causes I care about and doing random, but also intentional acts of kindness for loved ones and people I meet throughout the day, stirs a proudness within me that I am my father’s daughter. With this in mind, I will soon be leaving for college. As I’ve matured, I’ve become hungry to learn more, especially about how to better organize like-minded people who are committed to the same cause. I’m ready, excited, and 8
In 30 years, the one thing I hope I still have is a close relationship with my youngest sister, Emileigh. Emi was born with Spina Bifida, a birth defect that affects the vertebrae, spinal cord, and parts of the brain. Because of this, she has impaired function below the waist. She uses a wheelchair and crutches to get around. She has braces on her legs to help support her weight when she walks. She has a shunt, which is a device that drains extra fluid from her brain to her abdomen where it is reabsorbed into her body. She has scars from six surgeries. But most intriguing of all, she has a smile on her face.
Alexis Chandler Delton-Kellogg High School Cedarville University English
SISTERS ARE FOREVER (I HOPE)
Emi has inspired me from the day I first met her in the hospital. She fascinated me. She looked different from other babies, and her body functioned differently, and yet in many ways, she was a typical baby. She crawled. She laughed. She cried. Overall, she was a happy baby and brought joy to everyone around her. She is a miracle, and her story, as my mother tells it, has inspired countless people. She is very loved, especially by me and our two other sisters. I was always very proud to be her sister, even when I was sometimes jealous of all the attention she got. Everyday after kindergarten, I rushed into the house to see my baby sister. I would play with her, read to her, and try to make her laugh. I thought I was her favorite sister, but I think my other sisters thought they were her favorite too. I was proud when she walked for the first time. When she was about two-years-old, she supported herself with her hands and clumsily stepped down the length of the parallel bars we had in our home. My mother filmed the special moment. When she got to the end, she looked at our mother and quickly exclaimed, “I did it!� Soon after this, she got her first crutches and then her first wheelchair, which she used to her advantage. Soon after she got her wheelchair, in hot pink of course, she was zipping around, ready to plow over anything in her way. However, everything was not always sunshine and rainbows for our family. Emi has persevered through several surgeries. When she was three-years-old, she had a period of a few weeks where she was fussy and had mood swings. She was always tired and had headaches, and we did not know why. Doctors eventually discovered that her shunt had broken and the extra fluid was building up in her brain. She had to have surgery. Being only nine years old at the time, I confided in my friends at school my fear that she might die. It was one of the worst days of my life when I was forced to confront the thought that this strong, sweet little girl could easily leave me.
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Thankfully, Emi did not die, and I continue to be blessed with one of the best little sisters in all of existence. She turned twelve a few months ago and is ready to face her teenage years head-on. We continue to grow closer. One of our favorite activities is having ice cream dates at Dairy Queen when the rest of the family is occupied at other events. She talks to me about middle school and her friends. Sometimes I help her understand her homework. We both love to read so I pass down to her some of the books I have finished. Emileigh has recently taken up basketball. She is on a local junior wheelchair basketball team. I did not think I could be any more proud, but I am. I was so glad to witness her score her first basket in a game that I fought tears. It definitely seemed that she had the biggest cheering section. She looked so happy playing on the court with other people just like her. Leaving Emileigh will be one of the hardest things about going to college. Some days, I do not want to grow up. I just want to stay home with her. Emi has shown me both how strong a human being can be and how fragile life is. She is so normal and yet so different from other girls her age. I feel so blessed to be her big sister. I hope that in 30 years, she is still laughing and crying with me. I hope she is still close by, and that we see each other all the time. I hope she is healthy, maybe even with a family of her own. I hope she still likes to hug me. I hope to see her accomplish anything she wants to do and cheer her on as she does it.
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Ella DeVries East Grand Rapids High School Seattle University Forensic Psychology
THE LETTER
When I was 11 months old, my father wrote me a letter. He wrote me a letter about how, at 43, he found out that he was going to be a father. He wrote that at first, more than anything, when staring at that little plastic stick with two lines on it, he was utterly confused. How could he lose so much, only to gain everything and so much more? How could this happen when he was 43 years old? His firstborn child, coming into the world when he was perfectly middle aged. Obviously, this came as the greatest joy and the greatest terror that one could imagine. He wrote about how when I was born, his first thought was “oh crap, now what?� He wrote that he would sit with me and listen to the little sounds I made, and how that was his favorite music. He wrote about the journey of being a parent, and the joys of taking care of me. He wrote about his hopes for me as I grew. He wrote that he wondered who I would grow up to be, but that he would always be proud no matter what. I read this letter for the first time when I was 16 years old. It was given to me the night before my first day of senior year. When I read it for the first time, I was struck with the beauty of my dad’s strength and courage, and the love that had been poured into me as a child. Upon reading it over and over again, I began to reflect on my adolescence and growing up, and the looming mystery of my upcoming future. I felt a surge of anticipation and confidence for the year ahead of me, the year that would decide my future. I realized that as I leave home, I want to carry the virtues that my father wrote to me in that letter. In 30 years, I hope to still have a copy of this sacred letter. It is a reminder of the spirit that raised me, and the girl I hope to grow up to be. I hope to still have this token from my childhood, a keepsake of the unconditional love my father has always shown me. But more than that, I hope to still have the spirit that my father had when he was 43 years old, about to invest his whole life in a tiny human. To watch her grow, to teach her right and wrong, to teach her how to swim, how to read, how to laugh, and how to learn. In 30 years, what I want more than anything is the perseverance and the soul that my father had back then, and still carries with him today. I want the abounding love that he wrote to me in that letter almost 17 years ago. I hope to have the dedication and the care to uproot stability and comfort, and replace it with uncertainty and excitement. I hope to have the ability to release the fear of growing old, and instead embrace the challenges and blessings that come with it.
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In 30 years, I will be 47. I will be in the throes of my middle-aged years, probably undergoing some kind of midlife crisis. I won’t have the luxury of tiptoeing around responsibilities and trying to postpone adulthood. I won’t be stuck in the phase where I have to wonder every day where I’ll end up, what my future will look like, and who I will grow up to be. It is way too easy to fear getting old; I’ve been doing it for a long time. I am scared of leaving for college, I am scared of finding a new future, and I am scared of encountering the wide world outside the four walls of my home. But there is also a part of me that couldn’t be more excited to seek and to find. This is the part of me that I want to hold on to for the next 30 years and beyond. This is the part of me that my father built and strengthened. In the letter, my father described what he hoped for me as I grew. He never mentioned wealth, success, or glory. Growing up, he never pushed me towards greed or selfishness. He has always urged me to chase virtue and kindness. He wrote that he hoped that I would love the Earth and all its creatures. He hoped that I would love books and poetry and art. He hoped that I would find happiness in music and knowledge. And finally, he hoped that I would love peace one day, and that that would be enough. What I hope for 30 years from now, is that this will still be enough.
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Around Christmas time in 2011, I received a purple, two dollar silicone bracelet, similar to the LiveStrong bracelets, that had the words “Pay It Forward” printed onit. The bracelets were given to every student in my elementary school to support one of our fellow fourth grade classmates.. Her name was Claire Kowroski, and she was my best friend.
Erin Gaynor Rockford High School Saint Mary’s College Nursing
A TWO DOLLAR BRACELET
When Claire was three years old, she was diagnosed with bone cancer in her leg that required her to undergo surgery and chemotherapy. The chemotherapy caused her to lose her hair, and the surgery caused her to need to wear a brace on her left leg. In addition to the brace, she always wore hats; they were her signature piece of clothing. She also always had a smile on her face. So that was Claire: a smile on her face, a hat on her head, and a brace on her leg. This was how she looked from the moment I met her. I met Claire through our moms, who introduced us during the summer before we were going to enter first grade. Claire was, unfortunately, too sick to attend kindergarten, so she did not know anybody who was going to be in her first grade class. Her mom wanted Claire to know someone at school, so our mom’s arranged a play date. Both Claire and I were shy, so it took a while before we warmed up to each other. Though I was only six, I immediately knew I had met someone special. It was soon the first day of school, and I spent every free moment of the day with Claire. We never left each other’s side. In third grade, we were in the same class once again, and we spent more time with each other then we had before. Halfway through the school year, Claire received the amazing news that she was in remission. Her hair began to grow back, enough so that she stopped wearing her hats, but the leg brace still remained. Everything was peaceful. When fourth grade came around, we were in separate classes, but I promised myself that I would see Claire as often as I could. Unfortunately, during that year, the doctors discovered something that rocked me, my family, Claire’s family, and the foundations of our elementary school: Claire had multiple tumors growing in her lungs. Months later, even worse news arrived when we were told that Claire had been diagnosed with brain cancer. The period of peace was over, and all of us knew that another one would not arrive. I don’t think anyone truly accepted what we knew would happen, except for Claire. She knew what was coming, and yet, she did not fear it. Even with all
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the pain and suffering she went through, she remained strong and upbeat. I remember very clearly the day that she died. Our teachers made an announcement in class, and you could almost hear the sound of everybody’s hearts breaking. Claire never knew that she had such a profound impact on so many people. She was always the quiet kid in the corner of the class that tried to blend in, but she could never hide the strength, happiness and light that drew people to her like a magnet. Claire was the heart and soul of our elementary school. Everybody knew her and everyone loved her. Every day since her death, I have hoped to be half the person Claire was. She never showed an ounce of fear, and she knew every day was a gift. In thirty years, I not only hope to have, but will have, my silicon “Pay It Forward” bracelet. It will serve as a daily reminder of Claire’s strength, optimism and of her bright light. My “Claire bracelet,” as I lovingly refer to it, reminds me of the value of each day. The bracelet reminds me of every lesson Claire unknowingly taught me, including the importance of kindness to others. Regardless of all that she went through, Claire always put others first and was never self-consumed. In addition, my bracelet is a reminder of the power of a positive attitude. Despite enduring years of chemotherapy, radiation and hospitalizations, Claire always had a smile on her face and enjoyed her days. She never seemed discouraged or hopeless. Lastly, that simple silicon bracelet reminds me of the power of strong character and courage during difficult times. I find strength in wearing it or holding it, as the messages from Claire seem to speak to me. The “Claire Bracelet” reminds me of Claire’s strength and her spirit. My bracelet will always be my most treasured item, and I plan to carry it and these lessons with me for years to come.
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When we are born, we cry. The first thing we do is open our tiny little lips, and let out a scream. Tears run down our cheeks, and our breath becomes short as our tears and screams drown us out. We cry because it is a change, because we are shocked, because we are scared, and excited, because we have entered into a new life. We continue to cry throughout the rest of our lives. It is an impulsive action, ingrained in our minds, that comes naturally to everybody. The first time we scratch our knee, when we have to say goodbye to a loved one, when we get married, when we hear bad news, when we have to take our last breath. From our first breath to our last, we cry.
Mya Gregory Forest Hills Northern High School Undecided Spanish
WORDS THE HEART CANNOT SAY
These tears are the words that we cannot say. They become the cry for help that we can’t muster through our lips; the release of a burden that we can no longer bear, and the outlet for the thoughts and emotions that flood our minds. Our tears form our histories and become the stories that we cannot forget. I sat with my hands in my lap. My legs bounced, my lip trembled, and the sound of my heartbeat grew in my ears. A wave of fear rushed over me as the bus pulled up to an unfamiliar, brick building. My veins began to pulse and I gasped for breath, feeling as though I was drowning beneath the surface. Soon, the anxiety that I felt on the inside, made its way out. My eyes started to water, as my fears were displayed to the world as tiny droplets running down my cheeks. I walked into a school where I didn’t know the language and listened to a teacher introducing herself, using words that were completely foreign to me. I licked the salty tears from my lips, and allowed the drops to fall down my face telling the world I was scared. I watched as students who once had names become statistics. Everyday, another horrifying incident became just another headline. I watched as people lost their loved ones to another mass shooting. The faces of these people plagued the news, their eyes staring back at me, and I cried for them. I cried for their lives that were cut too short, for their family members who would never be able to say goodbye, and for the society that didn’t seem to care anymore. Tears welled up from deep inside and coursed down my cheeks. I let them fall onto my hands, thinking of each drop as a goodbye to those who will never wake up again. This sadness turned to resilience as I turned these tears into 5,000 people standing up, ready to fight for change. I was quiet as I led these people, my hands clutched to the March For Our Lives banner in front of me, and I listened to their voices. They were shouting
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for safer schools and pleading for somebody to listen to their cries. I allowed tears to roll down my cheeks, allowing them to honor those who had been lost, and allowed these tears to speak up for the change that we needed. I held a little girl, Yaydelin, in my lap in a stuffy orphanage in the village of Chimaltenango. Her doe eyes that looked up at me, her sweet voice that sang “Los Pollitos Dicen”, and her kind soul that held love like none other, became things I would never forget. When it came time to say goodbye, I took this little girl in my arms, and held her close to my heart. I reminded her how important she was, and how she was always loved, and that she should never forget that. Yaydelin hugged me tighter, and we both began to cry. Not tears of sorrow, but tears of gratitude to have found each other. I was unable to tell this little girl how much of an impact she had made on my life, so I allowed those words of appreciation and love to be shown. I allowed the thankfulness I felt to fall down my cheeks.
eyt being on fire at the same time. They will always make my heart-rate increase and my breathing to become faster. They will always make my nose red and my eyes glossy. They will always fall, but they will always help me get back up again. I don’t have any idea where I will be in 30 years, but no matter where I am, who I am, or what I am doing, I hope that I continue to cry.
I hope that I never lose tears. I used to try and hide them. I tried to wipe away the first tear with my sleeve before it hit my lap. I tried to muffle my cries by holding my breath. I tried to not make eye contact with anybody so that they could not see the glistening droplets in my eyes. I used to never want anybody to see me cry. But now, I embrace these tears. I cry belting love songs in my 2002 Toyota at 3 in the morning. I cry hugging my best friend goodbye as she leaves for college. I cry when I watch Titanic for the hundredth time, and Rose and Jack get separated. I cry when I overthink life lying in bed, staring up at the stick-on plastics stars on my ceiling, and over-analyzing every moment in my life. I continue to cry. I used to say that I hope I run out of tears when I grow up. That I would cry so much as a child, that no tears would be left by the time I grew up. But now, I hope that my tears are inexhaustible. I hope that I continue to cry for the rest of my life. Tears are able to express every moment in life. Whether this be anxiety, sorrow, or joy, they are able to convey these moments and their importance better than any words ever could. Perhaps it may be odd to thank my tears and be proud to cry, but they have provided me with so much learning and living. I am grateful for the strength they have given me, the love they have taught me, and the stories they have helped me write. Through the ups and downs of life, tears have been a constant. No matter where I am, or what I am doing, the memories I am making or the challenges I am facing, tears will always stay the same. They will always give me the feeling of drowning 16
If only the mountains, lakes, forests, deserts, and vast ecosystems had voices; what would they say? Would they give us a stern warning about the path we are on? Would they reminisce about their fascinating pasts and tell stories of which we could only dream? What advice would they give us? We can only wonder what secrets they hold, but a more pressing question remains: would we listen? Would we heed the advice and be good stewards for future generations? The untouched environment that once comprised the entirety of this earth, is making up less and less of the planet we inhabit today. In 30 years, I hope we reside on a planet that has preserved the untouched world, so future generations will also be able to experience the abundant benefits our unique landscape has to offer.
Natalie Hammer Rockford High School Undecided Environmental Science
OUR NEED FOR NATURE
My fascination for the outdoors began when I was young; I was captivated by the different seasons Michigan provided and easily found wonder in the features that surrounded me. I loved soaking in Lake Michigan’s never-ending waves during the summer, exploring the plentiful woods around my house in the fall, and splashing in the plethora of puddles when spring arrived. Michigan is where my adoration for nature began, but Michigan is only where it started. When opportunities to travel presented themselves, I could not resist their opulent allure. I have had the privilege to experience many unique National Parks and extraordinary pieces of wilderness. Some include the infamous Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park, the breathtaking Grand Teton Mountains in Wyoming, and the beautiful Mount Rainier located in Washington. These places are just a few that stand out in my mind, but I cannot begin to count the ways nature has shaped me into the person I am today. As mankind grows in population and expands geographically, the importance of preserving what was here first should not be ignored. Nature offers us an ability to connect with ourselves and those around us in unparalleled ways. Nature gives us a chance to disconnect from this technologically saturated world., and nature provides us a perspective we cannot glean anywhere else. I hope in 30 years, those who govern our nations and the people who live on this earth still protect our planet and acknowledge its importance to human flourishing. By disconnecting from the modern world and the constant distractions that surround us, we develop a solicitude for the beauty and peace our surroundings bring. Our technological society is consumed with perpetual noise, unceasing entertainment, and unabating busyness. We
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rarely take time to appreciate the simple and meaningful moments that compose our day. Escaping to the quiet and voiceless territories allows us to hear the voices inside that long to be heard. We are no longer consumed by the unrelenting distractions, but rather our minds are enchanted by the awe and wonder we behold. I treasure the memories of when I was able to detach myself from technology and escape to an unplugged environment. My adventures in the West Virginian wilderness stand out in my memory as a time when I felt attuned to my beautiful surroundings. I was on a hiking trip with my youth group, and I remember looking more intently at the vibrant wildflowers that lined our path. I paid more attention to the soothing sound of the distant waterfalls, and although I couldn’t name the scent I experienced, it was somehow both wet and sweet. The captivating details that provoked my amazement, would have been overlooked had my gaze been fixed to a screen. I hope the undeveloped world is sustained, so we can take time to disconnect from modern distractions and connect more deeply to each other and ultimately ourselves. Obstructions that hinder relationships in our everyday realities become obsolete in nature. The beautiful sights and landscapes that grace the earth can be enjoyed in fellowship and gazed upon in camaraderie. Nature has a unique ability to bring people together; it has the power to break down walls and bring new levels of closeness to relationships. Not only are we able to grow in community with those around us, but our minds are expanded by the wonderment of creation. We mature into more grounded individuals because we develop a respect for the things we cannot control. We reflect on the vastness that makes up our universe and seemingly impossible landforms that exist. The complex state of our diverse macrocosm is juxtaposed with the simple occurrences that make up the comprehensible microcosm. I hope the uncultivated world stays intact, so the invaluable lessons and unique insight nature provides to humanity are protected and preserved. My desire for the untouched world to stay intact stems from my own experiences and love for the diverse environment of which our planet is composed. I am hopeful we will listen to our environment so that in 30 years, we will still be able to marvel at the seemingly impossible feats of nature that exist. I am hopeful we as a society will recognize the abounding advantages uncultivated regions offer humanity and take the necessary steps to ensure its survival. 18
Thirty years from now, I hope that I still have the personal quality of grit because this one characteristic is what makes me unique, and it has always helped me defy the odds throughout life. The word grit can loosely be defined as the passion and persistence one possesses and uses to achieve something they desire no matter what obstacles may stand in their way. I believe that grit is the one personal attribute that has defined my life thus far. In order to understand why I value grit and why it is so important to me, one must first understand my life up to this point.
Blaine Hynde Reeths Puffer High School Elmhurst College Undecided
GRIT: THE SECRET TO DEFYING THE ODDS
Even before I was born, I had to have grit and fight for everything that I wanted in life. During pregnancy, doctors repeatedly told my parents that I would never survive. Still, I managed to defy those odds for nine months. After I was born and could not speak until I was nearly three, speech therapists and pediatricians said I would always be developmentally behind and “limited.” Experts did not foresee that I would ever be in the top 3% of my class or take AP classes. Still, I have done both. My pediatric cardiologist informed my parents that sports would never be an option for me. Still, I have played hockey and lacrosse for as long as I can remember and have always fought to get and stay at the top of every roster. I will be playing collegiate lacrosse at the Division III level for the next four years largely because I would not accept anything less, and my undying grit eventually led me there. Essentially, my life is a testament of how grit can help one defy the odds and earn anything that is wanted in life. It is fair to say that nothing has ever come easy to me, but my grit has taken me to heights that sometimes even I thought were impossible. I have watched kids breeze through life, but that has never been my reality. I have always worked tirelessly and endlessly to earn even the simplest of accomplishments. My parents have often noted that I “just don’t know how to quit,” but I know it is my grit which will not allow me to give up or tap out when the odds are against me. I guess, in my mind, it has never been an option and definitely not a luxury that I could afford. While some tend to buckle in times of adversity, I feel optimistic because difficult obstacles have always been my reality and a life I have become accustomed to living. In the near and distant future, I hope that my grit continues to help me defy all odds and achieve the goals that I have set for myself but not yet achieved. For example, I academically want to be on the Dean’s List at Elmhurst
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College for all eight semesters of my attendance. Athletically, I want to earn my spot as a starting attackman on the Blue Jays’ lacrosse team and take the field as early as my freshman year. I also want to become an Academic All-American at some point in my athletic career, and I hope to earn a college degree that will allow me to positively impact society and contribute back to the community which shaped me in my early years. Grit will help me tackle all of my lofty goals, but while doing so, I want to be sure that I always stay true to myself and what I believe in most. I do not ever want to lose sight of the things in my life that are truly important to me such as humility, integrity, faith, family, and friendship. Considering all that has occurred in my 18 years, many people may be shocked to learn that I would not change a single thing about my life. I have never wished for the easy road or a shortcut to success; I feel good about the person whom I have become, and I am appreciative of the journey which has led me here. Obviously, grit has increased my odds of being successful in life, and without it, I do not believe I would be able to accomplish much moving forward. If my grit and perseverance can help me in the future, as much as it has up to this point, then grit is a personal quality that I hope to have for the next 30 years and well beyond.
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They say that one should read between the lines, but my entire life, I have been writing between them instead. In my hand, my very specific Pilot G2 black pen, the one with the chiseled tip, that one that is always running out of ink. Letters carefully inscribed in its 0.7 gel ink that would bleed into the paper, but never through it. Because the paper had to be a certain kind, the kind that wouldn’t smear, for that would annoy me. It would throw me off. I pay attention to the way my letters curve, the way they are perfectly aligned along the college ruled lined sheet of paper, they seldom touched those lines. And college ruled was still too wide. But I preferred it.
Malack Jallad Fordson High School Undecided Biology / Pre-Med
I would write out my name, in the case I desired. Lowercase for exams, uppercase for lighthearted assignments. Perhaps a mix of both. Never forgetting the C. Never forget the C. And as I would write in my carefully chosen journal, one of four, I would be distracted by a sixth sense per say.
THE LITTLE DETAILS
Around me, I would notice the ingredients off a tin of peanuts, the way the sound of the rain seemed louder today, the decoration out of its place, the thread that hung from pillow, the way the birds chirped. For yesterday they were hungry. Today, they seemed happy. I would notice the way the stairs creaked as Lulu came up, the sound her tiny feet made as she’d skip stairs. It had to be Lulu. I would notice the shirt that hadn’t been there the day before, the book missing from my room, the paper once blank and the crayons that now surrounded it, the two stick figures on it and the smiles they had on. I would smile too. And then I would notice something about myself. I grab the Pilot G2 07 pen with its gel black ink and it’s anti-smear paper and begin to write. In 30 years, the one thing I hope I still have is my attention to detail. I really pride myself in paying attention to the little things, to the things that wouldn’t bat an eye, to things that don’t deserve a second look, to the things that some may choose to ignore. And it’s not because I like things a certain way, or I’ve grown accustomed to a certain way of doing, but rather, it’s because I just want to make a change in the world in any way I can. As simple as that. So simple, yet so complex. It’s the look in my grandmother’s
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eyes as she says she’s fine. They way my mother smiles a little too wide. The sudden drop in a friend’s energy disguised as “I’m tired.” These things that go unnoticed, I can’t help not to notice. And I can’t help not to ask.
P.S: (Expect in the classroom, where I apologize for any inconvenience my handwriting may have caused to any of my teachers. Those details, I’m working on them :) )
I feel that now more than ever, we are lacking this attention to detail. This world forces us to keep going, to keep running and because of this, we tend to look to the end goal, not realizing that the journey is what matters. We don’t realize that it is all the little details that come along the way that make us who were are and really what makes life worth living. It’s those moments where we laugh so much that we can no longer breathe, the first steps, first days of school, those milestones that we sometimes miss in exchange for worldly demands. Yes, the world is now fast paced in nature. But is it really so fast paced that we don’t notice the father who struggles to put food on the table for his family, the single mother who works three jobs to make ends meet, the depressed teen, the children in the middle of a divorce, the homeless man who would give more than he’s given, the student drowning in debt, a crippled society that blames anyone but itself? Do we not notice the cries of the innocent, the tears of the survivors? Do we not notice the ones who struggle in silence? Do we not notice those living in war-torn countries, those who live below the poverty line? Do we not notice the underpaid, the unemployed, the ununderstood? Do we not notice the things that we’re supposed to notice? The little details? Or perhaps we choose to ignore them. Since when has our ubiquitous ignorance and lack of awareness become second nature? If we just paid attention a little more, stopped and thought and asked questions, harmony would prevail on this planet. The same planet that we all share, the one we all call home. I’m guilty of this. I admit that I am ignorant. I do not know all things, but I want to learn. And to learn, I must ask questions and stay curious. I must pay attention. To the small details. I hope that 30 years from now, I remain observant, that my attention to detail becomes a channel to change. Because that is all I really want. I just want to change the world to the best of my abilities. I want to be educated, empowered, inspired so that I could educate, empower, and inspire. Because really, writing between the lines is not always that bad. 22
Pushing the panic to the back of my head, my gaze is directed away from the ground hundreds of feet away from my toes, and I peer at my sister Madison. She offers me a half-smile and slings her arm around my neck. It’s enough to make me want to yell in terror for fear of instant death and love for this absurd person who is simply trying to enjoy this moment. And so, I have no choice but to join her and take in the vast mountains that tower before our seemingly puny bodies. Not realizing that I would look back and see this moment captured, I reflect on what is one of my favorite memories of my sister and me as a kid. I could not have wished for anyone else to be with besides this absurd person. Absurd, and kind and courageous and loving and sweet and my best friend.
Shaylee Lang Forest Hills Northern High School Michigan State University Human Biology
THE BRAINS AND BIG SIS
There is this saying that a sister is like a best friend, and it is true. It is even more than true. It goes deeper than anything in my opinion. When I first came to America, my sister and I had completely different, yet similar backgrounds. At a very young age we never really knew what our biological parents were like. How can we miss something that we can’t remember? Not their personality. Not their faces. We were strangers who needed a family because our old one had chosen to abandon us. Relationships are anything but simple. Just being in a family doesn’t warrant an enduring bond that will stay for years to come. However, growing up together, my sister and I learned to be there for each other by not taking our relationship for granted. Everyone has their own story. In some way, my sister and I were able to share one. As Madison has said to me before, “our normal would be someone else’s crazy.” There was a period of time where we were going through a rough patch. She was sinking, losing all hope, even closing people out. I didn’t know what I could do, unaware that I was doing something the whole time. Small chats during the late hours of the nights about what is going on in our lives and ridiculously silly inside jokes and games were always an option. As siblings, there are so many things that we have been through. Too many to fit into any paper or book. For instance, when I was little, I was unable to match my clothes until I was around 7 years old. Too embarrassed to tell anyone, Madison helped me pair my outfits every day. It was such a small worry, and yet everything about it was worth it because we would turn it into our own fashion show and still have fun. Other moments include babysitting together since 8th grade where we have worked hand-in-hand in learning responsibilities and
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helping each other along the way. And there have been multiple times where we would yell at each other for trivial things like us stealing each other’s belongings without asking or argue about leaving messes in each other’s room. As the two of us joke, I am the “brains” and will always help her with homework, while she resumes her role as a big sister, always giving me her advice and teaching me lessons. As I try to imagine the future―whether it be 5 or 25 years away―I don’t know what to be looking at. My mind wanders to numerous questions, each webbing further into a multitude of many more….college….becoming something great….achieving my life goals. But as my future has its plans, so does my sister. I hope that in the future, we don’t lose our contact or our close relationship. I hope that we don’t gradually talk less and less each day even though once I graduate things will change. I tell myself, more so than not, that change is good, and it truly is. Yet, a part of me holds back because sometimes I am scared of change and what it means for the things I like now. A relationship is a bond that will always be there. Good or bad, it is still there. People go through life searching for a purpose and what purpose is there if life is to be gone through alone? I hope that distance and time does not separate our relationship. She is my family and that’s worth everything. I couldn’t imagine continuing living my life without telling my life to the person who I’ve always been talking to since the beginning. At the very end of 30 years, I hope to still be the two-sister duo, two best friends with our arms slung around each other, smiling as we go through ups and downs throughout our lives as it always has been.
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In 30 years I hope to have my hands. Yes, this sounds strange, but let me explain.
Jenna Mustapha Forest Hills Northern High School Hope College PreMed
HANDS
My grandma was a short, stocky woman from a small village in Lebanon. As a child, the only thing I remembered from her was that she pinched my cheeks way too tightly and wore so much perfume that it gave me a headache. I loved my grandma dearly, but there was a slight problem in our relationship- she didn’t speak a word of English. Here’s this woman so full of stories, so full of history, but our conversations only consisted of hand motions and pointing. Nevertheless, we created a language, a language with our hands. It wasn’t sign language, but rather a form of communication only understood between her and me. Pointing meant “grab that,” waving meant “come here,” open arms meant “ hug,” and palm up meant “stop.” It wasn’t perfect; for the most part, I just stood there dumbfounded, smiling and nodding, but it worked. Unfortunately, hand signals can only get a relationship so far. The surface can be touched, but the depth never reached. My grandma, married at 15 to a 30 year old, raised a family all on her own, protected everyone from the war. My grandma so full of knowledge and lessons, but I never knew. However, despite our barrier, she still loved me. She still hugged me. She still smiled every time she saw me. She still tried to talk to me, know me, even managing to learn the simple word “hi.” As I got older, I tried too. I watched her master the kitchen as she created food that could only be made by her touch. I began to learn phrases and words, anything to communicate. But my attempts came too late. She was diagnosed with leukemia, stage four, terminal cancer. As a fifth grader, I didn’t really comprehend death. My gecko died when I was eight, and I knew that everything passed on eventually, but I didn’t understand the severity of my grandma’s condition. After about two weeks in the hospital, my dad called saying that she didn’t have much longer. I didn’t know then that my grandma was hanging on by a thread, but when we arrived, I realized something was wrong. My dad greeted us with an unshaven face, wrinkled shirt, and bloodshot eyes. He tried to smile; he tried to hide the sadness that lurked within him, the sadness of a passing mother. I was warned that my grandmother was very sick and had not woken up in some time because she was in a coma. She was so close to leaving, yet I had no idea. As we walked into the hospital, my palms began to sweat.
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I never liked hospitals. Every time I walked in I felt trapped, constricted, and confined. Every floor, hallway, room looked the same, creating the appearance of an insane asylum rather than a place to heal. When we finally reached her room, my throat tightened and my stomach rolled. There she lay, my grandma: a round, short woman with rosy cheeks, chocolate brown eyes, and a smile that could light anyone’s world. But now that was no longer she. Now my grandma was inhumanely skinny, her thin body drowning under a mountain of blankets. Wires kept her functioning. Tubes kept her breathing. Her face once so tan from the scorching rays of the Lebanon sun, now a sickly shade of grey. I went to her side and gently grabbed her hand. I sat there, praying that everything would be ok. I sat there, wishing that things were different. I sat there, hoping that she would wake up. Minutes seemed like hours and hours seemed liked days, but suddenly her eyes did open. She looked at me and smiled, whispering one word, “Inahebic”- I love you. With that, she smiled, taking in everyone’s faces, glancing at her family who cared for her so deeply and shut her eyes to go back to sleep. We all sat there in silence, taking in her words, afraid that if someone said something, we would lose her. After a short while, my grandma took three deep breaths. I jumped up thinking that she was finally waking up, but then heard the shrill, a high pitched scream, a noise that universally means one thing for all. Death.
You can place a band-aid over a piece of broken china, but that china will always have a crack. However, I learned to embrace this heartache, and turn it into perseverance, into determination. Throughout the years, I learned my grandma’s true story. I learned that she not only tied my dad to the window when he was in trouble, but also emphasized education to all her children even though she was illiterate. I learned about her effort to make a safe home. I learned about every sacrifice she made and everything she lost. I learned about her love for her family. I learned she loved me. I now realize that I too possess the hands to make a difference, hands that I hope to have for the next 30 years and beyond. Like my grandma, my hands are strong; I work to protect my brothers, to protect my family. My hands are calloused as I write continuously to take advantage of the best education I can receive. My hands are cracked as I try every day to do my best. And my hands are gentle, as I lay a single white rose on the marble surface of my grandma’s grave.
Tears burned against my skin as I stood up and ran out of the room. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Doctors rushing in and out, my uncles crying, my aunts screaming, and in the middle, my dad, standing grief stricken and motionless. At that moment, I realized that I would never be able to see my grandma’s smile again. She was gone. I stared inside, looking at the chaos that had just unfolded and in the middle lay my grandma, calm and collected as she had always been. The hands that had once done so much rested by her side. There are five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. In my opinion, confusion should be added as the sixth stage. Weeks after my grandma’s death, all I can remember is feeling confused, lost. I never felt any animosity or denial, but really I was just trying to comprehend what it meant to be gone. When you lose someone, you lose a piece of your heart, a piece of your soul. Many people told me, “ It will get better,” “everything heals with time,” but I can tell you that it’s all a lie. A heart’s pain cannot be mended or fixed; it can only be dulled.
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Christina Soriero Gulf Coast High School Undecided Psychology or Social Work
THREE WORDS
A supportive family, financial stability, a roof over my head, and good health. These are all answers that one would expect after being asked what one still wants to have in 30 years. However, my answer is one we take for granted every day: life. On November 15, 2019, my entire existence changed in a matter of three words: “You have cancer.” This was something I never imagined I would ever have to hear, especially at 18 years old. Those three words echoed in my ears; my mind started whirling. I started wondering if I would make it to the next year or even to Christmas, just one month away. Would I survive long enough to do things I have always wanted to do? Would I ever graduate high school? Would my dad ever walk me down the aisle? Would I ever have the five children I always dreamed of? Am I going to survive? These questions played over and over again in my head because I had always assumed I would have a “normal” life. I would grow old and expire when my time came, naturally, the way it is supposed to be. Not have a disease eat away at my body and deteriorate my health. Not be confined to the boring view of a hospital room for a week at a time. Not getting poison pumped into my body for 98 hours straight to kill the disease living inside of me. All of this self reflection gave me a lot of time to think about the future. Life is so incredibly precious; it is something most people take for granted. People don’t worry about if they are going to live to see the next day or even the next week. It is not something most of us worry about. We all just assume that we have more time, that we have years left. I wish that was true, but the reality is that it’s not. I truly hope that in 30 years I will be able to live my life to its fullest extent and change the lives of those around me. I will do that by pursuing a career that I have been passionate about for years: social work. Now my primary focus is to work with pediatric oncology patients and their families to help them during the worst time of their lives. I hope for my sake and my family’s sake that I can come out of this alive. That I can watch my little sister grow up. That I can be a bridesmaid at my brother’s wedding one day. That I can travel the world, go sky diving in Hawaii, become a foster parent and cage dive with great white sharks. I hope that I can grow up to see the person I was destined to become, to live long enough to see how I turn out, because thus far I have lived a pretty incredible life. In these 18 years, I have been so fortunate. I’ve been blessed with an amazing family that encourages me everyday to pursue my dreams and broaden my horizons.
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I have had the luxury of traveling to Europe twice: I’ve been to Italy, Greece, Germany, Poland, Czech Republic, Slovakia, and Hungary. I walked through Auschwitz, the very place where thousands of innocent souls were murdered and held my best friend as she sobbed because this is where her family was massacred. I became a children’s minister and taught kids how to embrace a higher power. I had the opportunity to travel to a third world country and do missionary work for people who literally have nothing, which truly showed me how lucky I am to be living this life, even with cancer. I hope to go back one day after I am in remission and see the lives I helped change, even though I am already doing that here. Now I am an advocate for The Golisano Children’s Hospital oncology wing and I am speaking publicly about my journey thus far and hope to raise awareness and help others that are going through the life-altering battle that I am. I am not concerned with the next 30 years. Cancer has permanently changed my perspective. I am trying to make the best of the next 30 minutes, the next 30 days. But if I am granted the privilege of having 30 more years, I will do something extraordinary with them. Maybe I’ll write a book about my journey, or adopt a child. I will certainly inspire people during the darkest time of their lives and give them strength to know they can be warriors too, and they will survive.
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On this day, in 2020, my mother is a kickass 48 year old woman. She is strong, caring, loving, and a carbon copy of a straight, brunette Ellen Degeneres. My mother is tough. As a single mother to two teenage girls, she has to be. At age 9, my mom lost her beloved father, then, 37 years later she unexpectedly lost her husband. You don’t get through that if you aren’t tough, and not just tough, we’re talking Ellen Degeneres levels of tough. My mother shows me how to be a better sister, daughter, friend, and person every single day. She teaches my sister and I the value of honesty and hard work, and how to know the value of our time. Patience and a little bit of tough love are in her recipe.
Maggie Zanlungo Stoney Creek High School Michigan State University Education
AS A MOTHER SHOULD
In 30 years, I too am going to be a kickass 48 year old woman, and the only thing I need to help me get there is my mom. I need 30 years worth of advice, and love, and lectures. I need her cooking lessons, and her scolding that I usually dread. She and I need to watch 12 more seasons of the bachelor together while we both joking complain about how stupid it is while being completely invested in the story. I’m absolutely desperate for her late night advice typically shared over chicken nuggets, and her early morning ideas discussed over coffee. My mom has seen me through my darkest hours and my greatest triumphs. She was the one to protect my sister and I when my father’s mental illnesses overcame him, standing between us and him when he went on a tirade. She was the one to tell me my father had died in a snowmobiling accident up north, holding me while I cried. I now know that it must have taken everything in her to stay strong for my sister and I for those following weeks, but she did it for us. She was the one to go to every volleyball game, and track meet. She was the one who bought me everything on my Christmas list, even if she could barely afford it. My mother has lived her life putting her children first. In 30 years, I don’t know what I will remember of my father. I don’t know if I will remember his sandy blond hair, his calloused working hands, his crooked yet kind smile, or his eyes that I see staring back in the mirror each morning. I don’t know if I’ll be able to recall his voice cheering me on at my soccer games, or his steady assurance helping me as I learned to drive. Will I even know the man who took me to every Girl Scouts Daddy Daughter Dance? Or the one who would let me ride my Razer scooter around the automotive plant while he finished his paperwork? Will remember the bad times too?
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I can recount every time my back was pinned against the wall in fear while his eyes were alight with anger. I can recite the words he would spit at me while he looked at my sister and I in disgust. Each episode of rage and violence could be played from my brain like a twisted movie, from beginning to end with no intermission. I remember my father’s failures. I remember his abuse. But I can also remember my mother’s love, her successes, and her empathy. I can remember every single time she went to bat for us kids, the way she defended us and made us feel strong when my dad made me feel weak. She taught us girls empowerment and strength. She taught me to stand up for others in the face of injustice and unfairness. She taught me to be smarter and stronger than those that sought to abuse me. My mother’s light shines brighter than my father’s shadow. My mom’s strength overpowered his weakness. Every ounce of my mother acts as an inspiration for me. She is everything I could ever hope to be as a mom, a spouse, and a friend. In 30 years, I won’t need trinkets, or books, or momentos. I’ll need my mom. I’ll need her guidance and wisdom, her love and light, and most importantly, her sense of humor. I’ll need her to talk her through recipes and heartache and many many season finales to come. More than anything, I’ll just need her around to continue teaching and scolding me, as a mother should.
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THANK YOU 31
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Lake Michigan Credit Union would like to extend our thanks and appreciation to the judges of the 2020 Hutt Scholarship contest who helped select our 15 winners out of the 1,322 essays submitted this year. External Judging Panel: Christy Buck Mental Health Foundation Gary Ebels Grand Rapids Community College Keri Kujala Special Occasions LLC Teri Lamaine Bonita Springs Assistance Office Krashawn Martin City of Wyoming Trudy Ngo-Brown West Michigan Center for Arts and Technology (WMCAT) LeaAnn Tibbe Grand Valley State University Deb Warwick Ferris State University Dave Weinandy Aquinas College
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Celebrating 30 Years
LMCU.org