Vote for IndyStar Student of the Week for May 12-16
Readers can vote for their favorite student throughout the week at the bottom of this story on IndyStar.com, with polling closing at noon on Thursday, May 15. Winners will be announced every Friday.
This contest aims to introduce readers not just to the student who winds up winning but to all of the highly accomplished nominees.
Here's what nominating school leaders had to say about this week's nominees:
Cody Martin is an outstanding student leader in both Key Club and National Honor Society. He's helped raise thousands for service projects, served breakfast to WWII, Korea, and Vietnam veterans, and led a project installing Little Free Libraries in our community. He helped host a carnival for individuals with disabilities and is often seen playing with children while parents connect with support organizations. Cody planned and led a breakfast for local veterans and has worked hard to become a confident presenter, earning several scholarships. His heart for service, leadership, and kindness make him a deserving Student of the Month.
Tom Gallagher embodies our promise: "Lead with humility, serve with love, trust in Providence." A four-year GCHS football player, Tom led quietly with grit and sportsmanship, even after an injury sidelined him in his senior season. He remained committed, supporting teammates in practice and on the sidelines. In class, Tom shows love through respectful, kind interactions. Though not always front and center, his steady, humble presence is a model of quiet leadership.
Saymon has grown and matured so much during the last three years at Speedway High School. He is working very hard this quarter to make good choices and to do his best. For his hard work and desire to do the right things, Saymon was selected as a Student of the Quarter. Additionally, he helps our in-school food pantry, Sparky's Closet. He works tirelessly to move items from delivery trucks to storage inside the school. Then, twice a month, he assists with doing a food distribution to local families as they drive up to the school. He helps to make this program a success along with his teacher, Mrs. Courtney Wilkerson.
Lily is a compassionate and driven student leader whose dedication to service and excellence shines in every aspect of her life. As managing editor of The Journal, senior officer of Key Club, and national honor society member, Lily consistently leads with integrity. She balances academics, a 20-hour workweek, church volunteering, and multiple leadership roles, all while pursuing her dream of becoming a pediatric nurse practitioner. Whether mentoring 5th graders at Cards@Camp or organizing school events, Lily uplifts others with empathy and commitment. Her future in nursing will no doubt reflect the same heart and purpose she brings to Southport.
Cadet Lt. Col. Angelo Hogan has served exceptionally this year as the Battalion Commander of our Army JROTC program. Additionally, Angelo was recently selected by a brigade leadership board to serve next school year as the Brigade Command Sergeant Major for all of the IPS Army JROTC programs, an exceptional achievement considering he is a second-year cadet. He is the class president of the sophomore class, has a 3.96 GPA, and ranks 9th out of 206 students.
A quiet leader, Ryan never seeks attention but is always first to help, whether through four years of baseball, three years in band, or volunteering at Douglas MacArthur Elementary to support kids in their 'Specials' classes. He's a dedicated member of FLOTS, serving with heart and humility. Ryan leads by example, giving his time simply because he cares. His actions define his character. Perry Meridian is better because of him.
Roncalli Band Director Laura Gottman states, "Xochitl is an amazing student at Roncalli. She constantly volunteers her time with the band, jazz band, lab band, and the South Deanery elementary band on top of her already being in band and her busy schedule. Xochitl's humor and personality light up a room. Every day, I know that Xochitl will make me laugh and put others at ease. High degrees of participation in learning activities and intellectual curiosity within the classroom were also cited.
Sophie has been such an amazingly hard worker. She is so persistent through her academic challenges. We love the high, achievable, academic goals she sets for herself. She takes advantage of the resources our school offers all students, such as study tables, to make sure she understands topics well. She doesn't hesitate to work hard for her goals and understanding. Her persistence and questioning are contagious to her classmates, too. No one is afraid to ask questions in her class and a large part of it is due to her boldness and bravery, to always ask focused, clarifying questions that many students benefit from too.
Ian exemplifies leadership and effort both in and out of the classroom. In Spanish, he engages in conversation and continually improves. He was also instrumental in organizing the first Junior Giveback Day, managing multiple responsibilities with confidence and maturity.
Glory has truly shone with incredible dedication to our classroom community. Her creativity and initiative brought our class play to a whole new level! Glory's always ready to help others, share ideas, and contribute in meaningful ways. Her positive attitude, leadership, and willingness to go the extra mile make her an outstanding role model to her classmates.
Ava Hess is the President of the Class of '25 at Martinsville High School and was voted Homecoming Queen. She has been a varsity cheerleader on the Conference Champ M.H.S. cheer team, and she has assisted with Sparkle Cheer. She is a member of F.F.A. and is a 10-year 4-H Member. Ava is a member of our "Red Blue Crew," which helped the School earn the "WTHR Operation Football Spirit Award." She is a Peer Tutor and was a Delegate to Hoosier Girls' State. Ava will attend Franklin College to major in Business and will be a member of the Cheer Team there.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
3 days ago
How 2 men helped a camp for kids with disabilities rebuild amid deadly Texas floods
A summer camp in central Texas designed for children with disabilities that had severe damage following the deadly flooding that hit the region was unexpectedly able to open on time this summer, thanks, in part, to the help from two men and hundreds of volunteers. CAMP's, the Children's Association for Maximum Potential, camp saw its riverfront and grounds destroyed, while its main facilities on higher ground were thankfully not drastically impacted, facilities director Ken Kaiser told ABC News. The two men, Rusty Bourland and Cord Shiflet, didn't know each other, but they met by chance as both were motivated to help others following the floods that started on July 4. There are at least 134 deaths attributed to the flooding, a majority in Kerr County. And 101 people are still missing. In some of the most affected areas, more than 20 inches of rain fell in a matter of hours. The Guadalupe River rose 26 feet in less than an hour. Bourland, who owns a landscaping business in Austin, Texas, and Shiflet, an Austin real estate agent and content creator, showed up to work in Center Point, Texas and began talking about the sites that needed the most help. Both had heard whispers about a place called CAMP, but had no idea where it was or why it was so special. "The place is amazing and it just makes me so emotional talking about it," Shiflet, holding back tears, told ABC News. Shiflet said he remembers the first time he walked into the summer camp. "I just knew that when I asked people to help, they would show up. They'd come out in spades to help with stuff or to volunteer,' he said. And that's exactly what happened, they said. On the first day, the two arrived at the camp on July 9, hoping to have 100 people, but were surprised when over 275 showed up. On day two, more than 300 attended. By day three, more than 500 came to help, and by day four, they believed there were over 1,000 volunteers. Their mission was to clean up the debris and make the place ready to open just nine days after the floods hit. Giant trees were uprooted, lots of equipment, benches and picnic tables were washed down the river. So much was gone. Victims were found in the area, officials said, so their mission moved slowly and methodically out of respect for people who were impacted. "Our priority was to clear pathways leading to the waterfront. Easier said than done," Bourland said. "Thirty people would stand around the excavators to watch and make and sure there wasn't victims in those piles."The skid steer would come in and move a pile, with more people looking to make sure there were no victims. "Then, if all was clear, that step was a burn pile," Bourland said. Shiflet utilized his social media platforms to garner donations and attract people from all over the country to help. Bourland, who had been called on in the past to help with clean-up projects after Hurricane Harvey and Hurricane Bill, coordinated the cleanup. He knew how to work the equipment that would be needed for the debris, where to get it and how to manage teams of people. The emotionally and physically draining days paid off, they said. "So much has gone on recently with politics and everyone being nasty to each other. And that's the way it's felt lately," Shiflet said. "This felt so good to see everyone coming out for one purpose. Minnesota, Arizona, Florida, Alabama and even Mexico. There were so many good people that reached out and came in from all over the country. It was heartwarming to feel and see that." On Sunday, July 13, CAMP welcomed campers back, Susan Osborne CAMP's CEO told ABC News. 'You know, I think that our campers just love what we do. They enjoy to go out fishing and canoeing and swimming and horseback riding and all the things that we provide,' Osborne said. 'I was a little hesitant. I think when we first contacted parents, I thought maybe we might have some mass cancellations, but as we were communicating a lot with our parents, we wanted to let them know that we were okay and that everybody was safe.' After more than a week of volunteering, Shiflet and Bourland went home to their families. A project that should have taken months to finish, was completed in four days and left the pair with a desire to do more, they said. "I left this project a changed person,' Shiflet said. ' I just realized what's important in the world and what I've been doing. Forget all the other stuff and focus on this. I need to be there for my community and do more.' "I had no idea we'd be rebuilding anything. I was just going down there as a volunteer to help," Bourland said. "Honestly, it was the most unbelievable amount of emotions that came over me - Other than the day I married my wife."
Yahoo
4 days ago
- Yahoo
My Parents Both Died By Suicide — On The Same Day. I Haven't Been The Same Since.
The author's parents in 1947. In the middle of a plate of enchiladas and salad, the phone rings. I sigh — it's been days since I've had the time or appetite to enjoy a meal. My husband, Tom, is busy at the kitchen counter, so I reach for the phone, and my brother says, 'They're both gone.' It's 2 p.m. on Dec. 18, 1994, and with those three words, I am orphaned. After several years of suffering physical and mental anguish, my mother could take no more, and my father, who people later said couldn't bear the thought of life without his bride of 46 years, went along for the final ride, ending both their lives in their garage. On that day, as Tom and I made the 90-minute drive from our home in Massachusetts to the small farm in Connecticut where I was brought up, I looked to the sky, hoping for some kind of a sign — of peace, or comfort or simply of resolution. In the cloud formation above me I imagined two figures, waving goodbye. That was the first of many signs I have received over the now 29 years since my mother and father died by suicide at ages 72 and 73, respectively. My view on things in general had always leaned toward 'just the facts,' but in the space of 24 hours I began to look beyond the surface and open my eyes to what I could not or would not normally see. The days that followed were a haze of sorrow-driven activity, but some of what transpired remains clear. My father had taken care of all final arrangements, leaving detailed instructions on where to go and who to contact. While not highly religious, my parents wanted to be buried in a Jewish cemetery, and so my brother, husband and I met with the congregation rabbi the day following the deaths, unaware that suicide was considered taboo in the Jewish religion. As such, my parents could not rest in hallowed burial grounds, something the rabbi made us well aware of moments after we were seated. He then asked point blank, 'What was the reason for your parents' sudden death?' I felt a slight tap on my shoulder and suddenly was aware of a way to place their final wish out of jeopardy. I blurted out 'mental illness.' 'Ah,' said the rabbi. 'For that reason, burial in our cemetery is granted.' The next day's graveside ceremony had me again looking toward the sky, but this time no cloud reached down to comfort me. Instead, the air fell cold on shoulders that were suddenly burdened by a weight that still, after all these years, has lightened, but never completely lifted. Over the next few months, a redefined 'normal' made its way into my life, but with it came a sense of vulnerability that remains hard to shake. I went back to work within a week. At the time, I was a general assignment newspaper reporter, trained to 'get the story, get out, and get writing.' Increasingly, I found myself lingering over interviews with those people who had been brushed or crushed by tragedy: the father of a drowning victim, a beloved high school teacher diagnosed with a brain tumor, the family evicted from their home by a heartless landlord. I somehow found solace in those I came to refer to as 'my people' — others who had been hard hit by a catastrophic circumstance. Soon that desire to cocoon myself in others' misery morphed into something else: fear. Fear of today. Fear of tomorrow. Fear of anything that might go wrong. If my husband was more than 10 minutes late getting home from work, I imagined he had been in an accident. If our cat had a slight cough, I was convinced it was congestive heart failure. If my brother said he was feeling blue, I worried he would go down the same path our parents did. The author in 2023. Oddly enough, I was the only person I didn't fret over. In fact, I wished something would go wrong with my health or job — it sounds ludicrous, but I convinced myself that a health or employment problem of mine would go toward my family's tragedy quota and prevent other loved ones from harm. I also believed it might atone for my inability to prevent my parents' deaths. I can't count the number of times I have said, 'I should have...' and although my guilt will never completely subside, it has diminished over the past 29 years, replaced by a steadfast awareness of my parents' continued presence. Every October, around my father's birthday, either I or my husband find a new or rusty nail on our front door steps. A coincidence, perhaps, but I look at it as something more. When cleaning out their house, Tom and I had joked about the neat rows of mayonnaise jars that lined a bookcase in my parents' basement, filled with both new and old nails — a true testament to my father's frugality! I consider the annual discovery a love letter from my dad. And each day, before I leave for work, I hold a little fashion show in front of the mirror that used to hang in my parents' bedroom. My taste in clothing is similar to my mother's, and I view this daily exercise as an opportunity to connect with the woman who — for all I know — may be gazing back at me through the looking glass. I have also arrived at the unorthodox notion that my father (whose appetite was legendary among family members!) might take otherworldly enjoyment from the food I prepare during the holidays. For that reason, I always include one or two of his favorite dishes ― not only as a homage to the man who could polish off three of my homemade cinnamon rolls with ease, but also because maybe, just maybe, he can still taste and relish from his perch out there wherever he now is. Dec. 18, 1994, brought about other, more concrete changes in my life. I have reconnected with relatives, some of whom I had lost contact with for 20 or more years. It's bittersweet how losing family members can open the doors to the embracing arms of other family members. And for many years now I have been a volunteer ombudsman at a local nursing facility, working as an advocate for residents. A form of penance for an act I couldn't prevent? Perhaps, but regardless, for each time I am successful in bringing about a positive change for an elderly individual, I imagine my parents applauding from up above as they watch their now 68-year-old daughter doing a 'mitzvah.' The event that transpired on that cold, clear early winter day in 1994 has changed my life in so many ways — some for the good, others for the not so good. I'm kinder to others. I cherish the smallest of pleasures. I listen better. I cry more easily. I have trouble sleeping. I can't bear to be in an idling car. I wear vulnerability like a scent. I too often imagine the worse, for I know the worse can happen... because it did. But in a world where the worst exists, so too does the best. I'm satisfied with settling for the middle ground. If you or someone you know needs help, call or text 988 or chat for mental health support. Additionally, you can find local mental health and crisis resources at Outside of the U.S., please visit the International Association for Suicide Prevention. Sharon Nery is the former editor-in-chief of a business journal and was a reporter for a metropolitan daily newspaper in Massachusetts. She has been a columnist, restaurant and music reviewer, and is presently lead writer for a public relations agency in the greater Boston area. She is a federally certified ombudsman and does per diem work as a resident companion at an assisted living community. This article originally appeared on HuffPost in January 2024. Also in Goodful: Also in Goodful: Also in Goodful:
Buzz Feed
4 days ago
- Buzz Feed
Surviving Double Suicide: My Parents' Tragic Story
In the middle of a plate of enchiladas and salad, the phone rings. I sigh — it's been days since I've had the time or appetite to enjoy a meal. My husband, Tom, is busy at the kitchen counter, so I reach for the phone, and my brother says, 'They're both gone.' It's 2 p.m. on Dec. 18, 1994, and with those three words, I am orphaned. After several years of suffering physical and mental anguish, my mother could take no more, and my father, who people later said couldn't bear the thought of life without his bride of 46 years, went along for the final ride, ending both their lives in their garage. On that day, as Tom and I made the 90-minute drive from our home in Massachusetts to the small farm in Connecticut where I was brought up, I looked to the sky, hoping for some kind of a sign — of peace, or comfort or simply of resolution. In the cloud formation above me I imagined two figures, waving goodbye. That was the first of many signs I have received over the now 29 years since my mother and father died by suicide at ages 72 and 73, respectively. My view on things in general had always leaned toward 'just the facts,' but in the space of 24 hours I began to look beyond the surface and open my eyes to what I could not or would not normally see. The days that followed were a haze of sorrow-driven activity, but some of what transpired remains clear. My father had taken care of all final arrangements, leaving detailed instructions on where to go and who to contact. While not highly religious, my parents wanted to be buried in a Jewish cemetery, and so my brother, husband and I met with the congregation rabbi the day following the deaths, unaware that suicide was considered taboo in the Jewish religion. As such, my parents could not rest in hallowed burial grounds, something the rabbi made us well aware of moments after we were seated. He then asked point blank, 'What was the reason for your parents' sudden death?' I felt a slight tap on my shoulder and suddenly was aware of a way to place their final wish out of jeopardy. I blurted out 'mental illness.' 'Ah,' said the rabbi. 'For that reason, burial in our cemetery is granted.' The next day's graveside ceremony had me again looking toward the sky, but this time no cloud reached down to comfort me. Instead, the air fell cold on shoulders that were suddenly burdened by a weight that still, after all these years, has lightened, but never completely lifted. Over the next few months, a redefined 'normal' made its way into my life, but with it came a sense of vulnerability that remains hard to shake. I went back to work within a week. At the time, I was a general assignment newspaper reporter, trained to 'get the story, get out, and get writing.' Increasingly, I found myself lingering over interviews with those people who had been brushed or crushed by tragedy: the father of a drowning victim, a beloved high school teacher diagnosed with a brain tumor, the family evicted from their home by a heartless landlord. I somehow found solace in those I came to refer to as 'my people' — others who had been hard hit by a catastrophic circumstance. Soon that desire to cocoon myself in others' misery morphed into something else: fear. Fear of today. Fear of tomorrow. Fear of anything that might go wrong. If my husband was more than 10 minutes late getting home from work, I imagined he had been in an accident. If our cat had a slight cough, I was convinced it was congestive heart failure. If my brother said he was feeling blue, I worried he would go down the same path our parents did. Oddly enough, I was the only person I didn't fret over. In fact, I wished something would go wrong with my health or job — it sounds ludicrous, but I convinced myself that a health or employment problem of mine would go toward my family's tragedy quota and prevent other loved ones from harm. I also believed it might atone for my inability to prevent my parents' deaths. I can't count the number of times I have said, 'I should have...' and although my guilt will never completely subside, it has diminished over the past 29 years, replaced by a steadfast awareness of my parents' continued presence. Every October, around my father's birthday, either I or my husband find a new or rusty nail on our front door steps. A coincidence, perhaps, but I look at it as something more. When cleaning out their house, Tom and I had joked about the neat rows of mayonnaise jars that lined a bookcase in my parents' basement, filled with both new and old nails — a true testament to my father's frugality! I consider the annual discovery a love letter from my dad. And each day, before I leave for work, I hold a little fashion show in front of the mirror that used to hang in my parents' bedroom. My taste in clothing is similar to my mother's, and I view this daily exercise as an opportunity to connect with the woman who — for all I know — may be gazing back at me through the looking glass. I have also arrived at the unorthodox notion that my father (whose appetite was legendary among family members!) might take otherworldly enjoyment from the food I prepare during the holidays. For that reason, I always include one or two of his favorite dishes ― not only as a homage to the man who could polish off three of my homemade cinnamon rolls with ease, but also because maybe, just maybe, he can still taste and relish from his perch out there wherever he now is. Dec. 18, 1994, brought about other, more concrete changes in my life. I have reconnected with relatives, some of whom I had lost contact with for 20 or more years. It's bittersweet how losing family members can open the doors to the embracing arms of other family members. And for many years now I have been a volunteer ombudsman at a local nursing facility, working as an advocate for residents. A form of penance for an act I couldn't prevent? Perhaps, but regardless, for each time I am successful in bringing about a positive change for an elderly individual, I imagine my parents applauding from up above as they watch their now 68-year-old daughter doing a 'mitzvah.' The event that transpired on that cold, clear early winter day in 1994 has changed my life in so many ways — some for the good, others for the not so good. I'm kinder to others. I cherish the smallest of pleasures. I listen better. I cry more easily. I have trouble sleeping. I can't bear to be in an idling car. I wear vulnerability like a scent. I too often imagine the worse, for I know the worse can happen... because it did. But in a world where the worst exists, so too does the best. I'm satisfied with settling for the middle ground. Sharon Nery is the former editor-in-chief of a business journal and was a reporter for a metropolitan daily newspaper in Massachusetts. She has been a columnist, restaurant and music reviewer, and is presently lead writer for a public relations agency in the greater Boston area. She is a federally certified ombudsman and does per diem work as a resident companion at an assisted living community.
