2026 Awardee – Preslee Cook – Pleasant Grove High School HS

A Tree In the Wind

When I was seven years old, I learned how to bend without breaking, like a tree in the wind. Before I learned how to multiply, I learned how to take care of a baby. I would wake up in a room that wasn’t mine, with a crying newborn in a crib next to me and two younger siblings waiting for someone to tell them what to do. But no grown ups were coming. My dad and his girlfriend had already left the house, like they usually did. It was just silence and three kids looking at me like I was the adult in the room.

At my dad’s house, it was me, my sister Kynlee (six), my brother Benson (three), and a baby named Maddie, who was my dad’s girlfriend’s newborn. But she became mine in the ways that mattered. I made her bottles, changed her diapers, burped her, and rocked her to sleep. I would wake up earlier to get my siblings ready for school. Like picking out their outfits, doing my sister’s hair, and making them breakfast. I fed my siblings whatever I could find, usually freezer taquitos. And when they were bored I turned on Dance Central, Moana, or Zootopia, anything to keep them smiling while I quietly worried. I was a little girl trying to play mom because no one else was.

I wanted to go back to my moms house so badly. I cried to her and told her I didn’t want to go to my dad’s anymore. She told me I didn’t have to, but I always did. Not because I wanted to, but because I was scared of what might happen to my siblings if I wasn’t there. I gave up parts of my childhood so they could still have one. I felt like I was being hit by wind but had to hold steady so others could lean on me.

My dad was an angry man. He didn’t hit us, but he was rough, like squeezing our cheeks until we cried and calling it “cuteness aggression.” He was careless with animals too, tossing kittens around like toys. There were moments that almost felt normal though, like grilling burgers with his friends and watching UFC. But even then, he would have me mix his Jack Daniels and Coke and serve it to him at seven years old. Most days, I was cleaning, taking out trash, washing dishes, wiping counters, wondering if I was the only one who cared. My siblings and I would crush cans in the garage together for recycling money. That was our version of bonding.

Eventually, my dad lost custody. Now when he visits, he complains that we don’t reach out enough. But I’ve learned that love isn’t about words, it’s about who shows up. And I showed up every single day, when I never should have had to.

These experiences deeply affected my education and my life. I grew up faster than my peers. I would show up, get my work done, then go back to my life with my siblings. I learned how to stay observant and responsible, even when I felt overwhelmed. School became something I had to push through. Finishing high school wasn’t just about my grades or my education, but it was about proving to myself that my circumstances would not define my future. 

The tools that helped me survive were resilience, adaptability, and responsibility. I learned to stay calm in chaos, to solve problems quickly, and to keep going even when life felt unfair. These traits have helped me during my years in school. I also developed empathy for others who are struggling silently, and it made me realize you truly don’t know what others go through behind closed doors. 

Like a tree bending in the wind, I learned that resilience means continuing to grow despite the storms. However this is not just a part of my past, but now it’s the foundation of my future. I’ve spent much of my life showing up for others. Now, I am learning to show up for myself, my education, my goals, and the people I hope to help one day in my career.

 

If someone reading this feels like they are carrying too much too young, I want them to know you are not weak for struggling, you are strong for surviving. And surviving hard seasons is where the most growth begins.