The Long Game of Teaching

When I was in fourth grade, I had just moved back to Florida after a year and a half in South Carolina. It was a tough adjustment—new school, new friends, and the usual challenges of being a kid. But one of the parts that made moving so much easier was my new teacher. Mrs Reams was funny, kind, and encouraged me in a way that no teacher ever had before.

One day, she assigned the class to write a story over the course of a month. Mrs. Reams pulled me aside and told me she couldn't wait to see what I would write, and that she thought I could even write a book if I felt up to it. That was all I needed to hear.

I poured myself into the project, writing a long story about the journal of a pioneer traveling across the country in the 19th century. I added sepia-toned photos to my book, used a wood burner to carve a map into a leather cover, and even sat at my mom’s Compaq computer to type it all up. The final book was 40 pages long.

When I handed it to Mrs. Reams, her eyes lit up. She asked if I could make a copy for her to keep. Even writing this now I can feel the pride I felt in that moment. I told her I wanted to be a writer someday, and she said, "What do you mean, someday? You already are a writer." That moment set me on a path.

From then on, I wrote constantly—through middle school, high school, and into college, where I majored in creative writing. Today, I’m an author of three published books and continue to write articles, video scripts, poems, and even stories for my kids. Writing is a fundamental part of my life. And I always trace my love for writing back to Mrs. Reams, who believed in me and helped me see myself as a writer.

Not long after I turned in my book, Mrs Reams announced to the class that she was moving out of state. I remember all of the kids cried because we were losing our beloved teacher. I even wrote her a note to tell her what she meant to me.

Fast forward 30 years.
I was invited to give the end-of-year keynote at my old high school in Charlotte County, Florida. The teachers didn't know I was coming, so I was excited to surprise them.

Before my talk, the principal stood up and said she was going to do a little activity to prep the teachers. She told them beforehand to bring in a physical artifact that reminds them of why they do the work they do: a printed email, a letter from a student, a piece of student work— anything that reminds them of their work’s deeper purpose. So, the teachers started sharing their artifacts, and after a few, a woman stood up to share hers.

In her hand was an old stack of bound up papers. It was something a student had made for her 30 years ago, and she said that she still kept it because it reminded her of why she does what she does. She then pulled out a note and started reading it to the room. This is what it said:

Dear Mrs. Reams, I have known you for a year, and ever since then you have been my favorite teacher. All those tests, reports, and writing assignments changed me. Thanks for your good teaching. I have learned a lot and wish you didn’t have to move, and I hope to see you again someday. Best wishes to you and your family.”

-Trevor Muir.

“P.S. Here is a copy of my journal. If I ever get it published, I will dedicate it to you. If I ever become a famous actor, I will say your name at the award ceremony.”

When Mrs. Reams finished reading that note aloud, I stood up and called out to her. She looked across the room, clearly puzzled, trying to make sense of the situation. It took a moment, but then recognition clicked, and her eyes widened as it dawned on her who I was. That’s when everything hit us both, and we couldn’t help but tear up! It was one of the wildest moments of my life. She didn’t know I was there, and I didn’t know she had moved back to Florida.

I then got to share with Mrs. Reams the deep impact she had had on me. I told her that she set me on this path—not just to become a teacher, but also to be a writer. I was the kid who loved writing because of her, and now here I was, standing before her, sharing in this incredible, full-circle moment. I got to see the journal again—the very thing that sparked everything for me. I had lost my copy years ago, but there it was in her hands. It felt like a miracle, honestly, like something out of a novel.

And that experience was a reminder to me and to all educators—what you do matters, even if you don’t always get to see the impact. Sometimes, it takes years. In Mrs. Reams’ case, it took decades. You may never know the full effect you have on a student, but that does not negate the influence you had on them. Whether you hear about it or not, whether you see it immediately or not, your work makes a difference. That’s just the nature of teaching.

As you go into the holiday break, I hope you can take some time to reflect on your work and realize how your effort is making an impact on your students that lasts long beyond your physical time with them.

Mrs. Reams, if you’re reading this, I just want to remind you again what a gift to the world you are.