When I went to college, I knew one thing: I wanted to play tennis. Beyond that, I had no clue. I went to an open house at NKU, and during the welcome session they told everyone to go meet with their major. I didn’t know if that meant I had to choose right then, but I assumed I did. And once I pick something… I stick with it. So, I chose education.
It wasn’t some deeply thought-out decision. It was instinct. But maybe it wasn’t all that random after all. Teaching runs in my family. Both of my grandmothers were teachers. My grandfather was a teacher. My stepdad was a teacher. I saw it up close.
It was my stepdad’s example that really shaped me. He worked in some of the toughest neighborhoods in Cincinnati Public Schools for over 34 years. I saw what true dedication looks like. I saw what it meant to pour everything into students, even when the system didn’t make it easy. I saw what it meant to care way past the final bell.
Every Christmas, he would go to Big Lots and buy a gift for every student—Barbies, Hot Wheels, hats, gloves, socks. And we would wrap every single one. Every single one. Because to him, every kid deserved to feel seen. To feel thought of.
He didn’t stop there. He planned field trips for his class—trips that weren’t just fun days off but literal windows into the world. Amish country. Farms. Cows, chickens, horses. Simple stuff, maybe to us, but for some of his kids, that was their first time outside the city. Their first time seeing life from another angle.
Watching all of this, I realized something. Teaching isn’t just about delivering content. It’s not about just doing your job. It’s about seeing people. It’s about giving kids access—to knowledge, to experiences, to care.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that open house moment? It wasn’t a mistake. It was the first step into something bigger. Something I was already being shaped for without realizing it.
Sometimes the things that shape us start as a guess. But they end up becoming part of who we are.
Moler's Musings 