The Teacher Who Made Journalism Feel Possible

A Bright Spot at Morris Jr. High

I’ve been thinking lately about how certain people influence your life in small ways.

Not always in some big dramatic movie scene. Sometimes it’s just a teacher saying something in class. Sometimes it’s the way they carry themselves. Sometimes it’s the way they talk about a world you didn’t even know existed yet.

For me, one of those people was Ms. Lewis, my English teacher at Morris Jr. High in McAllen.

Back then, I was just trying to get through school. I wasn’t always confident. There were seasons where I enjoyed school, and then there were times when I honestly dreaded going to class.

Jr. High can be a strange age. You’re old enough to start wondering who you might become, but young enough that you don’t really know what any of it means yet.

Ms. Lewis was one of the bright spots.

She was kind. She was positive. She made class feel like a place I actually wanted to be. And she would sometimes talk about her degree in journalism.

At that age, I didn’t fully understand how someone even got a degree in journalism. I just knew it sounded different. I had never heard of something like that I thought that was such a cool degree!  Telling stories and getting to meet people from all walks of life.

It gave me something to hope for.

Years later, I would go on to earn my communications degree from UTPA in 1999, with journalism becoming a major part of the way I saw the world.

I don’t think I fully realized until much later how much that mattered.

Sometimes a teacher opens a door without even knowing they opened it. They say something in passing, and a student carries it for years.

The Debate Lesson I Never Forgot

One memory from her class has stayed with me.

I volunteered for a debate RIGHT before the lunch break. I don’t remember all the details, but I remember that I didn’t really know which side I was supposed to stand on.

I was flip-flopping. I just jumped in and tried to wing it.

And I got CRUSHED (it wasn’t pretty).

I was embarrassed. At that age, embarrassment feels bigger than it really is. It feels like everyone saw you fail and no one will ever forget it.

But Ms. Lewis didn’t make me feel stupid. She pulled me aside later and told me it was okay. It wasn’t the end of the world.

Then she gave me advice I still think about.

She told me that when you enter an arena like that, you need to have something firm to stand on. If you don’t, you’re going to lose every time.

That was about debate, but it was also about life.

It was about knowing what you believe. It was about preparation. It was about walking into a room with some kind of foundation under your feet.

At the time, I probably didn’t understand the weight of that lesson. I was just a kid who had been embarrassed in class.

But looking back, that little moment followed me into my work as a photographer, storyteller, and business owner.

How That Lesson Connects to Photography

Photography is not just about pointing a camera at someone.

At least not the kind of work I care about.

It’s about knowing what you’re trying to say. It’s about having a point of view. It’s about walking into a room, a business, a hospital, a city department, or a portrait session and understanding that there is a story there.

You have to stand on something.

I didn’t know it then, but that was part of how I would learn to see people — not just as subjects in front of a camera, but as stories worth paying attention to.

Ms. Lewis also taught me something else, maybe without trying to.

She showed me that your degree, your job title, and your daily work do not have to fit inside one narrow box.

She had a journalism background, but she was teaching English. And she was doing it in a way that mattered.

She showed me that you can take what you know, what you love, and what you’ve lived, and let it show up wherever you are.

That is something I understand more now.

My own path has not been a straight line. Journalism, photography, video, websites, storytelling, small businesses, city projects, portraits, events — all of it connects in ways I couldn’t have explained when I was younger.

But the thread has always been story.

Why Good Teachers Still Matter

The older I get, the more I think about teachers.

I think about how easy it is for society to sideline them. We talk about budgets, contracts, test scores, and politics. Teachers become part of some bigger argument, and we forget that they are standing in front of real kids every day.

Kids who are struggling.

Kids who are listening.

Kids who may not say much in the moment, but who will remember something 25 or 30 years later.

My sisters are both educators. My mother is a retired social worker and a former elementary teacher in La Joya. So I’ve seen it from different angles.

Good teachers leave marks that don’t always show up on paper.

They shape confidence.

They plant ideas.

They make certain futures feel possible.

Finding Her Again Years Later

Recently, I came across Ms. Lewis again in a completely different season of life.

Not as the teacher I remembered from Jr. High, but as someone being recognized in the community for her work and service.

That hit me in a way I didn’t expect.

Because sometimes people disappear from your life for decades, and then they pop back up and remind you that they were part of your story all along.

Looking back now, after years of photographing people, businesses, and community stories across the Rio Grande Valley, I can see how much those early teachers shaped the way I see people.

I don’t know if Ms. Lewis ever knew the impact she had on me.

Most teachers probably don’t.

But I hope they know that the work matters. I hope they know that the kindness matters. I hope they know that the words they say in a classroom can follow a student for the rest of his life.

For me, Ms. Lewis made journalism feel possible.

She made class feel good during a time when school didn’t always feel that way.

And she taught me that if you’re going to step into the arena, you better know what you’re standing on.

I’m still learning that lesson.

But I’m grateful she was one of the people who taught it to me.