When I think about the biggest influences in my life, I don’t think first about famous names or grand speeches. I think about people who showed up. Consistently. Quietly. Faithfully.
My mom sits at the top of that list. She shaped most of who I am—my creativity, my desire for kindness, my love for music. Those things didn’t come from nowhere. They were modeled, encouraged, and lived out in front of me every day. Long before I understood what influence really was, she was pouring it into me.
My favorite teacher was Sherry Robinson, my fifth-grade teacher at Ashton Elementary. She believed in my writing early—early enough that it mattered. She encouraged me to write two plays, and then went a step further by helping make sure both were actually performed. That kind of faith sticks with a kid. She didn’t just teach me; she saw me. And yes, she was beautiful—so there was definitely a bit of a crush there. I’m pretty sure most of the boys in her class felt the same way.
My stepfather played a huge role in shaping my faith. He taught me most of what I know about the Bible and about what it means to be a godly man. He wasn’t perfect—none of us are—but he loved the Lord deeply and lived that love out loud. What he passed on to me was real, durable faith, the kind that holds up when life doesn’t cooperate.
Teachers matter more than they realize. A few believed in me when belief mattered most. They nurtured my love of words, history, and questions—and somewhere along the way, I became one of them. Teaching isn’t just about information; it’s about influence.
My faith itself has been a steady presence, even as my understanding of it has grown and deepened over time. Not a straight line—but a faithful one. It has taught me humility, perseverance, and grace, especially when it comes to extending it to others—and to myself.
Then there’s family now. Daryl, who grounds me and challenges me in the best ways. Lizzi and Sullivan, who remind me daily that legacy isn’t what we accumulate—it’s what we pass on. Love has a way of clarifying what actually matters.
And finally, there are the quieter influences—the ones that don’t speak. Books. Music. Writing. That moment of stillness after the final bell, when the room is empty and my thoughts finally have space to settle. Those are the places where everything else gets sorted out.
Influence isn’t about who shouts the loudest.
It’s about who leaves a mark that lasts.
Copyright © 2025 Doug DeBolt.
