She takes a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Her heart is pounding at a rate so fast it feels like it’s going to burst out of her chest. I stand there, biting my lip, fists gripped; hoping, praying everything goes as planned. She takes a deep breath in… This is her moment. One more breath out, she finally speaks, “I read my story.” 50 kids erupt with excitement! Jumping up and down chanting her name, “Yass-mine! Yass-mine! Yass-mine!” She did it. Her excitement and her satisfaction was fueled by that of her classmates and her competitors.
This was the scene during yesterday’s Vocabulary Competition. Such a simple sentence, such an electric reaction! I’ve never felt anything like it; not when we beat Aspen, not when Navy beat Yale in the NCAA Men’s Lacrosse tournament, not even when the BMHS soccer team won state in 2012.
Within the Nichols family, if a TV was on it was almost always a sport. Sports Center, lacrosse, hockey football, hell even golf. When the home was empty you could almost guarantee we were either, skiing, playing lacrosse, surfing, or just about any other sport. Sports are my family’s passion, it’s the glue that keeps us all together. I’ve always said the best way to end a fight with the Nichols brothers is to go outside and play football, frisbee, bike, skateboard; you name it we will do it. I can’t imagine how different my life would if we didn’t have that passion for sports.
In the United States our passion and our energy is nearly entirely focused on athletics. It’s not a bad thing, don’t get me wrong I love watching the Denver Broncos win a Super Bowl. I’m eternally grateful for the relationships that have been formed through athletics.
But here I am, college bound and the focus of my life isn’t on sports.
Here in Rabat, Morocco that energy that fixation, is centered entirely around education rather than sports. It’s gratifying to see someone celebrate the victory of a vocab competition with the same emotion and enthusiasm that Von Miller had when he sacked Cam Newton for a touchdown in Super bowl 50 (#gobroncos). It’s a foreign idea to think that someone would think this way about education, yet this is so common among Moroccan families.
For these students, passing the Baccalaureate exam is the equivalent to the NFL combine. Every year hundreds of athletes go in an attempt to display their talents. Their entire lives they have been committed to this moment. Every stride, every rep, every film session, every ounce of effort was dedicated to this moment. A moment of greatness.
The ability to achieve greatness in Morocco is tested by the Baccalaureate exam. Knowing English can be the key between failure and success. Every word they write, every book they read, every “t” they cross is dedicated to this test. This level of passion has no doubt been displayed in my classroom every day for the past two weeks. Even when they were going on only a few hours of sleep and empty stomachs, their minds were entirely focused on what they were learning in that moment. Each lesson was like a play aimed towards winning a game. Except this game was life. Everything I threw at them they analyzed and attacked with every ounce of energy and focus in their little bodies. And of course when they got it, when they nailed it, when it all went perfectly, they celebrate. They celebrated with more energy than I have ever seen any student-athlete celebrate with before. Including the 1987 Miami Hurricanes.
These students have completely changed the term, Student-Athlete.
A student-athlete is not someone who goes to class for 7 hours a day only itching to get out to hit someone. A student-athlete is an individual who comes to class ready to give the perfect effort. A student who embraces every minute of class, values their teachers, and their opportunities they have been given. We should be having banquets for our teachers, praising them for their hard work, dedication, and accountability. But instead we walk out the front door flipping off the very institution that gave us the greatest gift of all time. The gift of education. When we were leaving the school, 12 year old Halima, with a tear rolling down her eye, handed me a hand-written letter. In that letter she said, “Thank you for your help and efforts to teach us. You have given us the gift of learning.” I quickly read the letter, looked up at her gave her a hug and she said, “That is the best thing you can ever give.”
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