I checked my watch again while Brittany stopped the group to
check directions. Were we going to make it? We studied the French street signs
cluttered with extra letters no one pronounces, and finally found a match on
our google-map printout. “This way,” I confidently announced to the 6
middle schoolers and 2 parent chaperones in tow behind us, and off we went, our
suitcases clattering over the otherwise silent cobblestones. Few Parisians are
out early on a Sunday morning, yet here we were heading to school on our
weekend so that we could take part in our first ever International History Bee
& Bowl. The name itself sounded intimidating. As we trudged on, I could
hear HW say for the seventeenth time this morning, “I’m so nervous!” LW was
pale; she had refused to eat breakfast, claiming that her stomach was too tight
and would reject it.
“Do you think we have a chance at Rome?” JS asked next to
me. Rome. That is where the European Championships will be held, and it had
become synonymous in our minds with
victory.
“One competition at a time,” I smiled back at him. I didn’t want to acknowledge
my own ambivalence of whether or not I wanted to think about Rome, let alone
whether or not I thought we stood a chance today.
Brittany suddenly halted again, and the street fell eerily
silent. “Are there stairs anywhere?” she asked, turning her map sideways. The middle schoolers
immediately fanned out, and DE was the first to find them. “Over here!” he
shouted loudly, only to be shushed by the European-born MK’s, whose worst fear
is the disapproving glance of a stern adult. (Sidenote: We met him later on the train. Boo.) We raced down the stairs, the Seine
River glittering just in view, and finally located the elusive International
School of Paris. We had arrived with 2 minutes to spare for registration. The
competition could begin.
Other students lined the halls and tables and eyed us
curiously in our matching royal blue t-shirts, proudly proclaiming BFA across
the front. Exuding more confidence than I felt at the moment, I signed the
forms and filled in names, grateful for a task to have. Out of the corner of my
eye, I watched HW redo her braid yet again and then ask AD if she could braid
her long blond hair as well. Instructions were given, teams formed, rooms
filled, and before I could even pat each student on the back one more time,
they were gone. Out of sight. Out of my control. There was nothing more I could
do for them now. Nothing else to teach, no word of encouragement I could speak one
last time. It was up to them, and I wrung my hands in prayer, Brittany and I
grimacing at each other across the room.
Seven hours passed in this manner. Rounds were won; rounds
were lost. I was given the job of Reader, and often it was apart from any of my
students. I waved through windows and watched with pits - yes several - in my stomach as they
buzzed and either half-rose out of their chairs or half-sunk down into their
depths. Friends were made. HW had braided every girl’s hair by the end of the
day, and MS spent lunch in the corner with his new buddies.
Suddenly, in a flash, it was time for the Finals. We checked
the standings on the Master sheet, and JS had qualified for the Bee Finals at
the Junior Varsity level while MS and LW had qualified for the Middle school
level. We had all qualified for the Bowl finals. Cheers ensued, and we headed
to the gym where an intimidating table was set up at the front, and the buzzers
stood waiting. I perched as far back as I could so that other teachers wouldn’t
notice my constant shifting positions, and where I couldn't be accused of
cheating if I mouthed the answers silently to myself.
MS took 1st place for the Middle schoolers
followed by the 1st runner-up, LW, and JS put up a valiant fight
before winning 1st place at the Junior Varsity level as well. There
was no holding back DE as he hooted and hollered embarrassingly, but his
teammates didn’t seem to mind as much anymore. The individuals beamed in their
medals, holding their prize chocolate, but the day wasn’t over. The team
competition still stood before us.
The students took their place at the front table; Brittany,
the parents, and I all adjusted our camera settings, but I was too flighty to
take pictures, so I put mine away again. Deciding I needed a new seat, I
readjusted myself twenty times and cracked every knuckle twice as the questions
began to fly at the students. “Name the first Holy Roman Emperor crowned on
Christmas Day, 800 AD.” “Charlemagne.” “What word is given to describe the
somewhat aggressive expansion of nations into other parts of the world to start
colonies and – .“ “Imperialism.” “Name the Christian apostle who denied Christ
three times – .” “Peter!”
It was neck and neck. I moaned when they missed what seemed
to me easy questions but cheered when they surprised me and got ones we had
never studied. (English sheep?!?) And just as quickly as it had all begun, it was over. BFA had
won!
I was in complete shock and wanted to rush the table. The
ever-composed Brittany gave me a hug, and we received the plaque, raising it high for pictures and accolades of the other schools. MS’s buddies came up to shake
his hand. “See you in Rome,” they declared, and he smiled back at them. “Will
you braid my hair again in Rome,” Adita asked HW. “Of course!!!” HW replied,
all nervousness replaced by bright smiles. We walked composed back up to the
room where all our suitcases were being stored, the students congenially
shaking hands and congratulating other winners as well.
And then we walked into our room, and all decorum went out
the window. Whooping erupted, and I was surrounded by bouncing blue t-shirts
who were chanting, “We’re going to Rome! We’re going to Rome!” (Stay tuned for a Rome blog following May 24-25.)
