The Joy of Single-Sex Education

A few Fridays back, I stood sweating in the midst of a tiny, 90 degree kitchen. With hordes of people munching on hummus, sharing margaritas and waiting on their gyros, I used one hand to grill the various things we offer on the menu and with the other hand clutched my cellular telephone in my pocket waiting ever so excitedly for it to vibrate. Every time it buzzed my heart went to my throat. I wasn't, as you might expect, waiting for a girl to text me back or waiting for a call about an ailing relative. Instead I was eagerly anticipating score updates from my high school's football game that evening.

You see, my little all boy's private school was playing perennial national football powerhouse, South Panola on this particular Friday night, and despite being almost five years removed from high school, I still clung to the phone with all my hopes for the night resting with Memphis University School and a bunch of kids I didn't know trying their darnedest to bring home a victory. In the end, MUS did in fact win, defeating South Panola at home for the first time since 2001. Go Buzzards.

But my weekly rant really has little to do with football today and more to do with why it was so important to me, a now college grad to support my Alma mater.

I have a lot of friends. I mean a lot. OK. Maybe not a ton, but a good many. And very few of them still have any desire to keep up with their high schools' goings on. It's just not a big deal to them. It was a phase of their lives that is over, so they move on, and don't worry about it. But all of the guys I graduated with still have a very deep-seated connection to MUS. They want to know how the football team is doing, what teachers have left, what the senior prank was, etc. MUS was a place that they loved and that they continue to cherish even into their twenties, thirties and in most cases until they die (no exaggeration).

But why?


Why do MUS grads continue to love and support their old high school and why do most other people just graduate and leave it at that? Because MUS, along with most other all male schools, offers more than just an education. It offers a brotherhood, a camaraderie that is hard to find elsewhere.

Outside of the Carolina's, Virginia, Massachusetts and Tennessee, all boys schools are pretty rare. Even people from Mississippi thought it was crazy I only went to school with guys when I got to college. They threw out the typical, "Oh, I bet you're gay," or "Didn't it suck never seeing girls?" when they heard that a same sex environment is where I spent my teenage years. And despite long conversations trying to explain why I, and all the other students, loved it so much, they just couldn't come to an understanding of it. "Dude I would never go to a guys school," is pretty much all I ever got as a response. And surprisingly enough, girls thought it was even crazier than guys did when I would tell them about it. Go figure.


But really, I loved every second of high school. Not because I was the big jock, or Mr. Popular or even the smartest, most well read student there, but because every day I got up to go to school and knew I would get to have fun at school with the guys. We would laugh and cut up and joke with each other and the mostly male teachers and even work really hard to do well as far as our studies went. We had actual relationships with teachers. We had actual relationships with one another. (NO. Not gay ones.) We didn't have to worry about dealing with girls or impressing anyone or seeing our ex the day after we broke up with them. It was just a relaxed atmosphere to learn in and in my humble opinion it was the best atmosphere in which to learn.

I'm not trying to sell MUS with this piece. MUS sells it self quite frankly. I just wish that people could understand why my high school is still so important to me and its other graduates after all the years that have passed since we graduated.

The looks I got that night in the kitchen when I was jumping up and down celebrating a touchdown I didn't even witness made me feel like I was crazy. But I know I'm not. And if my coworkers, or anyone else who didn't get to, had experienced MUS or another all boys school firsthand, they'd know I'm not crazy too. It's just something you have to be a part of to understand I guess. I'm really thankful I was a part of it. I'll always keep up with MUS and will always be an Owl no matter where my life might lead me.

I'll end with this. I sang in Beg to Differ, the a cappella group (think Rockappella) at MUS. You could say we were pretty good. But after graduation, we all packed up and went to sing for a few weeks in France. After several shows around the country, we concluded with a performance in Notre Dame. This is what John Hiltonsmith, our director had to say about it.

"In that particular performance, we had 20-plus teenage boys who had, for the first time as an ensemble, connected emotionally and spiritually with the music. Many of the singers were reduced to tears. It was the single most memorable event of my entire musical career."

And this is what, Charles Askew, fellow member and friend of mine had to say about it.

"Looking up at the Rose window, we must have all felt something like the presence of God. I'll be forever thankful to Mr. Hiltonsmith for that day."

Moments like that one don't come along everyday. In one performance, over 20 lives were changed, both adults and young men, and without a place like MUS that encourages such experiences it never would have happened.

MUS and other schools like it are in the business of educating young men, but more than anything else, they are in the business of producing young men with character and values, ones that stand out in the world. MUS's, marketing slogan is "MUS: The School Where Boys Letter in Life." It might be cheesy, but it's right.


Go Owls...