Everyone in Norman knew our block. There were five kids in our

Zac Taylor once reminisced, “Everyone in Norman knew our block. There were five kids in our neighborhood who started at QB in high school. We had Division-I athletes from a number of sports available to play at any moment.” These words carry the force of memory, but also the weight of destiny. They are not merely a tale of children at play, but a testimony to the power of environment, community, and the extraordinary fire that can arise when many talents burn side by side.

When Taylor recalls that “everyone knew our block,” he reveals the way greatness draws attention even in its earliest stages. A neighborhood can be an ordinary place—but when it is filled with extraordinary youth, it becomes a forge, a crucible where strength and skill are sharpened daily. To have five quarterbacks rise from a single street is not chance alone, but the fruit of constant challenge, of competition born in backyards and on dusty fields. It is the truth of iron sharpening iron: each child, striving to outdo the other, unknowingly lifted them all higher.

The ancients knew this principle well. In Sparta, children were raised together under the agoge, training side by side, their strength growing from shared struggle. In Athens, the young philosophers debated endlessly, their thoughts sharpened by the clash of ideas. So too in Norman, the neighborhood became a training ground, not formal like a gymnasium, but alive with games, contests, and the restless energy of youth. From such soil, Division-I athletes sprang forth as naturally as fruit from a fertile tree.

History gives us similar examples. The city of Florence in the Renaissance produced not one, but a constellation of geniuses—Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Botticelli—all walking the same streets, shaping each other in spirit and rivalry. Or think of the small Caribbean island of Jamaica, where runners trained side by side until they produced the fastest men and women in the world. In every case, when talent gathers in clusters, and competition is constant, greatness multiplies itself.

The emotional power of Taylor’s words lies in their nostalgia and their quiet awe. He remembers not only the victories of later years but the raw, joyful beginnings, when greatness was still just children throwing balls and racing in yards. Yet even then, the seeds of destiny were visible. The Division-I athletes were not born in isolation but nurtured in a living web of community, of challenge, of shared dreams. His words remind us that greatness often begins in the humble places, unnoticed by the world, but undeniable to those who lived it.

For the seeker of wisdom, the lesson is luminous: environment shapes destiny. Surround yourself with those who push you higher, who sharpen your skills, who ignite your spirit. A child among champions will be lifted, just as a lone spark becomes flame when surrounded by fire. Do not isolate yourself, but seek the company of the strong, the wise, the dedicated—for their presence will call forth the best in you.

What then must we do? Look to your own “block,” your own community. Ask yourself: who surrounds me? Do they inspire me, challenge me, make me better? If not, seek out those who will. Build a circle where excellence is expected, where effort is constant, where greatness becomes the norm. For in such company, you will not only grow yourself but also help others rise.

Thus Zac Taylor’s memory resounds as a teaching for generations: greatness is born not only from individual effort, but from the company you keep. The block of Norman was legendary because it was filled with rivals, friends, and dreamers who together created a culture of excellence. So too can your life become a forge of greatness, if you surround yourself with those who demand your best and inspire you to give it. In this way, the story of one block becomes the story of us all.