Founders' Day

I have no idea how to write this. The Founders' Day weekend was a series of profoundly moving experiences, densely packed into 48 hours. I slept too little, drank too much, and was overwhelmed with nostalgia.

Upon arriving in Cleveland, tired and hungry from the ridiculous drive, I went with Rob, Prem, and Congo to the Winking Lizard, a restaurant boasting an absurdly wide beer selection. We knew that some of the other alums were already there, but we had no idea that we'd be greeted by dozens of our friends, many of whom I hadn't seen in 3 or 4 years.

Since the English language lacks the adjectives to describe the utter joy and the obnoxious loudness of this reunion, I will instead use Swahili:
It was click-click-nwe-click

I hopped a bus back to ye olde Fraternity house with Brendan, delightfully buzzed and looking forward to a good night's sleep. The beer-soaked, bass-bumping, black-lit party to which I returned was an acceptable alternative.

The one thing I got from that night (aside from a hangover) was a sense of legacy. Kids I'd never met knew me, came up and introduced themselves, offered me beer. At the rate I was meeting them, and in my sub-optimal state of mind, I had to resort to calling them all New Guy, except for Logan, who I called Trevor for some reason.

I only spent 4 years in Cleveland, for which I thank my lucky stars. Along with all the bad stuff I left behind, I also left a fraternity that I love. It's nice to feel that a part of me is still there, that I still have some ownership of the organization to which I gave so much of myself.

The next day was the official Founders' Day celebration. There will eventually be pictures on the interwebs, and I'll probably post them.

My first Founders' Day as an alumnus was a totally different experience, in that I still knew 3/4 of the active brothers and had only graduated a few months earlier. While I've visited a few times since them, running a seminar and attending big events and whatnot, I'm definitely further removed from the college experience now. This weekend made it clear that yes, I have changed (dare I say grown?), but it also reminded of the lessons I'd learned in my youth.

Hearing about the brothers who'd died in the past year, expectedly so or otherwise, and about the amazing good that brothers are doing now... this all served as a reminder (please pardon the ensuing cliche) that life is too short. The pain everyone felt, knowing that they'd lost touch with people who were no longer just a phone call away, was a sobering facet to an otherwise celebratory weekend.

I also observed the drama, the interpersonal conflicts, the jealousy and backstabbing and accidents that threatened long-lasting friendships. Truly we are all idiots. Bu then I watched freshmen deal with trouble, and I watched alumni. The late night retelling of the forgotten stories, the oral history of my generation, brought all the old epiphanies flooding back.

Life is just too damn short and fragile. It is tricky, of course, to know when to forgive and when to take a stand. It's tricky to see the difference between reconciliation and respect, contrition and condescension. We're supposed to be one big happy family, but that's not the way things work, and there are inevitabilities that must be dealt with.

I still have trouble seeing these fine lines, but at least I can finally see the difference between the reactions of 18 year olds and those of adults.

I'll close this stream-of-consciousness post with an address to my audience. Yes, I am the member of an intercollegiate Greek organization, a "Frat Boy" if you must. No, Phi Psis at Case Western Reserve University are not the guys who pissed you off at your school, nor are they John Belushi's Deltas nor Van Wilder's DIKs. Many of the best parts of who I am came from the four years I spent with those men, and I wouldn't trade those experiences for anything.

In conclusion, I'm proud to be a Phi Psi.