Brotherhood
When I started formulating my reflection on the backs of napkins and post-it notes, I noticed that a profuse amount of my entries began with “I wish I had…” I wish I had looked up from my cell phone more. I wish I had let more time slip by on the cool fall evenings throwing frisbee with dorm-mates. I wish I had spent more time with people I was not familiar with, as well as with friends that I knew really well. Perhaps an extra bridge jump would have been nice. Scrolling through a long list of my “wishes” left a poor taste in my mouth. But mixed in with all of my shortcomings, there still were some successes and lessons learned. And so I have decided not to dwell on the missed opportunities, but instead to share one of these lessons.
Reflecting on four years at Exeter is like looking at a messy dorm room in need of cleaning, as I have done many times, and deciding where to start. When I think about how my time at Exeter began and ended, I can think only of my brother. My younger brother Josh and I began playing basketball when we were both in elementary school. Around that time, we changed our evening schedules from playing with toys to shooting on the six-foot tall plastic basketball hoop nestled in the corner of the yard. On the outside, Josh and I were pretty different, frequently getting in the way of one another and complaining to Mom about it. In the backyard, our games were sharp, fumbling dances for victory, a special kind of rivalry we shared only with each other.
We played through cuts, bumps, bruises and dim skies as the sun set too quickly. If it weren’t for Mom calling us in for dinner, the games would go on forever. It was a special relationship, a special kind I haven’t truly developed with anyone else. Our basketball court became a strong image in my reflection of my time at Exeter. I can only equate my happiness in a handful of moments to the excitement I felt when Josh and I laced up to play ball. As I searched for the stories, lessons and experiences I was privileged to have in the last four years, I could not help but ask, “was it worth it?” It is a question that most Exonians will inevitably ask at some point, whether it be in the first weeks of prep year or the last few of senior year.
Sacrificing the last four years I could otherwise have spent with Josh and the rest of my family makes “was it worth it?” harder to answer. I cannot compare my experiences and friendships made at Exeter to my relationship with my brother, but there have been nights where I wished I could open the sliding glass door on Sandra Terrace and join him in the hot, dry sunset and a scrimmage for bragging rights.
I believe, however, that, during my time away, I have learned to be a better brother. Brotherhood is tricky. The requirement to make a friend out of an utterly random, biological assignment is not always easy, and Josh and I have many stories to prove it. Yet those stories are similar to the collection of stories I share with everyone on my floor in Webster Hall and with the spectacular athletes in my cross-country training group, whom I have also come to call brothers. I’ve learned all about the time it takes to facilitate a strong connection between teammates, and the amount of success that can come of it.
As I left Josh at home my prep fall, I joined a completely new group of people. Initially, “Webster Hall” wasn’t a point of pride, but a dorm assignment, and my future best friends and companions were merely floor assignments. As a prep, I relied on my dormmates and proctors for guidance. As a senior, I am encouraged to help younger students adjust and find their niche at the Academy. The “pay it forward” mentality is a strong lesson I learned during my time in Webster Hall.
Every mile I ran with the cross-country team brought me closer to the other runners. I credit every great race to my teammates. Together we created a culture that recognizes the marriage between enjoying a sport and taking it seriously. Throughout the weeks we were supportive, motivating each other during workouts and sticking together as a pack during recovery runs. On weekends, we are purely competitive, pacing each other during the beginning of the race and throwing down rigid surges at its end. It is easy to see why slacking during races is not possible for the Phillips Exeter distance team. Suffice it to say that we kept each other honest. The condition of the team was hardly ever perfect; there were rivalries and feuds throughout each season. But because we kept our heads level and put others before ourselves, our seemingly random collection of Exonians managed to grow into a championship team.
More than anything, my time at Exeter has been about relationships: growing, failing, old and new. I hope, as I return to the West Coast and Josh begins high school next year, that I can take the lessons I’ve learned, those of support, competition, and sacrifice, to begin to replenish the years I have missed with him. Maybe then I can show, in my own way, that even the terrible costs of attending Phillips Exeter, such as the absence from home and the sleepless nights, are paid back in bigger ways.