Loyal Brothers We

My dear friend Kat sent me an invite to an application on Facebook for Alpha Phi Omega. Of course I added it. As I browsed through the application, I got all nostalgic. Nostalgia seems to be a theme for me these days.

It's hard to believe that it was nearly 10 years ago that I stumbled upon that humble table set up in the campus center. I was a freshman coming to the end of my first semester and feeling rather underwhelmed with the whole campus experience. Where were the parties? Where were the guys? Where was the beer, damn it? I had barely ventured past my own dorm hallway and I knew there was more to college than this!

So I signed up for this co-ed service fraternity. I went to a meeting that following Sunday at Amigos. A few weeks later, I was spilling my 18 year old guts to a bunch of stranger-friends at a campout at Camp Luther. Steck and Palisch put dish soap and coffee grounds in my hair while I slept. I had been initiated. I was a Brother.

Soon I was promoted to Secretary, then to Membership Vice President. I belonged to something. It was a wonderful feeling.

Leadership. Fellowship. Service. It seems like a lifetime ago, yet it also seems that no time has passed at all. I can't remember my family tree of Littles beyond Kim and Lisa. I can't remember all the words to the last verse of the Toast Song (I just tried to sing it in my head!). I can't remember who the founding president was. What I do remember is the hours of meetings in the smoking room at Cafe Latte. I do remember the "unofficial events" at Sarah and Cindy's house. I remember moving the crosses at Camp Luther, driving to Oklahoma City with Kim, Cara and Matt in his Chrysler Le Baron and laughing hysterically (why?) at a sign that said "Froz Yog." I remember the battles we went through to become an official Chapter. I remember that it was us against the world...or at least the school. Was there a world outside of Concordia? Yes, there was...and it was called "The Well."

I miss it all now. I miss wandering up to the Dorcas Stoop. I miss covering the campus sidewalks with chalk to advertise during recruitment week. I miss the meetings, the late nights, the sense of purpose. The camaraderie.

I miss the people. I miss my Brothers.

Sure, we drove each other mad at times. It seemed like at least once a week, one of us had some degree of a mental meltdown. I was usually the one having the meltdown. We had ridiculous fights. We had not so ridiculous fights. We loved, we loathed, we laughed. They say that the mind doesn't remember pain. I would have to agree, for the most part. What I remember is good. Why focus on the bad?

Five years ago, I graduated from college. On that last day, I sat at the Well with my pitcher of Amberbock and my acquired family of Brother-friends for the last time. We laughed, we cried, we wished each other well. We hugged and danced along to "You Never Even Called Me By My Name" by David Allan Coe and "Brown Eyed Girl" by Van Morrison, just as we had hundreds of times before.

And then it was all over. We've scattered all over the country and the planet. I'm fairly confident that every time one of us finds another on Facebook or Myspace, we experience the same little "WooHoo!" moment, even after all these years.

Sometimes, this little country at the bottom of the South Pacific just seems too damn far away.