Post 1: Greek Week 2011 shirt

Still riding the high I got from accepting my bid to Pi Lambda Phi fraternity, I walked through the hard-wooded halls of 321 Fraternity Row like I owned the place.  Though I can now navigate the century-old house blindfolded, a mere three months ago it was still full of mysteries.  The walk to my big brother Miles’ room was a familiar one though.  I spent the last couple weeks hanging out, watching football games and pulling pranks with him, hoping he would be my mentor for the coming months of pledging.  We seemed the perfect fit for each other, Industrial engineering majors, tall, athletic and the biggest goofballs anyone can meet.  I sat down on his black futon to congratulations of accepting my bid and his appreciation that I picked him as my big brother.  He gave me an overview of what he expected from me and what I could expect from him. He wished me luck and sent me on my way, but not before tossing a grey-blue ball of cloth into my surprised hands.  I unknotted the tangled mess, unveiling my first letter t-shirt from last year’s Greek Week, an annual competitive event between fraternities and sororities. He reminded me that anytime I wear them I represent not only our fraternity, but the values and standards that our brotherhood has built over the past 116 years.

            Some might look at this t-shirt and turn their nose up in disgust.  It’s old, worn out and smells like a frat house laundry room.  To me, it is representative of all the work I put into myself as a person and into the house that has given so much back to me.  It means finally finding a place where I can not only be myself, but become the best version of myself possible.  Since meeting the 12 other members of my pledge-class, the group of men I learn my history and knowledge of the fraternity with, I have become best friends with all of them.  We know each other’s deepest secrets and greatest aspirations.  I know we will attend each other’s weddings, children’s births, and eventually funerals.  Since initiation, I wear that shirt with pride, representing the group of like-minded individuals I have earned the right to call my brothers.  Every time I put on the shirt, I sense the lingering smell of unknown detergent and dryer sheets and feel the cloth, worn from a year of use by a 6’5” giant.  Though it’s stretched and stained from countless pre-games and tailgates, I would never think of throwing it away, it’s far too emotionally valuable.  I hope next year I will find a little brother who will understand its significance and cherish it as I have.