Before They Were Men, These Boyhood Friends Were a Band of Brothers

I’m a lucky guy.

I spent yesterday with 14 of my boyhood friends. That’s right, boyhood—kindergarten, puberty, driver’s license, high school —all the rites of passage and collective shared memories of coming of age, we shared.

These now old men knew me before I was a husband, a father, a doctor, a colonel, an author—all the things that have defined me since, and in the end, do not.

And although over the four decades after high school we came together rarely, we marked in some way life’s highs and lows together: military service, marriage, sickness, injury. But for more than 14 years now, we have put aside the demands of our lives to deliberately be together at least a couple times a year to, in some small way, recognize the slings and arrows of aging: retirement, stroke, cancer, a new view of ourselves in the circle of life.

The bonds of this durable male tribe were locked in so early that it matters not what we did with our lives, what schools we went to, whom we married, what professions we followed. Our connections have roots impregnable to the messy human pettiness that seems to be universal. We are Stevie, Moe, Davey, Richie: a band of brothers whose bond has survived distance and time.

What’s Going On?

I find it difficult to describe what I feel when I am within the inner sanctum of this gang of 15. True, we were thrown together by geography, but the fires of boyhood and adolescence forged us in ways that I believe are primal and tell much about the nature of our species. And so I’m compelled to try and shine a light on this mysterious, and yes, magical, connection.

Above all, I feel accepted. Accepted for my core. The collective arms of the group are around my shoulders. No matter what, these mates have been—and will be there—when I need them. No matter what life has in store for me, I need not be lacking in male contact that’s without price tag, requirements, or expectations. They’re there because in some ways, they always have been. I cut my social connection teeth with these guys.

I feel part of something bigger than myself. I have sought this out my whole life—in the military, in medicine, and as a grandfather. Perhaps the value sprouted long ago in the pictures of us with our arms around each other. Anonymity, loneliness, and despair are, it seems, more common today, but are less likely in the glow of this tribe.

Our ancestors banded together for survival. I think in many ways we still do it for the same reason. Perhaps not literal survival, but in an age of anonymity, our sense of self and meaning is at risk. Writer/director Masayuki Suo, in the movie Shall We Dance, gives us, I believe, remarkable insight into why we seek out relationships: to bear witness to our lives. These guys knew me when.

It’s Not Just About Company

Research into social connection is clear. If you’re connected to others in a meaningful way (more than the current definition of being “connected” and being “friends”) you will be from two to five times less likely to suffer from heart disease, cancer, or dementia. The health risk of being isolated from others is equivalent to smoking a pack a day for your life. So being connected is not only fun, but it makes life more meaningful and makes us healthy.

As a physician, I have been privileged to be with people in their last moments of life. It’s clear to me that what matters in the end is relationships: whether you were loved and loved, whether you made a difference in someone’s life, whether you opened yourself to others, and whether others opened themselves to you. We are creatures who, at our core, define ourselves by how we connected with others. All else falls by the wayside when we look at our lives in review.

In the excellent movie Bucket List, Morgan Freeman tells Jack Nicholson the two questions asked, according to ancient Egyptian legend, before being allowed to enter heaven. “Have you found joy in your life?” and “Have you brought joy to others?” Have you?

So, What’s My Message?

Treasure, cultivate, and welcome relationships. Yes, humans are messy. Relationships have ups and downs, but like a roller coaster, that’s what makes the journey worthwhile. Here’s a few tips for the ride:

• Don’t let the small stuff divert you from what matters. Like fish in a pond we are attracted to the shiny lures of accomplishment, accumulation, or mindless movement. Remember, the shiny stuff is no longer shiny when the light changes, as it always will. People first.
• Hold on to important connections. Certain people have played a major role in your life. As we move through our journey, we tend to lose contact with many of these notables. It’s the digital age. You can find them again. Meet with them. Tell them what they meant to you. You’ll be surprised how you – and they – will react to that.

• Treasure your velveteen rabbits. “New” is exciting and attractive. OK, I get that. Yes, keep growing, but don’t discard those who were with you before you were cool and important. Those are the ones who’ll be there when you fall on your face … and you will.

Be the person you want others to be for you.

Live long. Live well.

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For more information about Dr. Landry and his work, visit www.livelongdieshort.com. To purchase a copy of Live Long, Die Short, or to see reader reviews, visit Amazon.com.

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Photo: Courtesy of the author, Roger W/Flickr

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