Kurt Vonnegut passed away on April 11, 2007. He was well known in his time for producing some of the most incredible and eccentric science fiction novels and short stories ever written. Most famously, he penned Slaughterhouse Five after his experiences in the Second World War, a book that would go on to inspire me, along with countless others, to delve further into the realm of explorative fiction. On one of his very last television appearances, Vonnegut answered the question “What can we say to younger people who have their whole lives ahead of them?” by stating:

“One thing I found out was that we need extended families. We need gangs…a nuclear family, a man, a woman and kids and a dog and cat is no survival scheme at all. Horribly vulnerable. So yes, I tell people to formulate a little gang. And, you know, you love each other.”

As one of my favorite authors, I find Vonnegut often throwing out statements I agree with whole-heartedly, but I cannot recall another notion of his that seems more personally directed to me than this one.

In high school, I had a gang of my own. There were nine of us, and it would have been pretty difficult to find a time when at least two of us were not in each other’s company. Many of us were on the same rowing team, three of us were in a band together, six of us even had the same Spanish class senior year. When we weren’t together in some pre-organized group, we could often be found hanging out in The Grove or skate boarding down Bayshore or playing ‘bee’ in the park. We were even fortunate enough to travel the world together from the Bahamas to New York to California. Over our years together, we grew close, closer than I believe anyone of us had anticipated. Everyone, or at least most people, have their own little friend groups in high school, but for me, it’s hard to conceptualize friendships as close as the ones I had.

I find it difficult to base the integrity of a friendship on good times alone. When I look back on our years together, the moments that stick out to me as unequivocal proof of lasting comradery are those moments defined by pain and vulnerability. I remember one night during one of our two excursions to Bimini we all huddled together just talking. After some hours and several incredibly personal tales of trials and tribulations, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. We all embraced each other in the warm comfort of our shared emotionality. It felt warm then, and though we did end up physically embracing, the feeling of an embraced togetherness lasted far longer than our group hug did.

Starting in middle school and through most of high school, I suffered from an undiagnosed eating disorder. I would often miss full days of eating in the timeless pursuit of aesthetic perfection. This was initially sparked by my early life obesity, but once I had successfully lost significant weight, I always yearned to lose just 5 more pounds. I always thought 5 pounds would make the difference between what I thought was a disgusting figure and an Adonis physique. But after I had lost 3 more of those 5 pound increments, rounding my total weight loss to somewhere in the neighborhood of 65 to 70 pounds, I realized that I perhaps would never reach an acceptable mass. This did not go unnoticed to my gang. They would often provide words of encouragement and support, but I didn’t fully understand the impact my ailment was having on the rest of my friend group. That realization came when I lead a discussion on eating disorders at one of my school’s diversity council meetings. Once my initial presentation had concluded and the conversation was opened up to the attendees, one of my friends began recalling his experience regarding my eating disorder. As he described what he had seen me do and how he had seen me change over time, he began to cry. That was a really important moment for me. I remember thinking about how my pain had hurt someone I cared about, and oddly, that felt really nice. It felt comforting to know I had surrounded myself with the kinds of people that were willing to invest themselves so extensively in the events of my life that whatever struggle I would endure, they would as well. That’s when I became aware of the reality that whatever load I had to bear would be borne on the backs of nine.

Luckily, most of our last names begin with letters close in the alphabet, so, on graduation day, those of us with Ls or Ms were sat near each other. It felt strange sitting there knowing the lives we had become so accustomed to were coming to an abrupt end. There would no longer be days devoted to Mario Kart or jamming out or Hashem Sheli. We were concerned for what the future held. Would our friendships fade slowly into memories we would oft recall, but not feel strongly enough to act upon nostalgic pressures to reignite them? It has been two years since we sat in suits and dresses a little too tight or a little too lose in front of 200 pairs of parents and I’m glad to report we are as close as we have ever been. We get together when we can, we visit each other at our respective universities and befriend the people that have entered into our lives since we last met. We even do a yearly “Secret Santa” where we all buy each other surprise gifts, they are often times personal, hilarious, and objectively useless, but they serve as reminders of our friendship and how intimate our knowledge of each other has become. I’m grateful to live in the era of accessible long-range communication because I would be concerned for the longevity of our friendships if our ability to send nonsensical memes was restricted.

Tefo, Luke, Loon, Chicken, Seanatha, Nush, Creed, and Lyss thanks for making high school some of the best years of my life. There are so many more people to thank, but that’s for another time. I can’t wait to watch where you all go in life, I can’t wait to watch you all fall in love with the person of your dreams, I can’t wait to attend your weddings and cry like that night in Bimini, I can’t wait to grow old with all of you. Even if we end up on opposite ends of the Earth, I know I’ll always have my gang.

So, I’ll end this how Vonnegut ended that same interview:

“I had a hell of a good time I must say. If this isn't nice I don't know what is.”