Bro

I was a teenager in the 1980s and I’m pretty sure every fifth word out of my mouth was “dude.”

“Dude, did you do the homework? Can I see it, dude?”

If the answer was no, my response was usually a sharp, “Dude!”

That one word expressed my fear that we – regardless of gender – were both in big trouble and we needed to jam to get that homework done super fast before class.

The word was so malleable. It could carry so much weight and nuance. It was the perfect, most efficient word for any occasion.

When a pretty girl walked past me and my friends on the Rehoboth boardwalk, one of the guys would quickly say, “Dude,” and nod in her direction.

I remember sitting in the Wendy’s parking lot after taking the SATs and lamenting the test with a long, drawn out “doooooood.”

Nothing more was needed.

The shared context around that single word in the particular moment it was spoken could evoke the greatest excitement and the most existential dread depending upon how you said it.

Dude.

“Yo” has largely replaced that for me in my adult years. The way it’s used speaks volumes, similar to the Japanese word “yabai.”

I think a lot of people use “bro” in the same way these days but that never felt right to me. I feel like it’s a generational word and, well, I’m too old for bro.

But also, it always had a locker room feel to me. Despite playing sports most of my life – usually surrounded by dudes, I was never a locker room type of guy.

So, when I read an allusion to me in a work report and it said I was part of a crew creating a “bro culture,” I was completely stunned.

Yooooooooooooo. This is messed up.

I’m so confused and I don’t know why.

Is this how I am perceived? Am I a bro? What does that even mean? For some reason, I keep picturing the stereotypical chav – track suit and baseball cap turned sideways.

Do I act bro-y?

I mean, I barely talk to anyone around school beyond students. Most days, I’m holed up in my office working on spreadsheets. My ass is getting flatter because I am usually parked on it for 8 hours per day.

And, then, I bring my child to school. You know, I, like, parent. At work. Until deep into the evening. Working.

Is that what bros do? Huh?

I don’t even understand what is bro culture? I literally had to look it up.

Yeah, that’s right. I googled that at 4:27 am because this shit is keeping me up at night.

The common understanding of the term “bro culture,” at least according to the robots, is one of hyper-masculinity, misogyny, partying and bullying, eh?

I’m at a loss. That just ain’t me. And definitely not me at work.

At school, I work with everyone, and I try to help solve all their problems. Most of the time, their problems have little or no connection to my actual job. I just help.

I smile all the time. I say “sorry” more than I say “hello” (it’s a Japanese thing).

I joke around a lot but I generally keep it family-friendly. I’m here for the laughs. I’m not trying to make people conform.

Basically, at school, I’m about as offensive as dry toast.

Oh, and I haven’t partied in a long, long time.

But it gets worse: This reference that has me tied in knots comes from the draft of an accreditation report about my school. Here is the exact usage:

First of all, that is racist, yeah? Three men of color equals bro culture?

Second, it’s totally inappropriate to be included in a professional assessment of the institution at-large. I mean, why include that phrase at all? Is it representative of a pattern? Clearly, the report says it is not, as evidenced by the line that precedes the phrase. It is the feeling of one person, and should not be included.

Finally, it’s factually wrong. The three leaders at the school – the three people with full dean titles – are two dudes and a woman.

Also, in the big dean’s cabinet, everyone is either a person of color or a woman, and several people are both.

I’m not in the cabinet. I’m just a middle-management grunt. I get stuff done.

I don’t understand what is happening and this has me feeling like the world is flipped turned upside down.

Why does this bother me so much?

It’s not that I spent 16 months preparing for this accreditation process. That was just work. And the knowledge gleaned from that arduous process will ultimately benefit me and the school in the long run.

I don’t even care that someone I work with might lump me into some bro world. They don’t know me. If they knew anything about me, they’d know that I live to serve. I have no ego. My greatest desires in the world are for my kid to be happy, and for me to be there to experience his joy.

If people see me and think “bro,” that’s on them.

Ultimately, there is a level of failure here and I feel a great sense of responsibility. This draft report is pretty brutal and it has left me feeling terrible.

Did I drop the ball?

(Pardon the sporting term, bro).

At the same time, the language in the draft report is questionable at times (there are multiple unnecessary references to the three men of color leading the school) and the authors focus on the experiences of the site team members in other areas. Those observations do not reflect on the institution at-large. They are personal issues.

The reviewers emailed me a cleaned up version of their report a week later. I didn’t read it. I just did a search to see if “bro culture” was still referenced. It was gone.

I responded:

Thanks for removing the “bro culture” line. That really, really angered me. It was very inappropriate to have included in any fashion, in any version of any professional report. The way the two concepts – bro culture and three leaders who are men of color – were connected was actually quite racist, not to mention factually incorrect.

They want me to make any necessary corrections to their document and I just can’t even look at it.

I am still so offended. And disappointed.

We applied and my kid was accepted into a few private schools for kindergarten next year. One of the things I looked for when checking out these places was the community of people he’d be surrounded by.

I don’t want him anywhere near “bro culture.”

I have real issues with rich people in general, so this school shopping process was pure torture for me. Many of the people searching for the right school, I assume, were not as worried about the financial aid packages they’d receive as we were. They’d pay the roughly $60K tuition as needed.

So, everywhere we went, I sized up parents by their clothes, the way they spoke, and what questions they asked. I studied and quietly judged them.

I want my kid to grow up around people who are not pretentious, who appreciate and understand their privilege, and who seek to make the lives of others better in whatever ways possible.

FYI: I’d much rather just send him to the public school around the corner. But all schools are not treated equally, especially in NYC, and that reality just sucks.

I try to model the characteristics I want my son to emulate. He’s watching and listening to everything I say and do.

He’s going to be a teenager some day and I want him to approach people with kindness and generosity, first and foremost.

I want him to be a good dude, a person who makes everyone around him smile.

Also, I hope he never has to go through the accreditation process. That was the worst experience of my professional career.