Fraternity means more than football and keg parties
Despite growing up on the beaches of California, Lucas chose to attend my alma mater, Oklahoma State University. It had everything to do with the 2011 OSU football season, the postcard-perfect campus and the shiny new Greenwood School of Music ― nothing to do with Dad. I didn't get much say in his housing choice. He picked an apartment with his own bedroom and bathroom ― essentially married-student housing. No roommates. No chaos. No connection.
Then came COVID. Classes were online. Campus was quiet. His freshman year ― what should have been a season of new friendships ― was a bust. I'll never forget the day he hit bottom. He called after walking through a field in beach flip-flops and getting eaten alive by chiggers.
He wasn't in California anymore.
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When OSU told students they could go home after Thanksgiving, he packed up and left. He ended the semester with a 2.35 GPA and no plans to return.
I'd seen enough. I stepped in.
I called the recruitment chair at my old fraternity and told him the good parts of Lucas' story. 'What's his Instagram handle?' the young man asked. Apparently, you can size someone up in 30 seconds on social media. After a few video calls, the Beta House offered him a spring bid. I sweetened the deal with a car, a Stetson, and a pair of cowboy boots.
When I asked whether he wanted to drive or ship the car, he said not to bother. 'I probably won't need it.' Not a good sign. He still had one foot out the door.
Then something happened. He moved into the Beta House on a Friday. On Monday, I got a call: 'Hey Dad. I need my car.'
That's when I knew. He was in.
The friendships he built with his 12 pledge brothers changed everything. He stopped smoking weed ― thanks to peer pressure of the best kind ― and earned a 3.8 GPA. I saw a spark return that I hadn't seen in years.
In 2023, the U.S. surgeon general issued a national advisory on the loneliness epidemic. It's not just emotional ― it's medical. Lacking social connection, the report said, carries health risks comparable to smoking 15 cigarettes a day.
Fraternity is just one example. If you're a young man looking for your people, you don't have to search blind. There's already a catalog of community — it's called the yearbook. Drama club, chess team, campus ministry, intramurals, music ensembles, student government — these are full of like-minded people looking for the same thing: belonging. If you show up, contribute and care, you'll find your crew.
Lucas didn't find a miracle. He found a group of guys who pulled him back in. Who challenged him. Who liked him, flaws and all.
We say kids need therapy ― and sometimes they do. But sometimes, they just need 12 guys and a second chance.
More: With the right mentors, role models, young men can master, command their future | Opinion
Lucas's final OSU football game was also the last Bedlam game. I told him to meet me on the 50-yard line if we won. Sorry Sooner fans ― we won, and we stormed Boone Pickens Stadium.
When I saw Lucas, we hugged. I wept so hard my shoulders heaved. And when I finally pulled it together, I told him my happiness had nothing to do with the game and everything to do with his miracle.
He smiled, patted me on the shoulder, and said two simple words I'll never forget: 'I know.'
After 38 years in Los Angeles, K. John Lee recently boomeranged back to his Oklahoma roots. He is a financier, real estate investor, former high school teacher and a father of two young men.
This article originally appeared on Oklahoman: A group of friends can mean a lot when times are tough | Opinion
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