What kind of family has its own maxim?

I remember asking myself the question as I flipped through my high school yearbook in 1984. There, among the senior pages, with their absurdly posed photographs; the long cliquish lists of “likes” and “dislikes;” and the odd pretentious quotation (my own page had a real eye-roller from Albert Einstein); was one that featured a simple saying: “Rise above it.”

The saying had an equally simple attribution: “Bennet family maxim.”

Ordinarily, in the highly cynical world of teenagers — particularly the kind who attended the tony St. Albans School for Boys — a family maxim would be just the kind of personal detail a student would keep under wraps.

But James Bennet was well enough established to put whatever he wanted on his senior page. He was a rare combination of scholar and athlete, and unlike some of our classmates — Jesse Jackson, Jr., for instance — he was pretty low key. At least, that’s how he seemed to me. His older brother, Michael, was also low key. I remember him in shorts and a casual sports jacket, with a skinny knit tie and a faceful of braces.

Low key can be a pose, a cover for a kind of quiet intensity. You could sense intensity in both Bennet boys, especially on the basketball court, driving to the post. And they weren’t exactly shy in student debates, either.

I didn’t socialize with James, who was part of an inner circle of kids who’d been attending the cathedral school for more than a decade. I arrived fairly late on the scene.

Nevertheless, I respected him. He was a lot nicer than he had to be, for such a successful insider.

When I saw the Bennet family maxim on James’s senior page, something clicked. “Ah,” I thought, “there’s something deep at work here, a thread that runs through the generations.” At first I scoffed at the presumption behind the phrase, “Rise above it,” which sounded like something that had been plucked from the civil rights movement. What could a privileged white child in Washington, D.C., the global center of power, possibly have to rise above?

Later, I realized that this was adolescence talking. I was envious! I wanted a family maxim of my own. But even if I’d had one, I doubted it would be as elegant and powerful as “Rise above it.”

Which is, without doubt, a terrific maxim, as maxims go.

Apparently, they work. I followed James’s career with interest as he earned his chops as a journalist. I read his stories as a White House correspondent for the New York Times, and silently toasted him when he was made Jerusalem bureau chief. These days, James is editor-in-chief of The Atlantic.

But don’t feel bad for his brother, who hasn’t exactly been overshadowed by James’s brilliant career. That skinny kid with the faceful of braces happens to be the junior United States Senator from Colorado.

Rise above it. No doubt, the Bennet brothers leaned on their family maxim as they pursued their dreams in the rough-and-tumble worlds of journalism and politics. Everyone, in every walk of life, has obstacles to overcome, no matter how high up the mountain they get their start.

And make no mistake, on the Everest of life, the Bennets started at base camp! Their father, Douglas, was president and CEO of National Public Radio by the time we graduated from St. Albans. He went on to be president of Wesleyan University after a long and illustrious career in Washington.

One could argue that the Bennet boys were already on a steep career trajectory by the time I met them as teenagers. They started with every advantage: skin of the right color; material comfort; parents who believed strongly in the power of education; etc. The list goes on and on.

But not every child of advantage knows how to keep climbing, despite adversity.

All of this has gotten me thinking: how do families establish a maxim? Is it as simple as waking up one morning and saying, “Today’s the day the Olshans get their maxim?”

I’ve been told that developing a mission statement is a great exercise for any enterprise. A good mission statement, summed up in a few carefully chosen watchwords, can liberate an institution — or a family — from distractions and rededicate it to a clear purpose.

What would yours be?

At the moment, I’m partial to a phrase Miguel de Cervantes put in the mouth of his hero, Don Quixote, who declares that the purpose of literature is “to instruct and delight.”

Instruct and delight.

It has possibilities, especially for a writer. Might be too specific for the other Olshans, though.

I’ll have to put it to the floor for a vote.

 

This column was published in the Perry Co Times on 28 February 2013

For more information, please contact Mr. Olshan at writing@matthewolshan.com