I have 59 brothers, none of whom I am related to by blood. Nonetheless, they are my brothers. Brotherhood is not a birthright, it is something that must be earned through friendship, sacrifice, and a common purpose.

My 59 brothers and I play football for our high school. We have forged a bond that will forever unite us not only as teammates but as family. While this may sound like an exaggeration, what I have endured with them is more real than the bond many biological brothers share. Day after day, 12 months a year, we sweat together, we bleed together, and sacrifice together.

In the weight room, we challenge each other to become the best. On the practice field, we sacrifice every bone in our bodies for the good of the team. And on game day, when we stand together against our adversaries, we push ourselves beyond our limits not as individual players, but as a family.

I learned during Hell Week while looking into the eyes of my brothers that we would do anything for each other. When each day seemed to stretch on forever and football had become torturous, I realized that I was not the only one struggling to survive. Knowing that there were 59 others who would sacrifice themselves for me gave me the inspiration and strength to dig deeper when I had nothing more to give.

When I hear the word “brother” I don’t think about a random genetic mishap, a pesky younger sibling always sneaking into his older brother’s room to cause trouble. I think of the Allied troops who stormed the beaches of Normandy. I think of the Marines in Iraq who face imminent danger together on a daily basis. I think of my 59 brothers who unite to achieve a common goal.