by Brian C. Gerardi
Somewhere between microeconomics and managerial accounting, I earned a new nickname: “Unc.”
It started as a throwaway joke in a group chat. Our cohort of veteran business students attended a happy hour and I was the first to depart, headed to start my commute to the suburbs and spend time with my wife and kids; leaving the party first wasn’t quite a party-foul but it was worth a well-meaning jeer, hence, “Unc”. The name stuck. Soon, half my cohort was calling me that. At first, it made me laugh—I mean, I’m not that old (I continue to tell myself). But somewhere along the way, I realized that the nickname came with a certain expectation.
When you’re ten years older than the youngest in the room, five years older than the median, and the only one with kids, a mortgage, and a looming colonoscopy, people start to look your way when conversations turn serious. I didn’t set out to be anyone’s mentor (in fact, my last Army job was teaching and I was looking forward to being on the other side of the classroom) but when you carry a bit more experience, people notice how you carry yourself (doubly so in a learning environment). You don’t always choose that influence: sometimes it just finds you.
The Weight of Experience
A huge component of leadership is formal leadership; that is, leadership derived from position, or authority. In the Army, this is a given; authority was literally stitched onto your chest. Rank all but disappears in business school. Everyone’s first name is on their name tag, and the playing field feels level; that is, until it’s not.
Informal leadership is based on relationships and personal influence and has its place as well; ask any unit that isn’t the decisive operation, or anyone working in a cost center. What began as a running joke turned into something more. The same people calling me “Unc” were now coming to me with questions about work-life balance and career advice. I realized that humor is often how people express respect; it was their way of acknowledging that experience carries weight, even when authority doesn’t.
Being “Unc” wasn’t about being wiser; it was about having seen enough to know that the world doesn’t end when you get a D on a midterm or when your team presentation goes sideways. My classmates didn’t need advice as much as they needed perspective and a sense that this, too, would pass. That’s when I began to appreciate what “Unc Status” really meant.
Keepers of Meaning
In developmental psychology, there’s a term for the role older adults play in society: keepers of meaning. It describes people who preserve and pass along the lessons that help others make sense of their own experiences. I used to think that applied to grandparents or retirees; the true elders of the tribe. Then I started getting roasted in the group chat.
At first, I felt out of place among the energy and optimism of my cohort. They talked about consulting and investment banking as their desired industries, with companies that relied on regular 90–100 hour workweeks and burning out associates to see who survives (sometimes literally). As a dad with three kids, nothing sounded less appealing or like more of a betrayal to my leaving the Army so I could wrest a little more control over my life. Yet I was excited for them, and I realized that while they had youth and creativity on their side, I had something else: context.
In psychology, “meaning” isn’t something you discover; it’s something you build, one experience at a time. When you’ve lived through enough iterations of change, failure, and course correction, you start to develop a sort of internal compass. It doesn’t always point north, but it helps you recognize when you’ve drifted too far from it.
Across cultures, the role of the “uncle” has long carried similar weight. In Arabic, amo is how you’d respectfully address an older man; in Korean, ajusshi holds that same balance of familiarity and regard. In parts of Africa and the Caribbean, “Uncle” is the natural title for community elders; people entrusted to guide, teach, and remind. Even here in NYC, Zohran Mamdani refers to Andrew Cuomo as Habibi (though acknowledging his status as an elder former statesman, there may be a hint of sarcasm here) “Unc” in American vernacular blends humor with respect. The language changes, but the meaning endures: experience creates responsibility, and wisdom is meant to be shared.
In this way, I get to serve as a visible reminder that meaning takes time to form and that you have to build it yourself. Clarity follows confusion, not the other way around. My classmates remind me too, that learning never stops and that curiosity more than certainty is what keeps us relevant.
So maybe being a keeper of meaning isn’t about age at all; maybe it’s about perspective and the willingness to share it.
The Mentorship Mindset
The funny thing about “Unc Status” is that it sneaks up on you. You don’t get a certificate or a promotion for it. One day you’re the new guy, and the next, someone’s calling you for advice.
I’ve come to believe that mentorship is more a mindset than a job title. If you’ve lived through something that someone else hasn’t yet, you have something worth sharing. You don’t have to have all the answers; you just have to be honest about what you’ve learned and what you wish you’d done differently.
In the Army, we talk a lot about stewardship and leaving the jersey or the guidon (euphemisms for the organization) better than you found it. “Unc Status” is stewardship on a smaller scale. It’s the decision to make someone else’s path a little smoother because yours had bumps. It’s pointing out the potholes and pitfalls so they can learn the next lesson better rather than be bogged down by the one you already learned.
And it works in both directions. I’ve learned as much from my younger classmates as they’ve learned from me. Their optimism challenges my realism. Their curiosity reminds me to keep learning. Their comfort with uncertainty is contagious. That exchange, with experience flowing one way and energy the other, is what real mentorship looks like.
Because if you’re lucky, every generation makes the next one a little wiser and a little braver.
Earning “Unc” Status
I still answer to “Unc.” I’ve stopped trying to correct it. In fact, if I’ve got some advice to share, I start my group message with, “Dearest Nieces and Nephews” (by the way, “Nibling” is the gender-neutral version of these. The more you know!)
The longer I wear the nickname, the more I realize that it’s not about age; it’s about attitude. “Unc Status” isn’t earned by years or titles; it’s earned by showing up, listening well, and sharing freely.
In the military, we measure impact by the people we develop. In business school, I’m learning the same rule applies. You don’t need rank or authority to be someone’s steady hand, you just need to care enough to offer it.
Maybe that’s what being an “Unc” really means: to carry your experience lightly, to share it generously, and to remind others that meaning is made one conversation at a time.
If that’s the case, I’ll keep the nickname. I’ve grown into it.
Brian C. Gerardi is a first year MBA student at NYU Stern following twelve years in the U.S. Army and a tour teaching at West Point. These days he studies organizational behavior from a new perspective: the oldest guy in the cohort. He is grateful to his classmates—whom he jokingly refers to as his “niblings”, the gender-neutral term for nieces and nephews—who granted him the title of “Unc,” which he now wears with pride.
