Kevin and I had a full weekend jam-packed with wedding festivities, which was tons of fun! The bride and groom are good friends of ours. The groom was the man I can thank for bringing Kevin’s focus back to his faith when he was young and somewhat adrift in college. He was our best man at our wedding. Friday was the wedding rehearsal dinner, which we got an invite to (score!). Kevin had been asked to be a groomsman, but since we were supposed to be at TBS by that point (oh, I love the schedule changes inherent to my new life), he had to decline. It was a really sad thing. We were so happy we could make it to all of the events, though. Kevin went to the bachelor party the next day, and didn’t roll in until 2:30 in the morning. I tried my darndest to wait up for him. I did. But we’re old people, and don’t really keep those kinds of hours anymore. It’s amazing what getting married does to your body clock. (E.g. we went to bed at 10:00 last night, and we were perfectly happy with that.)
Sunday afternoon was the wedding, so of course Kevin wore his dress blue bravos with his white trousers, which always look snazzy. (Dress blue bravos = the blue wool coat with ribbons, worn with either the all-weather blue trousers with the blood red stripe, or the white trousers, which are only worn in the summer.) I wore a sundress, and we looked hawt. Or something like that.
It is such a mixed bag of reactions when Kevin is among civilians and wearing his uniform. You get the old guys who approach him, thank him, tell him their life story. They smile, and Kevin loves interacting with those kinds of people. He didn’t join the military for accolades and stuff like that, but he does appreciate other people being nice about it.
Then there are the other people. The ones who make jokes about his uniform, and say, “That thing on the top of the hat is to show who to shoot!” (That quatrefoil on his cover was actually put there to eliminate the death of officers due to friendly fire. But good try.) The ones who say, “Oh, does being in the military make it easy to decide what to wear, like, oh, I can wear my Marine jacket?” I try to smile and be nice, and Kevin does an even better job than I do, but seriously? My Marine jacket? What are you, 5? It’s a uniform, not a windbreaker!
Look, I know there are things about Kevin’s job that I don’t understand, and don’t get right. And if I’m married to him and still don’t know, I know that there is a TON that other civilians with hardly any connection to the military won’t get. Kevin doesn’t expect everybody to be an expert; that would be silly. At the very least, show some respect. People die in that uniform. There are people who want the honor of wearing it, and will work incredibly hard, harder than most people ever work in their lives, just so they can be one of those few. So don’t joke. Ask a question if you want to know something. Those in uniforms are nice, they don’t bite, and they love talking about their work, just like anybody else.
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