I've gone on at length about the drive to and from Albuquerque this weekend, but as yet I hadn't written much about why we were there. It was a special occasion, and we were quite happy to be a part of it. A young member of our family has completed a long series of training programs, and this was the final big piece of it. From here he moves on to a more active phase of his career. The party Friday night was his graduation celebration.
It's not everyone's cup of tea, but I always loved these kinds of events when I was a military spouse. Every air force ball, airman leadership class graduation, base awards ceremony, or any other excuse to go out to dinner at the club, I was there for it a hundred percent. It's not that I loved overly salty ranch dressing on salads or pretending I wasn't dying in low heels (although both were a feature of every single dinner party), but these gave me just enough of a sense of pageantry and tradition that I felt like I was part of something special. I insisted on attending every one of these dinners I could, and I applauded and laughed at every speaker's jokes and every group's special shout-out. It didn't matter if we weren't part of the loudest, funniest squadron, or whether I knew the recipient of any given honor. I was there, and I loved it. It was nice to revisit that feeling this weekend.
These young men Friday night have signed up for duty above and beyond what most citizens encounter in their everyday lives. They have gone through rigorous training to be pararescue or combat rescue officers. They will be expected to perform at a higher level than many of their fellow airmen throughout their careers. They look different because they are -- and they wear a different uniform to denote that. I have nothing but respect for the jobs they intend to do. I don't know how much I'll ever get to learn about what my nephew does over his career, but I'll be interested in every unclassified detail I am offered.
POW/MIA table. A feature of all military events of this type.
Receiving beret and graduation certificate.
Berets on, trousers bloused (it was a race, and you didn't want to be last).
His name is Charlie. Apparently stealing him and taking him back to different units is a thing.
Proud parents
From the hotel lobby. If you see it, you'll understand why I took the picture. And I still don't know why it exists. I'd rather not think about it.
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