Since there's such a clamor to hear about my experience with SF, let me hit that first. At the time of that post, my military ID consisted of a handwritten punched-out slip of cardboard without a photograph--a temp card, in other words, until higher ups determined what sort of clearance status I and others like me would carry. This temp card had served me well on my every-other-week haircut trip to the local military establishment, until last Tuesday.
In the time between when I had last heard anything on official cards (late 2003), the temp card was still valid. Apparently sometime in the last couple of weeks, that changed. So, although I arrived in uniform, when faced with an unfamiliar ID card, the gate guard directed me to park in a holding area until he could call his control and determine if I was to be allowed on base or turned back. So I moved over to a concrete-barricaded, secured-entry cordoned area and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, the SF airman came up, apologized, and said it was a no-go.
I was a little torqued at the time, but the guard did his job and I can't fault him for that. I came back, got the necessary paperwork, and returned to finally get my official ID card. All is well with the world.
As for the high school dining-in last week, it went very well. Kaitlyn racked up on awards, as I hoped and expected. She's a helluva cadet, and I hope she follows through with her aspirations to be an Air Force officer--we could use a thousand more like her. The low point of the evening was listening to my former instructor and good friend speak on his 18-year career and his impending retirement from teaching, capping off 40+ years of service. I pity the poor NCO who shows up to replace him--that job will be like forcing a kite to replace the space shuttle.
Finals begin Monday, and that's my excuse for neglecting this journal. Well, that and staying out too late and sleeping too little. I'll do better.