Carl’s Puerto Rican

It’s an idyllic spring afternoon in Northern Virginia. The weather’s transformation from grey and cold mirrors the personality changes happening in the National Capital Region. Optimism and hope bloom like the cherry blossoms, renewing our resolve to cut through the red tape entangling the federal government.

It’s also a day to witness a fellow Air Force Officer vow to love, honor and obey his girlfriend. I am part of the traditional military arch of sabers under which the newly-wed couple exits the church. I’m in the arch contingent because the Air Force officer who has just said, “I do” is an office mate of my new girlfriend Jen.

And now, we are on the perfectly manicured lawn of Mount Vernon. We’re in our most formal Air Force uniform, the tuxedo equivalent -- high heels, long slitted skirt, tuxedo shirt and jacket, cufflinks, cummerbund and petite decorative medals on our chest.

No one can hear the gentle clink of the miniature military medals because joyous conversations chirp around us in small flocks of gathered friends and family. The arch team are all officemates of Jen so I’m a bit of an outsider. Together we all appear as outsiders because the 8 of us are the only uniformed attendees. We look more like catering staff than rice-throwers. And even though I’m dressed like the other 7, I am more of an outsider than the other 7. 

The military’s Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy is 13 years old and most military members have adopted the Live and Let Live policy. Officially, Jen and I are roommates with the fiscal good sense to combine our housing allowances to afford decent living quarters. It doesn’t require top secret interrogative insight to infer that we are literally “roommates,” in that we sleep in the same room (and bed).

The perfectly-coiffed lawn of Geroge Washington’s home isn’t the place for the revelation of relationship definition accuracy, so I’m happy to play the part of “Jen’s friend.” I am also happy to be “Jen’s friend” at the high-dollar wedding reception with an open bar of top shelf products.

Not wanting the products to spoil, Jen’s office mate, Carl, asks Jen to be his plus 1 to retrieve beverages to quench the thirst and sobriety of the saber team. 

Jen enthusiastically jumps at the opportunity. Hidden by her introverted exterior is an attraction to Carl. His name frequently comes up in our Pentagon job debriefs each evening. I suspect the attraction is a professional one, because, well, Carl is married. Oh, and Jen’s gay (not that you asked, but, don’t tell).

I engage in small talk with the rest of the team while we wait for our alcohol couriers.

My eye detects a fast-moving target in an otherwise peaceful cadence of movement. 

It’s Jen.

No longer a two-ship formation with Carl. She is now solo, laden with a full tray of drinks. She is sprinting across the lawn, her miniature medals fluttering with her gait, her high heels denied the time to stab and sink into the soft ground.

She gets to our table, leaving Carl confused and alone at the bar.

Breathlessly, excitedly, she pants, “Guess what?!”

I have zero guesses. Jen gives me zero seconds to come up with one.

“CARL’S. PUERTO. RICAN!”

I’m not sure why Carl’s ethnicity is the most important drink quest discovery.

“I don’t understand,” I stall as I try to tie together discordant pieces so I can catch up to this conversation.

Jen offers her explanation, “Carl’s Puerto Rican too!”

Ah yes, super helpful.

Those 3 additional letters, well, 2 actually, provide insight. 

While getting drinks and revealing his ethnicity, Carl had given Jen a cultural connection. She finally found a natural propellant to rocket their work relationship into a friendship. 

But my relationship with Jen is also beginning to take off as we establish our own balance.  

So this is a pivotal moment. I can share in her ethnic connection excitement or I can choose launch-blocking honesty. 

I choose honesty.

"That's great babe, but you're not Puerto Rican.....you're Portuguese." 

Jen nearly drops the tray of drinks, her face broadcasting the cumulative emotion of learning about Santa, the Easter Bunny, gravity and the Tooth Fairy all at the same time. 

But it reminds me just how important connection is, even for a strong introvert. Jen’s desire to in some way, any way, be connected to Carl resulted in her jumping to a cultural conclusion after only the letter P came out of Carl’s mouth.

Social connections are as important to our survival and flourishing as the need for food, safety, shelter and an open bar. Seek out those things that bind us together, even if it’s only a story about being ethnically connected.