Brainwashed?

When I first met the love of my life, I used to always laugh at the strict regulations regarding outward appearances in the military. Having grown up hearing stories from my dad, who served in the Dutch army, about soldiers with long hair wearing hairnets, I never quite understood the fixation the American military has with hairstyles, haircolor, facial hair, and jewelry. And when I say fixation, I guess I mean total obsession, for they have got their rules down to the tee. For instances, mustaches are permitted, as long they do not grow beyond the corner of one´s lips. And male hairdos are not allowed to exceed 1 ¼ inch in bulk on the top of their heads. I have always wanted to tell my husband to grow his hair out to 1 ½ inch, and see if his commander would pull out a tape measure, but, well, knowing my husband, there is really no point in asking. Although I still think it would be funny (and he doesn’t). And you know what, it’s not just a matter of obeying these rules, military members also have to know them by heart. So my husband is not only aware of the rules that apply to males in the air force, but was also able to inform me of the hair and jewelry rules that apply to women. Now I used to think that as long as you could completely obey your superiors without question, it did not matter what you look like, but I guess that in the American military, they don’t quite share that emotion.

Now up until Friday, I was convinced that all these rules were really, well, silly. In fact, when I got a haircut the other day I even joked with my husband about how before the haircut my hair would not have met military standards (it touched my collar), and that after the cut it did, and so now should he expect me to be a more obedient wife? Yes, I still thought I was the little rebel. That was until I went grocery shopping on base, and was absolutely appalled by the contractor at the gate who was checking IDs. Well, I wasn’t so much shocked by him, as I was by,well, his appearance. I hate to admit it, but I really think that maybe I have, well, become one of “them”. Before I proceed, please note that on our base ID checks are sometimes carried out by contractors, i.e., people who are not military, and who thus do not have to meet all the military standards. And that includes outward appearances. I never really thought I cared what gate guards looked like until the day before yesterday when I had my ID checked by someone with curly hair longer than mine, a scruffy black beard, and an untucked shirt. It felt like the hippy from "That 70s show" was checking my ID. Now I happen to really like the hippy from that show, and I generally don't care what someone looks like (to the point where I don't even blink an eye when my students come to class in their pyjamas), but the moment I laid eyes on this man, I was in shock. My first thought was "How can they let someone who looks like that work here?!". And my second thought was "How can I think that?!". And my third thought was "Yeah, but I really really think he shouldn't look like that!". I felt really torn, but in the end, my discomfort with someone looking like John Lennon wearing a gate guard uniform won out. It's terrible, and admittedly, slightly embarrassing, but there you have it. I guess, in spite of all my claims to the contrary, the little rebel in me is slowly disappearing. Hmph.