Its Friday at the Naval Academy and one more week had passed. The week directly after Six Week Exams is a nice calm period. I found myself just going through the motions. Needless to say, I needed the calm after the storm.

As I prefaced in my last post, we went to Philadelphia this weekend and celebrated George Washington’s 278th Birthday. Friday night began at the First Philadelphia City Troop Calvary, the oldest continuous military unit in American history. Furthermore, they are grandfathered in by the Ancient Customs act to be the only military unit in America which gets to select its own Commander.

Although this was a formal dinner in celebration of our first Commander and Chief, it appeared to be more like a mead hall. The men of the troop were nominated one by one, then they preceded to stand on their chairs and sing. What they sang about will not be mentioned on this blog, but Che and I rolled in our seats. Our host soon turned to us and mentioned that we might be called on to sing a navy song. Che and I softly spoke our way through the lyrics of ‘The Goat is olde and gnarly’, changing specific words to suit the needs of the performance. I thought to myself, while chanting intermittently the ‘German name for female reproductive anatomy’, this is what Navy was like in the seventies…before women. Although, Before I had a chance to wonder if this was a good thing, we were summoned to the tops of chairs. With dinner rolls being hearled at our heads, we belted out a profoundly colourful version of our famed goat song. They cheered, we bowed and all were happy on the second floor of the appropriately names ‘Armory’ in downtown Philadelphia.

Around noon I awoke to hear Che on the phone giving directions to Kerry and Jamie, our dates. Next thing I knew they were in the room, shocked that we had just woken up. I got started slowly and soon began getting dressed for yet another day of drinking. Dressed up in our tuxedos, mess dress and ball gowns, we all stuffed into a hotel room and began to meet some of the people we would be sitting with. There were th very familiar faces and then some of the seemingly familiar faces. Including an alumnus and his wife, whom I met at the Army/ Navy game this season. We chatted for ten minutes before I realized that we had met in December. It had been cold and we were both guest at his classmate’s tailgate.

The reception for the Ball was in a series of beautiful rooms filled with historic portraits and paintings. The President’s gallery had a portrait of every Republican President and not one extra. The main hall from the curved staircase, which formed a half-circle, had a 14 foot painting of George Washington on horseback. Imagine a 6’ 2” American version of Napoleon Crossing the Alps. It was immense and incredible. With pallets and appetites wet, we made our way to the Ballroom. Called Lincoln Hall, this part of the Union League is off limits to anyone not in semi-formal attire (Jacket and tie), a rule that stands all the time. The ceremony was beautiful, with all the flags of the Continental Army units.

While reading up and down the menu, I turned to Kerry, ‘If for no other reason, I will never get tired of coming to formal balls because the food is so damn good.’ My stomach grumbled as I imagined the stubble creme brulee, torched on top to form the caramelized brown sugar. Not after long Che and I found ourselves both explaining that we were not dating the girls we brought as dates, but had rather come as friends. With red cheeks, Che explained Jamie was his sister and that his Fiance was living in Illinois while he finished school. I explained that Megan, Kerry’s best friend, had moved to Kuwait and Kerry and we came as friends as well. Che practiced speaking Spanish with the gentlemen next to him, whom was formally in the Spanish Navy. I told him of my time on the Juan Sebastin Elcano, the Spanish Tall ship, and travels though Spain. It was a great table for conversation because everyone had a tangible connection to everyone else. Hours and multiple courses were lost to conversation.

The After Party ended early for me, unlike last year when we were invited into another event and force-fed Gin n’ Tonics until two o’clock. Brunch was included in the stay and then we would be off. It was a bit of a last hooraa, not in the Marine way, because I was saying goodbye to a group of people whom I had been in touch with for two years. It was somber experience for me, yet another remind that my time as a Midshipman, albeit under-appreciated, was ending very very quickly. They wished me luck in Pearl Harbor and we made our farewells.