As each of my husband’s Navy submarine deployments came to an end, local spouses would e-mail me about the ship’s uncertain date of return. They were attempting to sell tickets to a raffle in which the winner would be the first to kiss her returning sailor. When the time came, journalists would hover to capture the image as hundreds of families, many with young children like mine, waited for hours at an empty lot on base, sometimes exposed to rain, wind, or sun reflecting off the pavement.
As the crew disembarked, kids tried to catch sight of parents they hadn’t seen or spoken to for months, calling out to them from behind barbed wire fences. Amid the hubbub, a singular couple—curiously, almost always a young, white, attractive heterosexual pair—would enjoy the carefully manufactured privilege of having that first kiss.
Following one six-month deployment, I remember being told about the chatter aboard the sub when, through its periscope as the ship approached base, the long “ears” of the male partner of a male submariner were spotted. Being part of a community of “furries,” he was dressed in a giant rabbit costume. Other spouses and sailors wondered what it would have been like if that couple had gotten the coveted raffle ticket.
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