I was
sitting alone in one of those loud, casual steak houses that
you find all over the country. You know the type--a bucket of
peanuts on every table, shells littering the floor, and a
bunch of perky college kids racing around with longneck beers
and sizzling platters.
Taking a sip of my iced tea, I studied the crowd over the rim
of my glass. My gaze lingered on a group enjoying their meal.
They wore no uniform to identify their branch of service, but
they were definitely "military;" clean shaven,
cropped haircut, and that "squared away" look that
comes with pride.
Smiling sadly, I glanced across my table to the empty seat
where my husband usually sat. It had only been a few months
since we sat in this very booth, talking about his upcoming
deployment to the Middle East.
That was when he made me promise to get a sitter for the
kids, come back to this restaurant once a month and treat
myself to a nice steak. In turn he would treasure the thought
of me being here, thinking about him until he returned home
to me.
I fingered
the little flag pin I constantly wear and wondered where he
was at this very moment. Was he safe and warm? Was his cold
any better? Were my letters getting through to him?
As I
pondered these thoughts, high pitched female voices from the
next booth broke into my thoughts. "I don't know what
Bush is thinking about. Invading Iraq. You'd think that man
would learn from his old man's mistakes. Good lord! What an
idiot! I can't believe he is even in office. You do know, he
stole the election."
I cut into my steak and tried to ignore them, as they began
an endless tirade running down our president. I thought about
the last night I spent with my husband, as he prepared to
deploy. He had just returned from getting his smallpox and
anthrax shots. The image of him standing in our kitchen
packing his gas mask still gives me chills.
Once again the women's voices invaded my thoughts. "It
is all about oil, you know. Our soldiers will go in and rape
and steal all the oil they can in the name of 'freedom'.
Hmph! I wonder how many innocent people they'll kill without
giving it a thought? It's pure greed, you know."
My chest tightened as I stared at my wedding ring. I could
still see how handsome my husband looked in his "mess
dress" the day he slipped it on my finger. I wondered
what he was wearing now. Probably his desert uniform,
affectionately dubbed "coffee stains" with a heavy
bullet proof vest over it.
"You know, we should just leave Iraq alone. I don't
think they are hiding any weapons. In fact, I bet it's all a
big act just to increase the president's popularity. That's
all it is, padding the military budget at the expense of our
social security and education. And, you know what else? We're
just asking for another 9-ll. I can't say when it happens
again that we didn't deserve it."
Their words brought to mind the war protesters I had watched
gathering outside our base. Did no one appreciate the
sacrifice of brave men and women, who leave their homes and
family to ensure our freedom? Do they even know what
"freedom" is?
I glanced at the table where the young men were sitting, and
saw their courageous faces change. They had stopped eating
and looked at each other dejectedly, listening to the women
talking.
"Well, I, for one, think it's just deplorable to invade
Iraq, and I am certainly sick of our tax dollars going to
train professional baby killers we call a military."
Professional baby killers? I thought about what a wonderful
father my husband is, and of how long it would be before he
would see our children again.
That's it! Indignation rose up inside me. Normally reserved,
pride in my husband gave me a brassy boldness I never
realized I had. Tonight one voice will answer on behalf of
our military, and let her pride in our troops be known.
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Sliding out
of my booth, I walked around to the adjoining booth and
placed my hands flat on their table. Lowering myself to eye
level with them, I smilingly said, "I couldn't help
overhearing your conversation. You see, I'm sitting here
trying to enjoy my dinner alone. And, do you know why?
Because my husband, whom I love with all my heart, is halfway
around the world, defending your right to say rotten things
about him."
"Yes, you have the right to your opinion, and what you
think is none of my business. However, what you say in public
is something else, and I will not sit by and listen to you
ridicule MY country, MY president, MY husband, and all the
other fine American men and women who put their lives on the
line, just so you can have the "freedom" to
complain. Freedom is an expensive commodity, ladies. Don't
let your actions cheapen it."
I must have been louder that I meant to be, because the
manager came over to inquire if everything was all right.
"Yes, thank you," I replied. Then turning back to
the women, I said, "Enjoy the rest of your meal."
As I returned to my booth applause broke out. I was
embarrassed for making a scene, and went back to my
half-eaten steak. The women picked their check and scurried
away. After finishing my meal, and while waiting for my
check, the manager returned with a huge apple cobbler ala
mode. "Compliments of those soldiers," he said. He
also smiled and said the ladies tried to pay for my dinner,
but that another couple had beaten them to it. When I asked
who, the manager said they had already left, but that the
gentleman was a veteran,and wanted to take care of the wife
of "one of our boys."
With a lump in my throat, I gratefully turned to the soldiers
and thanked them for the cobbler. Grinning from ear to ear,
they came over and surrounded the booth. "We just wanted
to thank you, ma'am. You know we can't get into
confrontations with civilians, so we appreciate what you
did."
As I drove home, for the first time since my husband's
deployment, I didn't feel quite so alone. My heart was filled
with the warmth of the other diners who stopped by my table,
to relate how they, too, were proud of my husband, and would
keep him in their prayers. I knew their flags would fly a
little higher the next day.
Perhaps they would look for more tangible ways to show their
pride in our country, and the military who protect her. And
maybe, just maybe, the two women who were railing against our
country, would pause for a minute to appreciate all the
freedom America offers, and the price it pays to maintain
it's freedom.
As for me, I have learned that one voice CAN make a
difference. Maybe the next time protesters gather outside the
gates of the base where I live, I will proudly stand on the
opposite side with a sign of my own. It will simply say,
"Thank You!"
~Lori
Kimble~
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(*Lori Kimble is a 31 year old teacher and proud military
wife. A California native, Mrs. Kimble currently lives in
Alabama.)
To those who fought for our Nation: Freedom has a flavor the
protected will never know.
GOD BLESS
AMERICA!
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