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The following story was
written by Lori Kimble, a 31 year old teacher and
proud military wife. Mrs. Kimble, a California native, currently lives
in Alabama.)
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.
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 bulletproof
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.
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,
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 up
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!"
To those who fought for
our Nation: Freedom has a flavor the protected will never know.
GOD BLESS AMERICA!
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