It could have been any night of the week, as I sat in one of those loud
and casual steak houses that are cropping up all over the country. You
know the type- a bucket of peanuts on the 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. I let my gaze linger on a few of the tables next to
me, where several uniformed military members were enjoying their meals.
Smiling sadly, I glanced across my booth to the empty seat where my
husband usually sat. Had it had only been a few weeks since we had sat
at this very table talking about his upcoming deployment to the Middle
East? He made me promise to come back to this restaurant once a month,
sit in our booth, and treat myself to a nice dinner. He told me that he
would treasure the thought of me there eating a steak and thinking about
him until he came home. I fingered the little flag pin I wear on my
jacket and wondered where at that moment he was. Was he safe and warm?
Was his cold any better? Were any of my letters getting to him? As I
pondered all of these things, shrill feminine voices from the next booth
broke into my thoughts.
"I don't know what Bush is thinking invading
Iraq. Didn't he learn anything from his father's mistakes? He is an
idiot anyway, I can't believe he is even in office. You know he stole
the election."
I cut into my steak and tried not to listen as they
began an endless tirade of running down our president. I thought about
the last night I was with my husband as he prepared to deploy. He had
just returned from getting his smallpox and anthrax shots and the image
of him standing in our kitchen packing his gas mask still gave me
chills.
Once again their voices invaded my thoughts.
"It is all about oil, you know. Our military will
go in and rape and pillage and steal all the oil they can in the name of
freedom. I wonder how many innocent lives our soldiers will take without
a thought? It is just pure greed."
My chest tightened and I stared at my wedding ring. I
could picture how handsome my husband was in his mess dress the day he
slipped it on my finger. I wondered what he was wearing at that moment.
He probably had on his desert uniform, affectionately dubbed coffee
stains, over the top of which he wore a heavy bulletproof vest.
"We should just leave Iraq alone. I don't think
they are hiding any weapons. I think it is all a ploy to increase the
president's popularity and pad the budget of our military at the expense
of social security and education. We are just asking for another 9-11
and 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? I glimpsed at the tables around me and saw the faces of some of
those courageous men, looking sad as they listened to the ladies talk.
"Well I for one, think it is a travesty to invade
Iraq and I am certainly sick of our tax dollars going to train the
professional baby killers we call a military."
Professional baby killers? As I thought about what a
wonderful father my husband is and wondered how long it would be before
he was able to see his children again, indignation rose up within me.
Normally reserved, pride in my husband gave me a boldness I had never
known. Tonight, one voice would cry out on behalf of the military. One
shy woman would stand and let her pride in our troops be known. I made
my way to their table, placed my palms flat on it and lowered myself to
be eye level with them. Smiling I said, "I couldn't help
overhearing your conversation. I am sitting over here trying to enjoy my
dinner alone. Do you know why I am alone? Because my husband, whom I
love dearly, is halfway across the world defending your right to say
rotten things about him. You have the right to your opinion, and what
you think is none of my business, but what you say in my hearing is and
I will not sit by and listen to you run down my country, my president,
my husband, and all these other fine men and women in here who put their
lives on the line to give you the freedom to complain. Freedom is
expensive ladies, don't let your actions cheapen it."
I must have been louder than I meant to be, because
about that time the manager came over and asked if everything was all
right. "Yes thank you." I replied and then turned back to the
ladies, "Enjoy the rest of your meal."
To my surprise, as I sat down to finish my steak, a
round of applause broke out in the restaurant. Not long after the ladies
picked up their check and scurried away, the manager brought me a huge
helping of apple cobbler and ice cream, compliments of the table to my
left. He told me that the ladies had tried to pay for my dinner, but
someone had beaten them to it. When I asked who he said the couple had
already left, but that the man had mentioned he was a WWII vet and
wanted to take care of the wife of one of our boys.
I turned to thank the soldiers for the cobbler, but
they wouldn't hear a word of it, retorting, "Thank you, you said
what we wanted to say but weren't allowed."
As I drove home that night, for the first time in
while, I didn't feel quite so alone. My heart was filled with the warmth
of all the patrons who had stopped by my table to tell me they too were
proud of my husband and that he would be in their prayers. I knew their
flags would fly a little higher the next day. Perhaps they would look
for tangible ways to show their pride in our country and our troops, and
maybe, just maybe, the two ladies sitting at that table next to me would
pause for a minute to appreciate all the freedom this great country
offers and what it costs to maintain. As for me, I had learned that one
voice can make a difference. Maybe the next time protestors gather
outside the gates of the base where I live, I will proudly stand across
the street with a sign of my own. A sign that says "Thank
you!"
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Lori Kimble is a 31 year old teacher and proud
military wife. She is a California native currently living in Alabama.