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Way to go Girl!!<br /><br />It could have been any night of the week, as I sat in one of those loud<br />and casual steak houses that are cropping up all over the country. You<br />know the type- a bucket of peanuts on the table, shells littering the floor,<br />and a bunch of perky college kids racing around with longneck beers and<br />sizzling platters.<br /><br />Taking a sip of my iced tea, I studied the crowd over the rim of my glass.<br />I let my gaze linger on a few of the tables next to me, where several<br />uniformed military members were enjoying their meals. Smiling sadly, I<br />glanced across my booth to the empty seat where my husband usually<br />sat.<br /><br />Had it had only been a few weeks since we had sat at this very table<br />talking about his upcoming deployment to the Middle East? He made me<br />promise to come back to this restaurant once a month, sit in our booth, and<br />treat myself to a nice dinner. He told me that he would treasure the thought<br />of me there eating a steak and thinking about him until he came home.<br /><br />I fingered the little flag pin I wear on my jacket and wondered where at<br />that moment he was. Was he safe and warm? Was his cold any better?<br />Were any of my letters getting to him? As I pondered all of these things,<br />shrill feminine voices from the next booth broke into my thoughts.<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />I cut into my steak and tried not to listen as they began an endless<br />tirade of running down our president. I thought about the last night I<br />was with my husband as he prepared to deploy. He had just returned from<br />getting his smallpox and anthrax shots and the image of him standing in our<br />kitchen packing his gas mask still gave me chills.<br /><br />Once again their voices invaded my thoughts. "It is all about oil, you<br />know. Our military will go in and rape and pillage and steal all the<br />oil they can in the name of freedom. I wonder how many innocent lives our<br />soldiers will take without a thought? It is just pure greed."<br /><br />My chest tightened and I stared at my wedding ring. I could picture<br />how handsome my husband was in his mess dress the day he slipped it on my<br />finger. I wondered what he was wearing at that moment. He probably had<br />on his desert uniform, affectionately dubbed coffee stains, over the top<br />of which he wore a heavy bulletproof vest.<br /><br />"We should just leave Iraq alone. I don't think they are hiding any<br />weapons. I think it is all a ploy to increase the president's popularity<br />and pad the budget of our military at the expense of social security and<br />education. We are just asking for another 9-11 and I can't say when it<br />happens again that we didn't deserve it."<br /><br />Their words brought to mind the war protesters I had watched gathering<br />outside our base. Did no one appreciate the sacrifice of brave men and<br />women who leave their homes and family to ensure our freedom? I glimpsed at<br />the tables around me and saw the faces of some of those courageous men,<br />looking sad as they listened to the ladies talk.<br /><br />"Well, I for one, think it is a travesty to invade Iraq and I am certainly<br />sick of our tax dollars going to train the professional baby killers we call<br />a military."<br /><br />Professional baby killers? As I thought about what a wonderful father my<br />husband is and wondered how long it would be before he was able to see<br />his children again, indignation rose up within me. Normally reserved, pride<br />in my husband gave me a boldness I had never known. Tonight, one voice<br />would cry out on behalf of the military. One shy woman would stand and let<br />her pride in our troops be known. I made my way to their table, placed my<br />palms flat on it and lowered myself to be eye level with them.<br /><br />Smiling I said, "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. I am<br />sitting over here trying to enjoy my dinner alone. Do you know why I<br />am alone? Because my husband, whom I love dearly, is halfway across the<br />world defending your right to say rotten things about him. You have the right<br />to your opinion, and what you think is none of my business, but what you say<br />in my hearing is and I will not sit by and listen to you run down my country,<br />my president, my husband, and all these other fine men and women in here<br />who put their lives on the line to give you the freedom to complain.<br />Freedom is expensive, ladies, don't let your actions cheapen it."<br /><br />I must have been louder than I meant to be, because about that time<br />the manager came over and asked if everything was all right.<br /><br />"Yes, thank you," I replied and then turned back to the ladies, "Enjoy<br />the rest of your meal."<br /><br />To my surprise, as I sat down to finish my steak, a round of applause<br />broke out in the restaurant. Not long after the ladies picked up their<br />check and scurried away, the manager brought me a huge helping of apple<br />cobbler and ice cream, compliments of the table to my left. He told me that<br />the ladies had tried to pay for my dinner, but someone had beaten them to<br /> it.<br /><br />When I asked who, he said the couple had already left, but that the man<br />had mentioned he was a WWII vet and wanted to take care of the wife of<br />one of our boys. I turned to thank the soldiers for the cobbler, but they<br />wouldn't hear a word of it, retorting, "Thank you, you said what we wanted<br />to say but weren't allowed."<br /><br />As I drove home that night, for the first time in while, I didn't feel<br />quite so alone. My heart was filled with the warmth of all the patrons<br />who had stopped by my table to tell me they too were proud of my husband<br />and that he would be in their prayers. I knew their flags would fly a<br />little higher the next day. Perhaps they would look for tangible ways to show<br />their pride in our country and our troops, and maybe, just maybe, the two<br />ladies sitting at that table next to me would pause for a minute to appreciate<br />all the freedom this great country offers and what it costs to maintain.<br /><br />As for me, I had learned that one voice can make a difference. Maybe the next<br />time protesters gather outside the gates of the base where I live, I will proudly<br />stand across the street with a sign of my own. A sign that says, "Thank you!"<br /><br />Lori Kimble is a 31 year old teacher and proud military wife. She is a<br />California native currently living in Alabama
