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 her 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
W.W.II 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
protesters 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!"
Lori Kimble
-----------------------
Lori Kimble is a 31 year
old teacher and proud
military wife. She is a
California native
currently living in
Alabama.
