A Military Wife
Lori Kimble

I was sitting alone in one of those loud, casual steakhouses 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 up coming 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 even believe he's 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 9-11 !   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 the 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, 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 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


(Lori Kimble is a 31 year old teacher and proud military wife. A
California native, Mrs.. Kimble currently lives in Alabama.)