|
A Soldiers Wife
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 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 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 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
a lone. 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, 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 a
ll 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,
~ Author Unknown ~
Midi ~ Stars And Stripes Forever ~
These photos were taken at Rosecranz
National Cemetery in
San Diego, CA. by Moon
And Back
|
