Support Our Troops

WIFE'S REQUEST I was sitting alone in one of those loud, casual steak houses 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 long neck 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. 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's all about oil, you know. Our soldiers will go in and rape and steal all the oil they can in the name of 'freedom'. Hmmm! 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 even 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, smiling I said, 'I couldn't help over hearing 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 than 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 that protects 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 its 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!' To those who fought for our nation, freedom has a flavor the protected will never know. GOD BLESS AMERICA Please pray for God's protection of our troops and HIS wisdom for their commanders. Pass this on to as many as you think will respond. 'Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. I ask this in the name of Jesus, our Lord and Savior.' When you receive this, please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our ground, air and navy personnel in every area of the middle east. There is nothing attached.... This can be very powerful. Just send this to all the people in your address book. Do not stop this prayer chain, please.... Of all the gifts you could give to anyone in the US Military, be it Air Force, Army, Navy, Marines or National Guard, prayer is the very best one....Amen. GOD BLESS AMERICA!!

http://southerndailypoints.blogspot.com/2006/06/wifes-request.html

 

Below is from > http://breakthechain.org/exclusives/lorikimble.html

The author, Lori Kimble, is indeed real and these are her words. But, she isn't quite the "Jane Average" the letter leads you to believe and the veracity of her account has been questioned.

In addition to being "a 31 year old teacher and proud military wife," Kimble is also a featured opinion columnist for the Washington Dispatch. The text above was from her column appearing in the April 14, 2003 edition of that paper.

Her essay was copied and forwarded far and wide by folks inspired by her actions and similarly frustrated by those critical of the Bush Administration's policy in Iraq and Afghanistan. However, the popularity of this piece has cast some doubt on its authenticity. Initially available on the Dispatch web site, her article was pulled soon after and replaced by this notice:

Without knowing more about its origins and the reasons behind the author's reticence to provide more information about it, we have to categorize this one as rumor at best.

And from Snopes.com > http://www.snopes.com/politics/war/speakup.asp

 

 

Sorry for the late post.  I had been gathering a bunch of good sites and some links from my favorites lists to share for Memorial Day, then I got busy or depressed or maybe it was just plain laziness.  I could be suffering from PTSD or reality is starting to settle in.  When I did try to post this twice before, AOL decided it would disconnect, so I had to walk away and tend to other things.  I bought a new shirt and shorts, a new 2 GB Compact Flash Card ( Wow, 583 hi-res pictures or over 7,000 depending on the setting ), charged all the batteries and cleaned the lenses.  I went downtown the day before the parade and picked out a good spot.  I raised my huge Holiday Flag and got all the picnic items together.  I watched the concert in Washington D.C. on PBS.  I finally went to bed Sunday night, or should I say early Monday morning with all intentions of celebrating a great day.  We had three days of absolutely beautiful weather.  Monday morning arrived and I dragged myself out of bed ( the Fibromyalgia was trying to inconvenience me ) and I made coffee.  I waited for the nurse to come and do the weekly check on Mom's blood.  No nurse.  I also waited for the CNA to come and help get Mom washed and dressed.  She was looking forward to getting out and she always enjoys the parade.  No CNA.  None since Friday.  I didn't wake Mom because she was sleeping so well.  The more I waited, the more depressed I got.  I finally grabbed my things, jumped in the car and headed for the cemetery with flowers and a new flag for my Dad's marker.  I was expecting to see a beautiful flag flying at half-staff at the entrance.  No flag.  I arranged my flag and flowers in the vase, said a prayer, saluted and snapped a picture, then headed downtown.  It was four hours since the parade ended and the place was a ghost town.  There was a group of re-enactors still in front of the Naval Shipyard Museum and I stopped and chatted for a few minutes.  The flag at the foot of High Street was still at half-staff, contrary to regulations.  It's supposed to be hoisted to the top at noon.  Small matter.  I passed by the Confederate Monument and observed the wreath of dead flowers left over from Christmas.  There was nothing at the Spanish-American War Memorial or the Richard Dale ( Revolutionary War ) Memorial.  I rode through the Olde Towne section hoping to see an old house bedecked with red, white and blue bunting on the porch and balconies.  Nada.  I checked my calendar to see if it was, in fact, Monday.  I wish it had all been just a bad dream.  All I know is that I'd better snap out of this attitude soon.  It's a crummy feeling that I have never experienced before.  Now where did I hide those Happy Pills?

 

Memorial Day 2008

 

 

 

 

 

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