This came from a paper, apparently it has been in more than one, I have not recieved it and I thought it was very pertinent to some who post on here who spout off with the same crap. This is one wonderful lady, I hope you know her Alabama so you can tell her thanks from me, I think that jigs and I would have handled things a little bit different, but results would be the same.
:wink: Hey Dis, Kolanu or R2, you been in Alabama in the last two years, I know nonothing has hes' been hiding in BC since 1975
MY HUSBAND IS DEFENDING YOUR RIGHT TO SAY ROTTEN THINGS.
(Editor Tami Jo Blake of the Agrinews found this tear-jerking story on her email and credits a Lori Kimble from Alabama as the author. Though you can never be sure of what you find on the internet, she printed it because it’s so touching-and sadly, similar scenes have likely played out all over our country. Editor Janet Guptill also found it to be touching and thought you might like to read it.)
I was sitting alone in one of those loud, casual steak houses that you find all over the country. 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 this 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. “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’. 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.
“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.”
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. That’s it! Indignation rose up inside me. Normally reserved, pride in my husband gave me a brassy boldness I never realized I had.
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, smilingly I 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 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 a la 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 whom, 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.
From the TRADEWIND, Nov. 20. 2006