> >GOT THIS FROM A FRIEND.......................
> >
> > ITS NOT ABOUT THE OIL
> > (The following story was written by Lori Kimble, a 31 year old
> >teacher
> > and proud military wife. Mrs. Kimble, a California native,
currently
> > lives in Alabama.)
> >
> > 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 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 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.' Humph! 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-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, 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 wh y? 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 pi! cked 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!" To those who
> >fought for
> > our Nation: Freedom has a flavor the protected will never know.
GOD
> >BLESS
> > AMERICA! Please pray f or God's protection of our troops and HIS
> >wisdom
> > for their commanders
