I know that the email below has probably made it’s rounds on the internet, but when I received and read it this morning, it brought a tear to my eye and reminded me of all the times I had had the same argument with people or gone out of my way to stop a Soldier on the street to say “thank you.” As I write this I remember one encounter that I would like to share with you.

I was taking the motorcycle riding coure several month ago. We went to this little Chinese place in Gulf Port, MS. There were about 5 or 6 of us there are well as the Motor Cops that were our instructors. They knew I had been in Iraq as a civilian adn we had had some nice talks about it. (Mostly me answering their questions about being there, what is want like and were we doing any good.) While placeing our orders, several Soldiers walked in and went straght to the back table to sit. Now if this had been a crowded resurant, I would not ahve thought anything about it, but it wasn’t. There were plenty of big tables they could have sat at. My thoughts were that they were sitting in the back for one of two reasons, they did wnat others to hear what they talked about, or, they didn’t want the nasty looks they somethimes get when out in public in uniform. As soon as I finished ordering my lunch, I told the others that I would be right back, I wanted to go talk to these Soldiers.

As I approched their table, I got some concerned looks, but the closer I got the more relaxed I could see them get. See I was wearing my doo-rag that has yellow ribbons and says “Support Our Troops” all over it. I also noticed that these were not lowly ground pounders, please forgive me for that, I know who really does the work, these were a couple of Majors, 1st Sergents, and a Colonal. I didn’t want to disrespect the brass, but I headed for the 1st Sergents. See I do know who ‘makes it happen’! I stuck out my hand and said, “Thank you all for your service.” As I said that, I could see them finish relaxing. I chatted with them all for a few minuets and went back to my table.

The other people I was with, all asked me what I had said to them. I told them what I had said and that some of these Soldiers had been to Iraq already. One lady asked me why I went out of my way to thank them. I told her it wasn’t out of my way and that they need to know that there are those of us that DO support them and what they do to keep us safe. If a few minuets out of my day will help a Soldier feel a bit better about what he/she does, then it is more than worth my time to do it. She responded with, “Oh!”

As we ate our lunch, I noticed that one by one my group was getting up and leaving the table for a few minuets. When the 3 person left, I watched. They were all making their way to the table of Soldiers, shakeing their hands and saying “Thank you!” I am sure that as much as the Soldiers wished they could eat in peace, I could see on their faces that they were feeling very proud. As they left, one came over and said, “Thank you for supporting us. It is not often that we get one person to say thank you, much less this many people.”

I was very happy that my love and support for our Troops was picked up by others. So yes, one person can make a difference!

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 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’. 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, paddingthe 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 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.’

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!’