Recently I had the chance to be involved with a small-talk, side conversation with some senior spouses (O & E) and something started percolating around in my head (not too unlike the old Maxwell House coffee commercial showing the fresh perked coffee splashing inside that tiny little glass handle). A smidge of the conversation involved how busy everyone was and all of the things that went into making everyone's day soooo busy. Kids--to and from school plus after-school activities; family things--shopping, washing clothes, dry cleaners, trying to make nutritious meals without making daily trips to the commissary; church groups and the various clubs and committees there-in; and, support to their DH, not necessarily of DH in his job, simply the support of their DH, because he was dad, father, husband, bread-winner.

I asked what I consider of importance and have commented on in this venue a few times. It basically went like this, "Since everyone is so busy, how do you reach out to the younger spouses, not just new in your unit, but new to our world, and see to their needs?" The spontaneous answer was quite interesting ...

"They don't." And when I followed-up with, "Just how do the younger spouses know what to do and the protocols and the expectations, so that their pockets will have the tools they'll need to use to grow up to become, ... you?" And the answer by committee was, "Somebody else will have to figure that one out because we don't have enough time." I was floored, because I knew that wasn't the way they were brought up in our Service. Fortunately for the most part, the gals I was talking to and the community of spouses they represent is only a segment of our spouse population. But it's there.

If I had the chance to call for an Extreme Makeover of my life, this time in NY Times Civilian Mode, would I ask for the Designer Life, complete with earlier college education (and advanced degree) and the big fancy house we could so easily have afforded with my husband's very competitive college record and board scores and my own aptitudes? Would I have opted for putting my children in day care instead of sullying my hands by raising them myself? Certainly, I wouldn't have had my own stories like this to tell:

LCPL Dark Prince has only been gone for about two weeks and both his father and I are keeping busy and staying strong. The upside to the communication fiasco is that I do not have to talk to all my relatives and friends about how they remember Dark Prince as a little boy:

1. The time he peed in the little tykes kitchen coffeepot.
2. The time he turned a toy pickup truck into a dump truck. (Just use your imagination)
3. The time he gave Ross a swirlie in middle school.
4. The time he filled Susan M.'s purse with parmesan cheese at a dinner party.

Boys. I laughed so hard when I read that, and for a moment I saw my own firstborn, strawberry blonde hair and freckled skin glowing from exertion (that child was born running) off in the distance, the family beagle and younger brother trailing along in hot pursuit of something I Profoundly Did Not Want To Know More About. What doesn't kill us as parents makes us stronger.

No, on balance, I don't think I would trade a moment of my life. Not for the world. And that is what saddens and disheartens me so about the thing I mentioned at the beginning of this post; the thing I see everywhere I look these days. There is a name for it. It used to be partially hidden, this thing. It is not hidden anymore.

That thing is contempt:

What disappoints me about this piece though, is despite all of Cavett’s smart-ass banter about language, the piece is nothing more than an unbridled display of contempt. “I guess a guy bearing up under such a chestload of hardware - and pretty ribbons in a variety of decorator colors - can’t be expected to speak like ordinary mortals, for example you and me.” I suppose not, Dick. Perhaps because Petraeus is not just some ordinary guy, or someone who makes his living talking on TV about cocktail parties. His “pretty ribbons” aren’t some trendy lapel adornment, and when he must give orders something more vital happens than a servant appearing with another round of Campari and soda.

You can disagree with the Bush administration and their representatives about the waging of the Iraq war, it’s well within your rights to do so, and many join in your concerns. But comparing the ”tinpot Ghen Khan of Crawford” to General Custer? That, Dick, is just plain lame.

And it's not just Dick Cavett. It didn't just begin with him, and as I noted the other day, this contempt for military service and everything it stands for has been coming out of the woodwork for some time now. I Googled the phrase "Veterans memorials vandalized" the other day and got quite a few entries. I stopped after just the first few. It was discouraging.

Shortly after the beginning of my husband's year-long tour in Baghdad, I told him to be careful. I wasn't worried much about the insurgency. What worried me, really, was the rising anti-military feeling I sensed back here at home. I told him over the phone that a tide had turned in American public opinion and it was an ugly feeling. A great many people, no matter what they may say publicly, did not support the troops. If you doubt that, you need look no farther than progressive sites like Crooks and Liars or ThinkProgress. The anti-military hate spewed there is enough to turn the stomach. They have criminalized mere political disagreement. Now it is no longer acceptable to live in a pluralistic society where honest disagreement on major policy questions is possible between men and women of good will. To disagree with them is to be a liar, a cheat, a murderer.

I read Dick Cavett's deplorable opinion piece and saw not General Petraeus, but my husband being pilloried. He is but one rank below the good General. My mind drifted back to a brilliantly sunny September morning in 2001 when I sat numbly at my desk in McLean, Virginia wondering whether I would ever see the love of my life again as black smoke rose from the roof of the building of his office, miles away.

I remembered a day, weeks later, at sunset. He was still at work. He was always at work. As 'essential personnel' at the Pentagon, he was going in at all hours, day and night. His clothes and hair were permeated with the smell of bitter, acrid smoke. I sat alone at his mother's house waiting for the moment when the sun would set and the neighbors would emerge from their houses, each with a single candle in their hand.

In remembrance. In silent solidarity. In grief for our lost loved ones, for the death of our innocence: for the belief that we could ever again feel that golden sense of invulnerability that used to be America.

I remember the moment when that little 'plink' announced that another email had dropped into my Inbox at work. This time from my husband. I still remember the words:

"Babe. I know we were planning on retiring. But I cannot, in good conscience with everything that is going on in the world, get out now. I think important things are going to happen and the Marine Corps will need all the leaders it can get. I still think I have something to contribute, and believe it is important to stay in and do my part. I trust you will understand."

And I did. And I do. And I always will.

Just as people like Dick Cavett will never understand. I think he imagines people in the military gleefully rushing off to fight the Hun. No one - least of all the military - likes war. Mr. Cavett has never led men into battle. He has never had to watch a friend's face crumple when she learns her husband is dead. He has never taken a bullet in the chest, or had his pelvis shattered and kept reporting for duty as soon as he possibly could, because that is what you do when your job is important.

Men like Cavett like to pretend doing ones' duty is optional. Who knows? Perhaps in their world, it is? Their somewhat bizarre world view allows them to mock what they will never comprehend. But the complex reality they refuse to acknowledge or respect is that, if everyone thought as they do, America would be defenseless against fanatacists who have sworn never to stop until we are wiped off the face of the earth. Men like Cavett can contend until the end of time that extremists are not a threat. The truth of the matter is, the only thing standing between him and violent extremists are the kind of men he likes to belittle. If he doesn't show up for work, a column doesn't get written. If they don't show up for work, someone may die. Thousands may die. Nations, sometimes.

They are police, like my 25 year old son, the little redhead I mentioned a few paragraphs ago. You know: the ones who perpetrate "copspeak" (except my son doesn't talk like that, nor do any of his friends). They are the ones Dick Cavett loves to mock in the New York Times, though I doubt Cavett really knows any cops. They don't quite fit into his social milieu. That's one of the first things cops give up when they choose a life of public service. Cachet isn't one of the perks that come with low status occupations like police or military work.

During Petraeus' September testimony, Hillary Clinton loftily informed him it would require a "willing suspension of disbelief" before Congress would credit his testimony on Iraq. To these ears, the Senator from NY had called the good General a presumptive liar. Well, this Marine wife is an ordinary American; college educated, hard working, with an above average IQ. She pays her bills and her taxes on time.

When politicians and public figures like Hillary Clinton, Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid, and Dick Cavett sneer at and treat military officers with contempt, she sees her husband in their place. And she remembers. She remembers everything she has given up for nearly thirty years to support his military career, and as she watches her husband's service being spit on by the very people he has served so loyally and so well, she can't help but wonder what any of these men could possibly have done to invite such treatment, or when doing ones' duty became grounds for contempt and derision?

Instead of a suspension of disbelief, how about a suspension of contempt for a change from the snooty elitists in Washington and the leftist punditocracy? You don't have to take anyone's word for anything. Challenge the good General on his testimony. Challenge him on the facts if you wish. But check the ad hominems at the door. Just because he wears the uniform of the day doesn't give you carte blanche to take cheap potshots at medals that commemorate battles where better men than you will ever be have fought and died for ideals they believed were worth fighting for, even if you do not.

How about a little respect? I don't see the good General treating his questioners with contempt. From where I sit, Mr. Cavett, you are beating up on the military precisely because you know they cannot - by law - fight back. How about a little decency, which used to be called ordinary politeness in the civilian world. That would be truly refreshing. But I won't hold my breath waiting for it.

Update: The Torch burns brightly in Canada: we are not alone in this fight.

And that's something we here in the States need to remember more often.