2000 Thank You's and Counting

2000 Thank You's and Counting

It was lunchtime so I left work to run to the deli. I ordered my Italian Sub and stood aside to wait. Glancing around the room, I saw three sailors sitting together. Their uniforms were perfectly pressed, crisp, and clean. One of them looked back at me. Without thinking I smiled and said, "Thank you." He nodded. I'm sure he knew what I meant.

Years ago the U.S. was in a little tussle called the Viet Nam War. 58,000 Americans died for anti-communism. It was a waste of our National Treasure; our people. Back then there were protests and battles fought right here on our own soil. Some of our soldiers even killed some of our own people. And when the soldiers came back from risking their lives in Viet Nam, they were, too often, greeted with jeers and boos.

I was sixteen when I realized that the war might still be going on when I turned eighteen. I might get drafted. It did not take a political genius to figure out that the war was becoming more unpopular every day. And it did not take a military genius to know that the war was a meat-grinder. What I knew was that I did not believe in the war. It seemed to me that the U.S. was fighting Russia through the Vietnamese. It was wrong as well as unnecessary.

My Mom sat down with me one day and we had a heart-to-heart talk. She had a plan all worked out for me to go to Canada. There was no way she was going to let me go to Viet Nam. We were not rich, just middle-class, but she would find a way to save me.

I found my feelings that day. Although I had not formulated a plan of my own, there were some things that I knew. The first was that I had deep respect for the men and women of the armed forces. Their loyalty to our country was something every American should be proud of, whether we liked the war or not. Soldiers MUST obey their country's call. The second thing I knew was that I didn't want to kill anybody. And the third was that I wasn't going to run away. I would serve, if called. I would go to the front, if ordered. I would risk my life for my country, but I would not kill people who I felt were no real threat to me, my family, or my country. How this would work out I did not know.

Back then they had this thing called "The Draft Lottery." It was the way that people were picked to go to the military. Each day of the year was written on its own ping pong ball and put into a big drum. They would spin the drum and pull out a ball. The date on the ball corresponded to a person's birthday. The first ball pulled out was the birthday of all the eighteen-year-olds who would be drafted first. Then the second, third, fourth... 365th. As I remember, it was thought that anyone with a number under sixty was going to get drafted. I drew number 227. Even if there had been a nuclear war, I probably wouldn't have been drafted!

All of us, for or against the war in Iraq, MUST honor and genuinely mourn all those who die for our country. We MUST aggressively help all those who are injured; physically and mentally. And we MUST never tire of thanking all who would offer their lives so the rest of us can remain free!

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