This is a weekend dedicated to military service. Memorial Day is a melancholy holiday for me. I think of my many family members and friends who served in the military. Aunts and uncles from the WW II age are almost all gone now. Nephews and cousins have served from Vietnam to the Gulf War. Friends and sons and daughters of friends are on active duty right now.
My generation of high school graduates faced Vietnam. My draft number was 36. Flunked the physical at the induction center. While I went home on one bus, another bus headed in another direction carrying more than one of my high school cohorts toward military service.
That day I was relieved to tears. And I was remorseful with guilt. The direction my bus traveled opened completely different doors than what were opening for that other bus full of people with draft numbers like mine.
Eventually, I joined the Peace Corps serving in South and Central America. It's not the military. Yet, I've always hoped that in some measure small or grand that I had represented my nation as best as I could.
You see, I really love this country.
My generation of high school graduates faced Vietnam. My draft number was 36. Flunked the physical at the induction center. While I went home on one bus, another bus headed in another direction carrying more than one of my high school cohorts toward military service.
That day I was relieved to tears. And I was remorseful with guilt. The direction my bus traveled opened completely different doors than what were opening for that other bus full of people with draft numbers like mine.
Eventually, I joined the Peace Corps serving in South and Central America. It's not the military. Yet, I've always hoped that in some measure small or grand that I had represented my nation as best as I could.
You see, I really love this country.
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