The memory is as clear as looking through glass, the smile on my father’s face when he handed me the letter. Congratulations, the letter read. Your number was selected to serve in the military, selective service #128. Panic hit me. It was the height of the Viet Nam War and nine chances out of ten that is where I’d end up. My dad wanted to talk. It ain’t like you’re committing suicide, he started. Could turn out good for you, he continued. You’ve got talents they will use. Then I realized he had no idea what was going on in the world. His war, World War II, was a just and complex war, with clear beginnings and ends. He had driven a wrecker and done truck maintenance and never fired a shot in anger for his whole five years. He did his duty as he was ordered and was thus rewarded. This war was different. I shuddered inside. I knew we were fighting for Oil and Money, not to mention National Military Pride. I had only one goal-to become a Rock and Roll star. I had graduated early. I played guitar well and was in various garage bands, but in reality, I wanted to be in the big time, a real rocking roller. I knew I had the audacity and determination to get there. Needless to say, this draft notice put a big hitch in my plans for Stardom. I felt my heart had fallen into my shoes. It looked like that was it. I had only nine days till my inevitable doom.