Veterans Day

Just a few weeks longer than 55 years ago, I had received my draft notice. I was 20 years old and had been lollygagging in life. I had dropped out of college and had a job. It wasn’t a desirable job and I could see no pathway to a future. What future? I had no sense of that. I had no direction in life and I had no idea what I should do about the notice of conscription. There was no one to advise me about the military. I had no plan. I did not want to be a part of the draft. I did not want to go to southeast Asia (the evening news on television had much to say about Laos, but Vietnam was not the headlines). I had no dreams of seeing the world. But, the mail had been delivered and that damned draft notice was sitting on the kitchen table. 

I knew that I had to do something, and it had to be now. So, I hopped on the bus to downtown and went to see a recruiter. There was no song and dance. There was no promises made. My meeting with the navy recruiter was deadpan and uneventful. I had no idea what questions to ask. I didn’t believe that I had anything to offer other than flesh and bones. Did I mention that I did not want to go to southeast Asia? I was neither John Wayne (although we all loved his movies, “The Green Berets” had not been made yet) nor Arlo Guthrie (“Alice’s Restaurant” had neither been sung nor recorded yet). I did not want to kill, or be killed. I loved my country I suppose, but there was no reason for me to want to join the military. That simply did not equate! At 18 I had experienced a semester of college ROTC. That view of the Army was less enticing than my experience with the Boy Scouts. I had been kicked out of the Boy Scouts.

My joining the Navy was a rather complacent act of “casting my fate to the wind.” Instead of a two year commitment to the Army, I chose 4 years in the Navy. A ridiculous choice, but a “no-brainer!” During that four years, there were plenty of times when I questioned the wisdom of that choice. In retrospect, I bumbled into what was, without a doubt, a brilliant decision. Not only did I survive those years, but I did not go anywhere near southeast Asia. My lollygagging was allowed to be amped up and become much more creative in nature. At the same time, I learned to do a meaningful job that was both useful and worthwhile. And, I learned to serve. Also, I learned to hate the military just as my peers did.  It was the 1960s and the military was an unpopular option that was being imposed upon us by a political establishment that did not have our best interest at the top of their priorities. We all wanted to get out and return to the task of defining our lives. Four years of the 1960s taken from us and replaced with military service that had never been our first choice. I hated the Navy right up to the day that I was allowed to leave it. I hated the Navy for quite a while after as well. Yet, I had learned to serve. Not necessarily “my country,” but my family, friends, social peers, and fellow citizens. 

Today, however, you will not find me hanging out with the other ol’ farts, bragging about my heroic years of service. In the military I did my job well. I learned how to analyze what I did and to reconcile it with my existence. I had fun and served a useful purpose by performing my military mission well. I did nothing heroic but met, and became familiar with, a terrific group of individuals who broadened by perspective on life and gave me a wealth of personal knowledge that I might never have gained otherwise. Finally I realized that serving, although usually not heroic, gives more meaning to life than just about anything. I learned that serving my fellow citizens of this planet is far more important than a mythological “god and country.” In the end, the Navy was good to me. That experience has served me well. I’m a veteran now and not a hero, but as it turns out, proud of my service.