At the wall

My brother was drafted sometime in the mid-to-late '60s (or so the story goes). He failed his physical due to a deformity in his right hand.

My father went for his military physical in the early '40s (or so the story goes).
He failed due to a hernia.

So obviously, we were not a military family, except for two brother's of my mom and our cousin Joe Lockard.

But no one in my immediate family.

Once, when my dad was worried about me and my future, he arranged to have an Army recruiter come to the house to talk to me about what I was doing with my life. I left the house and was not home, so I missed the appointment. I am not especially proud of that.

But no way, no how was I going to get anywhere near the military.

Another time, when I was aimless and listening to rock and roll for hours on end (not unlike today), my dad remarked, "I can't wait until the Army gets a hold of you." He thought they would straighten out what ailed me.

Of course, they didn't. And I guess I never did straighten out.

I never knew anyone who didn't come home from Vietnam. I was lucky.