Tom & I sat out on the porch with a bottle of wine last night & told old stories. In the tradition of porch stories, a good one gets better the more it's told.
So here we go...
the year is 1970.
The powers that be are sending young men to fight an old mens' war, At this time ,it was in Viet Nam. things haven't changed too much since then.
My future husband is 18.
He is sitting with his mom, watching the draft lottery on tv & wondering if his entire future will be changed at that moment. (for those of you who aren't familiar, at that time there was a lottery to pick those who would be drafted into the military. They drew the birthdates of all 18 yr old men on live tv and your number depended on when & if you would get a notice in the mail from Uncle Sam that began chillingly with "Greetings...")
Tom's mom was incensed. "well,it doesnt' matter what your number is,"she sputtered. "I've done my part! They sent one of my sons over there and shot him! He still wakes up screaming! You are just not going! I'll write you a note!"
Well, Tom still says he won the lottery
. He got a high number, but I treasure the thought of him showing up at the local draft board with a note reading"please excuse my son from this war..."
It is a stormy day & I love it. If it's pretty, I feel like I must be out & about,but Caitlin & Tom are napping & Mariah is gone for the weekind....
I have a note?