Tom always likes to tell people he won the lottery.
He can still tell you his lucky number
. It was 295.
Those of you who are old enough to remember Viet Nam know what he means.
For the rest of you...
they drew the birth dates of every young man who was 18.
A low number meant you were drafted.
The higher the number, the better your chances.
Tom watched it tensely on tv with his mom.
"I don't' care what number you get, you're not going,"she exclaimed, "I have already sent two sons to this war and one came home shot."
Tom looked at her through his long blonde hair"well, Mom, should I go to Canada?"
"no"she vowed"I'll write you a note".
Can you see my 18 year old hippie future husband coming up to the draft board with a note in his hand...
"Please excuse my son from this war."?