Though getting drafted did secure me the love of my life, it really did completely tear apart my whole world. I had huge plans, enormous goals for the rest of my life. I longed to move away, so far away from the lies of suburban life in Atlanta. Everyone just continuously lied to each other. They started pointless drama, that I had lived with for 18 years and could no longer stand. I wanted to move away from their fixed mindsets and do something great for the world. I had planned on going to law school, specifically Yale was the dream I had. However, my wish was granted in some ways when they announced my number, 078 across the live television. It was July 28, 1967 and my wish to be far away from the suburbs was granted. I was to go straight
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Do not send me to Vietnam. There was so many ways to move around the draft, Dad. Our cousins and so many boys at school have done it, why can’t we?” I practically cried in front of him. I could not go to Vietnam. All of effort in high school would be turned to nothing, and all of the school work and studying was just meaningless. So many boys in our town had already dodged the draft, as they paid the doctors to write fake disqualification notes to the scouts. Others instead feigned actual illnesses, which I considered too. We were no poor family, my father had owned a real estate business for years now. My family had also lived in a very liberal town. There had already been anti-war posters, protests, and speakers within the city. However, my family firmly disagreed upon it. My father barely gave me a laconic reply; he just shook his head and walked away from me. This was one of the last times I actually talked face-to-face with my own father. I had disappointed him the majority of my life, bringing shame to our family name because I would rather study than play football with my brothers on Friday nights in front of 2000 spectators. I would rather continue to study than go to Vietnam. I was embarrassed that I even tried to ask him to get me out of the war. My own father forced me to go to the war, and I did. I did because maybe this one last time I could show him that I wasn’t bringing shame to our family, that I was a man and I was brave. How foolish I really was.
Do not send me to Vietnam. There was so many ways to move around the draft, Dad. Our cousins and so many boys at school have done it, why can’t we?” I practically cried in front of him. I could not go to Vietnam. All of effort in high school would be turned to nothing, and all of the school work and studying was just meaningless. So many boys in our town had already dodged the draft, as they paid the doctors to write fake disqualification notes to the scouts. Others instead feigned actual illnesses, which I considered too. We were no poor family, my father had owned a real estate business for years now. My family had also lived in a very liberal town. There had already been anti-war posters, protests, and speakers within the city. However, my family firmly disagreed upon it. My father barely gave me a laconic reply; he just shook his head and walked away from me. This was one of the last times I actually talked face-to-face with my own father. I had disappointed him the majority of my life, bringing shame to our family name because I would rather study than play football with my brothers on Friday nights in front of 2000 spectators. I would rather continue to study than go to Vietnam. I was embarrassed that I even tried to ask him to get me out of the war. My own father forced me to go to the war, and I did. I did because maybe this one last time I could show him that I wasn’t bringing shame to our family, that I was a man and I was brave. How foolish I really was.