I was spared the big decision. My student deferment kept me away from draft boards right up until the Vietnam War came to an end. I knew several guys just a little bit older than I who weren't quite as fortunate. They either had exhausted their deferments or didn't have one to begin with. So it was either join up with the Army, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard or Marines, or roll the dice and play the numbers game.

Just in case you don't remember, during the Vietnam era when a lad turned 18, the government gave him a number. 366 days (including Feb. 29) were put into one hat. 366 digits went into another. On a steamy summer day in Washington, D.C., a government official would draw one day and one digit until all were matched up. In my year, I was No. 42. My best friend was No. 7. We didn't exactly rejoice at the news.

If you got drafted, you were in the Army for two years. And it probably meant an all-expense paid trip to Southeast Asia. If you enlisted, I think you signed up for a minimum of three years. But you had a better chance of defending the honor of America in places like Alaska, Germany and Omaha, Neb., rather than slogging through the jungles of Vietnam.

As anyone of service age at that time will tell you, wearing a military uniform wasn't quite the same as it is today. The honor and support presently accorded our soldiers, sailors and airmen were virtually non-existent in the late '60s and early '70s. As a matter of fact, there was a virulent anti-military cloud hanging over the country, with uniformed soldiers bearing the brunt of verbal tirades even though it was the politicos making the decisions.

Many, if not most, of the guys serving really didn't want to be in any man's Army. That was the reason for the draft in the first place. The branches of the armed services couldn't entice enough volunteers to fill their ranks. Hey, this was the era of hippies and long hair, wild clothes and wilder music, trippin' and sit-ins, and makin' love, not war. If you were walking around, even in civilian clothes, with a head full of buzz cut, you were definitely not with the "in" crowd, baby.

As hard as the era was for the youth, however, it was probably more difficult for the parents. Many dads had fought in "the big one," World War II. They signed up in droves to defend their country against the onslaught of German and Japanese aggression. They were hailed as heroes going to battle and coming home. So many had a hard time understanding why their sons didn't just jump into the fray and take care of this generation's battles much as they had 20 or 30 years before.

Grandfathers of the Vietnam kids had probably fought without question or pause in The Great War, World War I. They, too, had a difficult time reconciling the fact that their grandsons loathed the idea of putting on khaki for the cause.

My Dad and Grandfather had both been proud members of the U.S. Army. They didn't wear their service on their sleeves, but they certainly were stalwart patriots and had preserved their uniforms in an old trunk. We even had a mortar shell my grandfather had brought back from France in 1918 sitting on our fireplace hearth.

Of course, the wars they fought happened in a different time and place. I can't say I'm sorry I never learned how to dismantle an M16. But I do want to say that especially this time of year, when Veteran's Day rolls around, I wholeheartedly salute all those who did. Every one of our vets deserves great thanks. But for you guys who put your lives on the line in Vietnam, and to all those who served back then during that unsettled period in American history, well, you deserve even more. No bands greeted you when you came home. No one other than your family met you at an airport. And some who passed you on the street probably hurled insults at you, or worse.

So while this is meant to be a salute for all veterans, I'd like to especially single out those who went to Vietnam. I just want you to know you that I appreciate your service and I'm grateful for the way you took care of things ... so I didn't have to. And to the families of sons and daughters that didn't come home, your sacrifices especially are not forgotten.

Happy Veterans Day.

Bill Lewis is a free lance writer in Marietta.