It was greatly unexpected.   World War II was so horrific and widespread that peacemakers afterwards naively assured everyone it had been the war to end all wars, all the tyrants having been destroyed.   In disbelief, many kids my age watched brothers and others close to them being drafted for the Korean conflict, or worried over those who were eligible for the draft but not yet been called up.  

One late evening as I skated back to the bonfire to rest and warm up a little, I discovered an attractive young man I'd never seen before, sitting alone, rigidly and a little apart, with no skates on.  I was struck by the look on his face, as if he'd just lost his mama, his best friend and his dog. 

I looked around, but every seat was taken.  The fellow, probably about 19 or 20,  called to me and patted his knee in invitation.  I shook my head, horrified.  A stranger?  I knew better than that!

But something in his manner convinced me, and eventually I came over and gingerly sat on his knee.  Then I noticed that although wearing a heavy black overcoat, he had on woolen khaki pants and army issue shoes.  

"I've been drafted and I'm shipping out to Korea tomorrow morning,"  he said bleakly.  "I just came home to say goodbye."

We sat like that without speaking or moving for perhaps a half hour while the skaters whirled by, watching the sparks fly up into the night sky.  Finally he gave me a little hug and said, "Thank you.  I have to go now."  We got up and he walked off into the dark.  I didn't have the heart to skate any more that evening; the fun had gone.

After that I read the entire news about the war.  I never knew who that draftee was or where he lived.  I didn't have any romantic illusions about him, but I worried throughout the entire conflict.  Every massacre described in the paper made me wonder if he was there.   Was he injured?   Did he survive?  If so, how would the experience affect him when he came back?   War had a face.

Spring came early that year.  The pond thawed, the owner of the house came back from Florida prematurely and we had to move to dreadfully substandard slum housing temporarily, and the war went on, finally winding down, as most do, without resolution.

Barely recovered from the Korean war, the USA joined the Vietnam conflict, a horror from which thousands of veterans-- those lucky enough to have survived-- have never recovered physically or emotionally.    Nor have many of the protestors or even those who fled to Canada to avoid a war effort to which they were adamantly opposed.  One of my son's friends was at Kent State during that tragedy and relived it for years.

And so it goes.  As long as there are shortages of food, clothing, shelter, fuel or land, or there are riches or power to be gained, or dogmas to uphold, human beings will enter into conflict.  Too bad we cannot settle disputes by playing games to see who wins... but then, consider the Aztec games and the horrific consequences to the losers!

A contributor to Ann Lander's column writes about a website for those who are still grieving or otherwise suffering the effects of Vietnam:  The Virtual Wall.   Take a look.  And when you're sitting down to your next excellent meal, remember....  who do we owe?
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