...from my brother. A friend sent me a note card a couple of years ago, with a picture on it that I thought my brother would find interesting. The front of the note card had a reproduction of an old time tinted postcard. I made a copy of the illustration and sent it to my brother, living in Virginia. He responded with a story about the post office building.
It is a big two-story, dark-red brick rectangle sitting on the main thoroughfare in the small town where we grew up. I recall going with my dad to pick up his mail out of his little box there when I was a child. And what a big deal it was, when I finally got old enough for him to give me the key and let me go in by myself to get his mail without having an 'adult' along. My brother, being older, was, of course, allowed this honor long before I could: a marker of maturity, I suppose?
When I sent my brother the copy of the note card he told me the last time he was in that building was when he went to sign up for the draft. All males over the age of 18 were required to register. He had been deferred while he was in college, and was required to sign up when he finished his degree. So he went to the draft board, located in the upstairs of the post office building. He was told that his number was 333 (out of a possible 365). You can imagine how relieved he was to feel like it was a pretty safe bet he would not be going to Vietnam.
He said he called his dad, and told him the results of his registering for the military draft. Dad said: "you do not have anything to worry about, time to get on with your life." So he got a job, married, had a family and a happy life. Luck of the draw? Maybe. Part of a plan we mortals do not have the wisdom and perspective to see? Definitely.
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