Standing In Line

Standing In Line

I hate standing in line. I've been told that there is a reason for everything but jeeze, there should be a good one for this standing in line business, because I don't like it. When I was young I had trouble just standing still. I was impatient. Waiting in line was torturous. Everyone in my family was quick paced. We walked fast. We talked fast. We ate fast. We drove fast. Being fast may have been one of the few things I knew for certain about myself.

I struggled with who I was or rather who I was supposed to be. I was shy as a child, and still am reserved with those I do not know well. Even after graduating from High School and heading off to college I had little clue as to who I really was. All I knew was certain things were required, certain things were fun, certain things were not, and there was also a certain way to act or present oneself because that's what you did. I had no sense as to whether I had any value as a person. I spent time thinking about things. I questioned things I saw or was told, I was always one to question. But making sense of the world around me and how I fit in was very much up in the air. I had ideas but felt alienated and unsure about myself. I suppose my friends knew me as I was but what that was, was unclear to me. I felt trapped in a role that did not fit me with little clue as to what did. College allowed me an opportunity to re-evaluate who I was and sort of redirect myself. I enrolled at Valparaiso University (Valpo) in Indiana. I did not know one person there at the time. This allowed me to sort of start all over. No history. It was comforting. Plus I came from metropolitan NY. I felt, as many New Yorker's did, that somehow made me more sophisticated or more worldly. I was surrounded by kids from the mid-west, many of them from small rural towns. I had experiences and knowledge most of them didn't. Of course they had experiences and knowledge that I didn't but I really did not appreciate that at the time.

It was at Valparaiso where I met Donna. It was at the start of a semester when she saw me and started up a conversation. She was trying to get away from a guy who was talking to (actually hitting on) her. Donna's opening line was something like “Don't you just find mid-westerners to be boring”. I think it was actually more derogatory than that but can't remember exactly. Since we were standing in close quarters in a room full of mid-westerners I was hesitant to reply but couldn't help but laugh, not because I agreed, but because she was so fearless and brazen about it. I knew she was using me to tell the guy to buzz-off.

Donna was the smartest and most perceptive person that I had ever met. She was also from NY but she was a year ahead of me. We got along right away. She was very quick to see someone's vulnerable areas and poke at them. She could hit you right where it hurts in a way that would stop you dead in your tracks. This ability or trait actually drew me to her. I would often laugh or joke or tease her when she tried it. She deeply cared about the injustices in our world and easily saw through facades and those who were going through the motions. Donna was the 1^st true “Women's Rights” advocate that I knew. She really helped me to understand the issue and how it effected everyone. We started spending more and more time together. She saw things like sensitivity and empathy in me and she praised them as admirable and valuable. My knack for picking the right thing based on a feeling at times frustrated her but also interested her. She helped me understand how damaging jealously could be and why it was a waste of my time. She was an avid reader, very well read. She was the 1^st person I had ever met that seemed to really see the real me. She believed in me and encouraged me in ways no one had ever before. She pushed me to be true to myself and called me on it when I wasn't. Being with Donna kind of opened a door for me. Having someone see the real me, the me under the surface and having that person love me for who I really was, put my life in focus. It helped me to believe in myself. It allowed me to take full ownership of me. The world seemed to open up. I was figuring out who I was, in love, and the possibilities seemed endless.

All males were required to register with their draft board upon turning 18. I turned 18 during my senior year of high school. The persuasive argument given at that time was you needed to register because if you did not you would be drafted immediately and would not be eligible for a college deferment, or something akin to that. So I registered. However, my draft board lost my records I think due to a fire and it was requested that we re-register. Upon thinking about this I saw a flaw in their logic. Hmm, register so they know who you are and can track you to potentially draft you at the appropriate time or don't register so they don't know who you are and can't track you with a supposed penalty of being drafted now, or at least soon. The fork in the road question: Should I take the register road or should I take the don't register road? If they already know enough about you to draft you why do they need you to register? How did I miss this? I think this calls for the old “Don't call me, I won't call you” strategy. The “avoid any and all contact with my draft board” plan looked like a winner to me. I decided not to re-register. I was not drafted immediately. I was not drafted that summer. I was not drafted the next year in a half while I attended college, and I never submitted papers for a deferment.

I went to college because it was expected (by my parents). I did not really want to go. I wanted get a job or head across the country or something, but not more school. Now that I was away from home and had met Donna I was ready to take more control of my life. I decided to drop out of college and maybe head to California. Donna reminded me that there was a draft and maybe I should think about what I might want to do if somehow my draft board found me. After thinking about it I decided I should head to Canada to check out my options. Donna went with me and we spent 6 or so weeks in Toronto doing that. While we were gone, her father learned she had left school and found out she left with me. He called the authorities (FBI) and told them I had kidnapped his daughter. Did I mention that he didn't like me? He thought I was a dreamer or something like that. He also called my parents, who he had never met, and told them the same thing. This was a bit of a shock to them as I had neglected to inform them that I was leaving school and so they thought I was still in Valparaiso. The FBI showed up at Valpo. They questioned our roommates among others. They concluded that she had left on her own and informed her dad of that - they were dropping the case. He tried to press them but they told him she was of legal age (over 18) and should not have involved them in the 1^st place. My parents were not as anxious to drop it however, but that's a story for another time.

We returned from Canada. We stopped back at Valpo and then went on to New York when I found out the university had contacted my draft board. I was notified that I was 1A and about to be drafted. I was not pleased since I had not asked for a deferral from the University. I did not expect them to get involved. Why would a good Christian University take it upon themselves to turn me in? Those dirty Lutherans.

I was planning to emigrate to Canada but there were problems. I ended up enlisting in the Air Force. I married Donna about 9 months later in Valparaiso, without the family. We had some tough times: lack of money, being in the military when we were both against the war, alienated families, not to mention our youth. We were only married for 2 years, but because of her, those years, while difficult, are years that I cherish. I have long since lost track of Donna, but to this day love her and think of her often, and I met Donna standing in line at the Valparaiso bookstore.