http://www.suntimes.com/output/mitchell/cst-nws-mitch14.htmlWhen people tell me that President Bush's military record doesn't matter, my mind drifts back to the summer of 1966. I was in love with the most handsome guy in the world. He was tall, a basketball player for a high school on the West Side. Until I met him, my biggest thrill was going to the library.
Then he came along with wide brown eyes framed by thick black lashes and a gorgeous smile.
I was 17 and about to start my last year of high school. He was sitting out his sophomore year of college. He had hoped to earn enough money over the summer to return to school in the fall.
The Vietnam War had not reached us. But that summer, young men started disappearing. They disappeared from the basketball courts and baseball fields. And they disappeared from breezeways, hallways and streets.
By the middle of the summer, my love had gotten a letter from Uncle Sam.
The words were clear enough. Still, it seemed impossible that a greeting from Uncle Sam could send you packing to fight a war against a people of whom we knew nothing.
We didn't know where to turn for help.
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