I talked to my parents last night, which was nice and uneventful, with one exception.

"So did they have any demonstrations on campus, or anything like that?" Dad asked. I could smell the set-up a mile away.

"Yeah," I replied. No use lying. "They had a peace rally last Monday."

"See," he starts. Here we go. "It was different with us, where they were going to send us off to some war that didn't have anything to do with us. But with this, it's like, pick up a damn gun, right?"

I grunted noncommitally. No use arguing here.

"No use arguing!" you cry. "Dear gentle Gus, you must stand by your principles!"

But how, dear reader? I have nothing to back them up with. They are my principles, they stand on their own.

All morning I've been rehearsing the argument that will undoubtedly ensue with Dad and Granddad if anyone asks at Thanksgiving, "So if there's a draft, will you go to war?"

The nice thing about Thanksgiving is that Ben will be there, quite vehemently on my side, and he's better at arguing about that kind of thing than I am. Being a tree-hugging hippie has its perks. And Mom and probably Grandmom will be on my side as well.

Here's how my part might go:

"It's not that I don't think we should be fighting a war. I don't know if we should be fighting a war. I'm not very good at politics. It's just that I'm not fighting in any war. I'm not going to kill people, and I'm not going to help people kill people."

This could lead to any number of follow-ups, none of which I have an answer for. That's when I go back to letting Ben talk. I'm hoping the issue never comes up.

Watching M*A*S*H every morning has made me wish I was a doctor. That way, if there was a draft, I wouldn't have to move to Mexico.