Mr. Robertson goes to war

It was 1969, my junior year at North High.

My English teacher was a tall young man just out of college and teaching his first classes. Mid year he announced he had been drafted and would be leaving for basic training and Vietnam. He'd lost his student deferment when he graduated college. 

We were stunned. The boys in our class were 17. If they couldn't afford college next year, many of them would be drafted too. Every draftee was sent to fight in Vietnam. Back then, we could not vote till age 21. 

On his last day, I brought a homemade cake with camouflage frosting. There was a toy helmet and a toy machine gun. Laughter and tears, lots of tears. It changed us. It changed me. 

After that I marched against the war and for 18 year olds to get the vote. I believe we the people stopped that war.  

Mr. Robertson made it back home. He returned to the classroom. But many of my classmates did not. When I saw their names on the wall at the Vietnam war memorial, I remembered that sad day when I was 17.