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12.01.69

By Michael Nelson

12.01.69: the first day of the last month of the decade that changed so many lives, that changed the direction of our country, that changed the direction of my universe. One day that changed everything forever.

Just how important can a day be? Seminal events in the history of man have changed everything that would follow: the first atomic blast; the first step on the moon; viewing the first images transmitted through air; December 7, 1941; September 11, 2001; to name just a few. December 1, 1969 was the day I knew my life was about to go in a direction that I didn't want to take. A seminal event shared with my two college roommates, three amigos sitting on a worn-out sofa, fixated on a television screen, watching men pick ping-pong balls from a large metal container, ping-pong balls with numbers on them. A singular event: placing a ping-pong ball next to August 17, a ping-pong ball with the number 154. A seminal event. Goodbye, life.

Numbers...they mean more than we think. Prior to 12.01.69, I liked the number seven because of Mickey Mantle, and fourteen for Ernie Banks; 154 meant nothing to me. When added together, the digits equal ten, and we all know about the power of ten, because we have seen the Charles and Ray Eames film. Letters and numbers in combinations that make sense only to the very smartest of the smart. Numbers and letters in combination can explain everything, even infinity.

Numbers and letters. My birthday is August 17, 1947, or 8.17.47. The digits total seventy-two, which is the year I ended my service in the Army. Numbers and letters. My draft number, 154, the number that changed my known universe. My college roommates' numbers? In the 300s, numbers that changed their known universes as well. At that moment—that seminal moment—they knew they were not getting drafted. I knew I was. My seminal moment.

I think that all people look back on their lives for that one moment that either made them or destroyed them—or, at the very least, changed them. I'm not talking about births, marriages, or deaths. Well, maybe death: a metaphysical death, the death of one's spirit. I have always referred to the war as an unconscionable act. It was a decision by our nation that made no sense to me then and makes no sense to me today; that we would force young men—kids, really—to go to war. I'm not talking about just Vietnam, but any war at any time. Today, thirty-six years later, three and a half decades after the decade that changed my known universe, we are still determined to send our young men—kids, really—to war. By three and a half decades after the decade that changed my known universe, I thought we would have evolved beyond war; I was terribly wrong. Three and a half decades after the decade that changed my known universe, we still enjoy killing one another. We still love unconscionable acts. We seem to be very good at unconscionable acts.