He does not understand that these opportunities will not go on forever. He is going to work for a couple of years, then see what he wants to do. He is just taking a couple of courses that will transfer. Over the past couple of years I have heard comments like these from my frustrated colleagues and friends. They bemoan the fact that their college-aged son, nephew, or close friend has drifted and has not made a decision about his future: that he shows no strong inclination to "get going" or pick a career. Each time I hear their complaint, though, I cannot help but think, thank God they can do that. Thank God they can take their time.

Thank God there is no draft.

In the 60s, the young men of my generation lived in the shadow of the draft. The "Greetings from your friends and neighbors" letter from the Selective Service was a dire consequence for those who did not go to college immediately after high school, for those who dropped out of college, and ultimately even for many who completed their undergradute program. It was there: first as a duty all able-bodied men had to fulfill; then, as hostilities began to increase in Southeast Asia, as a consequence of indecision.

As death became a reality, the call to duty was weighed against the consequence of little understood hostilities. Discussions about dodging the draft were common, especially about how best to avoid getting caught in a disagreeable situation. The discussions were considered pragmatic approaches to the issue of personal danger, not political statements. All the ways to extend draft deferrals were considered, always with the specter of death in the background. You could pick a career deemed essential to the future of the country (most liberal arts do not fall into this category), or you could get married and have children. I have often wondered if some later mid-life crises and divorces did not stem from those forced decisions.

When the casualty figures began to come in, when the skirmishes were viewed on the nightly newscasts, the options shrank. Young men felt real, palpable anger at the loss of control, over either their future or their lives. There was also guilt, heavily felt, among those who attended college. The feeling was that if you were a real man, you were out there fighting. Otherwise, you were wasting your time hiding, because you did not know what to do, and should join the fight and be useful.

David was 16 when he entered college. He was bright but indecisive. He loved bridge and chess. He would play all night and sleep through classes. We would nudge him to study with the warning, "You do not want to get caught by the draft." He was like a younger brother to us and was visibly annoyed at our nudging. At 17, he would not be drafted for another year. He did not know what he wanted. He struggled, angry at being forced to decide. He enlisted. I do not know if he survived.

Woody was 20. He transferred to Riverside from the local junior college. He was completing his requirements for a geology major. Woody figured he liked the outdoors, so he would like geology. He was wrong, but he had to stay in college or face the draft. He was a prime target: young and unfocused. Early death was an ever-increasing possibility and dodging the draft an unlikely one. Woody joined the Marines. He survived. I remember the visceral anguish I felt as I watched my friends face the draft, watched their options and aspirations diminish. At my 20-year high school reunion I learned that my class had lost five young men to Vietnam. I do not know if any volunteered, but I know some were drafted. They were honored in our program.

Today, young men are able to look around and ask "What are my choices?" Viewed in the 60s, against the backdrop of the draft, that question took on a radically different color.

Do I have to decide?

If I don't, the decision is out of my hands.

It is out of my hands anyway.

The anger generated by those beliefs was a major challenge faced by my generation, but it is one we have not passed on to younger generations. For that I am deeply grateful. It means that now, when I hear of a decision deferred or a mind changed, I do not feel fear. Instead, I give thanks that today's generation has the time and the ability to think through its choices without the haunting specter of imminent death. In the end, I believe the ability to make choices will leave this generation better prepared to face the challenges of tomorrow.

Jackie Afram graduated from the University of California at Riverside in 1965 and has been in government service for over 30 years.