Have you not yet been assaulted by the aroma? I have, but as opposed to something detected by one's nose, the odor is more of a brain hit. What is it, so strange, so distant, yet so familiar?
Of course, now I remember. In 1967-68 a military draft board determined I would be carried off for compulsory military service. That's the odor of familiarity for me, and that's the aroma of reprise wafting almost, but not quite inconspicuously across the USA today.
The draft, oh goodnight, the draft? For real?
Call me crazy, but I'm keeping one eye open in expectation that our dwindling number of personnel occupying the Armed Forces will need bolstering, and while we call some things begging or pleading, an actual draft shows little mercy to young people entrenched in the belief that nobody can touch them or spirit them away for military service. Did young folk believe when they reached 18 and signed up with the government that the door knock would never come?
The knock approaches. If Middle East conflicts expand, or if any of a dozen other encumbrances sprout up without warning, Uncle Sam and his war-lovin' Democrats are coming for the kids. This is what leftists and others of various political persuasions received as a gift when they voted for Biden simply because they "hate Trump."
I eluded the final dreaded draft notice by one week, but only because I enlisted. This time around, kids, what you envisioned as kindly old Grandpa Joe will gobble you up for his war machine with no apologies, and you can't even run to Canada because the USA made sure that the Canadian escape route is no longer an option.
Is a new draft on the way? Might as well sniff the wind and wait.
